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Thread: Mile High 2017 Promo Thread

  1. #21
    The Mayor of Slamtown
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    Re: Mile High 2017 Promo Thread

    February 17th, 2000
    Barrett Elementary School

    An empty classroom. Well, an empty classroom with the exception of two. As 12 year old Michael Garcia sat in his desk, staring blankly at his surroundings, his teacher, Mrs. Mass, pulled out a rather large stack of papers from her desk. She shuffled them hard against the edge of her desk and then stacked them on the left hand corner. Not saying a word,she stared down her student, a look of disappointment, with a slight mix of anger etched across her face. It was a look Michael was used to seeing from his teachers. Michael was never particularly good in school, but that was partly because he didn’t have anyone to keep him on the straight and narrow in life. With no father figure and a mother working nearly 80 hours a week, Michael was alone when it came to his studies. And it showed.

    He eventually stopped caring. His grades were slipping hard. He knew it, but there was really nothing he could do about it. He just wasn’t smart enough to keep up with the rest, and it was becoming glaringly obvious that he was going to have to repeat the 6th grade. Having hated school for most of his life, he dreaded the thought of having to repeat. But there was something that he dreaded even more. And that was the 145 lbs. of red hot fury that was about to walk through that door. Most knew her as Theresa Garcia. Many knew her as the sweet lady delivered the morning and afternoon papers. But Michael simply knew her as Mom, and he knew what she could REALLY be like if she had a reason to be pissed off. And boy did she have one now….

    “No puedo creer que esto está sucediendo de nuevo! Mi hijo , que está en tales grandes problemas!”

    “Oh shit”
    , Michael thought to himself as Theresa Garcia swung open the door and angrily marched into the room.

    “¿Qué demonios has sacado a sí mismo metido ahora ?”

    Michael knew better than to answer any questions right now. It was almost as if he was waiting for his lawyer.

    “Mrs. Garcia, I’m sorry to have to do this again today,but I feel as if I was I left with no choice. Please, have a seat….”

    “Ah, yes, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day….And then to hear…this….again….I’m sorry. Just a little frustrating.”

    “I understand. Well, Michael, would you like to explain to your mother why we’re all here right now?”

    Nope. That sure as hell doesn’t seem like a good idea.

    Michael crossed his arms, head down, lips pressed tightly shut. Michael was stupidly unaware that he was making the situation worse, but he was hanging on tight to the possibility that maybe Mrs. Mass would spontaneously combust and the situation would never come to light.


    Oh man. There it was. The middle name. The trump card. So much for lawyers and spontaneous combustion….time was up. There was nowhere to go. Checkmate had been called.

    “I….I hit Darnell Bigsby at recess today.”

    “You HIT somebody?”

    “Not just hit, Mrs. Garcia”

    “What do you mean?”

    “He coldcocked him. Knocked the poor kid out cold.”

    If looks could kill, the next scene would have been at young Michael’s funeral.

    “¿Dónde demonios se baje golpear a la gente ? Michael? What do you have to say for yourself? Why on God’s green earth would you do something like this?”

    “He asked for it, momma. He kept on runnin’ his mouth and I told ‘em that if he didn’t stop, I was gonna make him stop. He kept it going, momma. I had to let ‘em know....when I say stop, I mean business, momma.”

    “Where did this attitude come from? Honestly, Michael, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately! This is the 3rd time in 6 weeks that you’ve been held after school for bad behavior, but now...hitting someone? I have never raised you to believe that violence solves problems, where would you learn such a thing?”

    “Have you taken a walk down the streets lately, momma? Turned on the evening news? That’s the only way to deal with problems these days...”

    “Thugs, Michael. Thieves. Gangs. That’s what you see on the street. That’s what you see on the news. That the life you want? Is that where you wanna wind up? On the streets? Selling drugs? Doing time in prison? Ending up dead? That’s where that line of thinking gets ya if you don’t straighten the hell up!”

    “I think that I need to tell you, Mrs. Garcia, that after speaking with Principal Harper,who by the way would like to confer with you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, we both feel that it is in Michael’s best interest to serve a 10 day suspension to reflect upon his actions."

    The next thirty minutes were painstaking for Michael to listen to. It was as if people were putting him down, without trying to hurt his feelings, but he knew what was being said. Everyone believes he’s dumb. Michael knew otherwise. He wasn’t dumb. He just didn’t see things the way everyone else saw them. He wasn’t booksmart. He was street smart. And no one else saw that. Because if you couldn’t recite the 50 capitals off the top of your head, you were a moron. Michael wasn’t a scholar. He was a survivor.


    May 19th, 2001

    1201 Renfrew St. Homewood, PA

    "Malia! Mike! Malik! Dinner's ready! "

    The nightly tradition of 6 O'clock dinner at the Garcia household was just about to get underway. Theresa Garcia had set the table for four and was placing a delicious looking meatloaf in the center of the table.The Garcia's were about to enjoy their usual Monday night meal consisting of Meatloaf, Mashed Potatoes, Collard Greens, and Sweet Potato Pie, almost as if it were straight out of The Andy Griffith Show. Well, if the Andy Griffith show aired on BET. This night, however, wasn't going to have a happy ending. A slight trample down the steps meant the children had responded and arrived....well, most of them anyways. Malia and Malik took their seats at the table as Mother Theresa asked about their brother's whereabouts.

    "I don't know, Momma, he ain't in his room." proclaimed Malik

    Theresa walked over to the steps, leaned on the bannister, and yelled out once more...

    "MICHAEL ARMANDO GARCIA your dinner is getting stone cold! You've got thirty seconds to get your butt down these steps and into your seat or else!"

    There it was again. The middle name. Coupling that with the "Or Else" and the two younger children were too afraid to even make a move. It was no sooner that she walked back to the table that a faint blue and red light could be seen through the family's front room window. A look of disappointment could be detected upon Theresa's face as she sensed that Andy and Opie weren't about to walk through those doors. She braced herself for the worst as the doorbell rang.


    "Yes, momma?"

    "Take your sister and go to your room."

    "Aww, but Momma we...."

    "NOW, Malik!"

    "We never get to see the good stuff..."

    Theresa took a deep breath before opening the door.

    "Yes, officer?"

    "Evenin' ma'am. Names' Snead, Officer Snead, this your boy?"

    "Depends. What's he done now?"

    "I caught him and a group of other young boys puttin' a beatin' on a 10 year old boy in the parking lot of the Circle K down on Levin Street. The other boys got away, but I was able to get yours. Haven't spoken to the parents of the other boy yet, so we'll be in touch regarding whether or not charges are pressed."

    "MICHAEL. ARMANDO. GARCIA. You sit your ass down on that couch and don't you even think about moving! You ar grounded, you are so grounded!"

    Theresa turned her attention back to the officer, thanking him for bringing her son back before slamming the door shut and taking on a persona that would make Jigsaw quiver in fear.

    "So...let's have it. Who was it this time?"

    "Jason Devers..."
    Garcia replied in a shaky, soft voice.

    "Alright, and what did this Devers kid do that makes you think what you did was okay?"

    "He's always talkin' shit, momma. Always got somethin' to say. He called me 'slow', momma. He said that I ain't got the brains God gave a slug, now, I ask you, momma....Am I just supposed to take that shit?

    "First of all, young man, I don't know where you get off using that language but you most certainly will not speak those words to me! Now, just allow me to tell you what you will not do. I don't personally care how you handle it, but you will NOT lay your hands on another child! Honestly, Michael, how many times are we gonna do this? How many times are we gonna have this conversation? You've already been expelled from one school,d now you're coming home in a cop car? Where is this gonna end? When is this gonna end?"

    "Momma, please, just..."

    "I'm scared Michael, I'm scared of where and when this does end. I'm scared that this ends with you in a juvenile correctional facility. I'm scared that this ends with you in a jail cell, spending five to ten in a state penitentiary. I'm terrified that this ends with a phone call in the middle of the night, with Officer Snead telling me that my son is in Critical Condition...or worse. I'm scared, Michael, that I'm raising a sociopath, a monster. I'm...just scared, Michael."


    Michael wished that scared was the only emotion his mother was feeling that night, but rage was also about to make it's presence felt. Michael was grounded for a month that night, but that wasn't the worst part about that night. The physical imprisonment was nothing compared to the mental prison walls that were constructed that night. It wasn't the last time that Michael would be compared to a monster or a sociopath. As a matter of fact, it was far from it. This,however, was the night that Michael first considered that something was wrong with him. Perhaps he was more than just a troublesome teen. Theresa sure seemed to think so, but she wasn't the only one. Mrs.Mass, Principal Harper, Reverend Thomas, Ol' Lady Gail down the street. All of them seemed to share that sentiment. The only people that seemed to believe that Mike had some good in his heart were his brother and sister. And it wasn't long ago that Michael had burned that last bridge.

    Cue Phillip A. Jackson.

    Monday November 13th, 2017
    Awaken Gym
    777 Sante Fe Drive
    Denver, Colorado
    04:33 AM




    Slowly forming beads of water slowly drop from the faucet of a dimly lit room in the Awaken Gym. The Awaken Gym. Quite the appropriate name for a gym being exclusively occupied by a sleeping giant at four thirty in the morning. The large paws of the Reignited one clamped down on the cold water of the faucet as he tried to splash the sleep out of his eyes. It was time to go to work. Against his better judgment, the former Monster of the Midway took a day off from Mile High preperation to watch the Steel Curtain secure a victory over Jacoby Brissett and the Indianapolis Colts on Sunday. All of this meant that he had to go twice as hard today. Preperation for Mile High is more than just watching footageand pumping iron. There were five other people in this match. Five accomplished wrestlers all with the same aspirations, many of them viewing this as the same opportunity that Mike does. All of them dangerous. All of them with their own goals, their own visions, their own agendas, and their own stories. Knowing your opponent is as important in getting ready for a match than anything else. In fact, it may be the most important thing.

    Mike looked into the mirror and his reflection startled him. Not because he was surprised it was there, but for the first time, he didn't see a cruel vicious, heartless monster. He saw a man that he could be proud of. He saw a man that worked hard to escape his past and change his life for the better. However, it isn't long before the dark thoughts that he fights start to creep in. His mothers words about being a monster. "What is wrong with you?" Michael Armando Garcia started to fight back into his mind. The bronze adonis clutched his mammoth hands on the base of the sink and pressed down, closing his eyes, trying to fight off the memories. He opened his eyes and in a sudden moment of rage, furiously slammed his fist into the wall next to the mirror before immediately calming himself down.

    "You're not that man anymore....You're not that man anymore. You don't need to be that man to win Mile High. All you need to be, is to be stronger than them, quicker than them, smarter than them, more resilient than them...all you need to do is just be better than the rest. You can do this. Don't go back to being that guy. Work harder. Be smarter. Mile High is yours for the taking. Forget about them. Forget about the Ms. Mass' of the world who claimed you'd never succeed. Forget about the Principal Harpers' of the world who never gave me a chance. Forget about all of the people who wrote me off as a sociopath and thought you'd never amount to anything. Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all. You're better than all of 'em. You turned your life around. You proved them wrong. YOU FOUND YOURSELF. You know exactly who you are and it's not the sociopath that they made you out to be. You, and Phillip, have an advantage of every other single person in this match. You know exactly who you are and what you're here for. The others? They haven't got a clue. Hell, they don't even know who they are."

    Michael looks into the mirror and it's as if he's looking into the eyes of the ReStarrted one. The youngest guy in the match. The dark horse. The fastest rising superstar in the FWA.

    "Take Starr, for instance. Now, Mike, you've made your fair share of mistakes here in the FWA and let a few people lead you down the wrong path. You let Jeremiah further exacerbate this notion that because you're seven feet tall and three hundred seventy five pounds that the only way you can possibly succeed is by being a heartless monster, who values hurting people more than winning. You let Lexi distract you from the fact that your career was going nowhere and allowed her to let you realize thatyou were content with just being mediocre. You let these people mold you into something that you truly aren't. But now? Now,you've found the right path, alongside Phillip A. Jackson, and he's opened your eyes to the truth. Those people, they were toxic to you, toxic to your career. The only person who you can place your full trust in is yourself, and Phillip, of course. He's given you the medicine that you needed to flush those toxins out of your life forever and bring you to the light.

    Starr, however, still allows others to lead him down false paths. He's a young pup,so understandably, he'll learn. He'll see that this encouragement from Izzy Von Doren is going to be his undoing. He's going to realize that in this business you need to learn to walk before you can run and that it's never a good idea to get too much too soon. At Mile High, Starr is going to dive in head first against competition well out of his league, and Starr is going to fail. The question then becomes, what happens to Starr? Sure, he's all smiles when things are going good, but looking into my crystal ball, I foresee some very real challenges in his future. Some hard losses. Frustrating times. He second guesses himself now, what's he going to do when he strings together a few losses? The kids got a future, but he ain't ready yet."

    Garcia splashes some more water into his face and then dries it out. This time, in his imagination, seeing Cyrus Truth in the mirror.

    "You know, Cyrus, not even I really know what to make of you and for as well spoken as you are, and as confident as you seem, you're as confused and conflicted within yourself as everyone else. You say all the right things, and try to act like you're this beacon of morality but that's only the case when it benefits you, Cyrus Truth. But when Shannon O'Neal put her fingers in your eye and the entire world released a collective gasp of pure shock, something changed. Their perception of you changed. Somehow, someway, Cyrus Truth became a hero. Not the hero they wanted, but the hero they needed. Hell, you didn't even want to become that hero, but when Fight Night came on the air and Shannon O'Neal revealed her true colors,you came out and did your same shtick, nothing changed...Except for the fact that they cheered you. At that point, as much as you try to deny it to yourself, a small part of you smiled on the inside. As much as you refuse to admit it, you yearn for their admiration. You put yourself out there as this cult leader, but you never had their attention because you never had their approval. Because of Shannon O'Neal, you now have them in the palm of your hands and that gave you power.

    But in the words of a great man, with great power comes great responsibility. You find yourself struggling to meet their expectations of you. Now, in order to keep that power, you sometimes have to do the right thing, not because it benefits Cyrus Truth but because it's the right thing to do. Are you a hero, Cyrus? You're trying to be, but is it for real. Is it legit? I don't even think you know anymore whether you're a hero or the same old self-righteous prick you've always been. There's alot ofinteresting dynamics in this match. Phillip and Michael, Belle and Shannon....At some point, there's going to be a moment where you have to decide whether you're a hero or just the same old opportunist who's out for himself. Decisions, decisions."

    Another rinse. Another pat of the towel. This time, he blinks to reveal Belle Connelly.

    "Well, aren't you just an interesting little wild card in this match? I mean,of all the people in this match, is there anyone more conflicted right now than Bell Connelly? Real talk though, I don't need to even say a word as to why your mind is even more clouded than usual. Even if you weren't distracted by your lipstick lesbian relationship with Shannon, it probably would be distracted by kittens, lava lamps, Strawberry Shortcake, Frozen II, Bubble Yum, and whatever Taylor Swift's latest song is. Now, however, compounding all of those scatterbrained thoughts is this relationship with the World Heavyweight Champion. Sucks, doesn't it? After all those tries of trying to prove your championship material against Cyrus, he finally drops the title and your so called best friend is the one to do it. What happened to you? Weren't you the one that was supposed to breakthrough from the Women's Division? And now, your "BFF" is stealing your thunder?

    I'll tell you what happened. You lost your confidence. You started second guessing yourself and let a motivated Shannon O'Neal take the spot that was designed for you. I've been there, kid, but I've never let a friend use me to get something that was meant for me. Cryos took a spot meant for me. Mike Parr took a spot meant for me. But ouch, to have that ripped out from under you by your best friend? Where was Shannon O'Neal when you were getting your ass kicked by Cyrus Truth? When Mike Parr was fending you off from his NA title? She was nowhere to be found, yet, here you are, at her beckon call, the very moment she wins the FWA Championship. Shannon O'Neal is taking advantage of you, Belle. She's conning you just like she conned everyone else into thinking she was someone she wasn't. Just like Jerry Jones conned me into believing I was someone who I wasn't. You're a good person, Belle, but you're blinded by your allegiance to someone who's only keeping you an arm's length away from her most prized possession. Not realizing that, not seeing that, you're own short-sighted nature is going to be your own undoing."

    One more time. Rinse. Wash. Repeat. Shannon O' Neal.

    "There you are. I should've known you'd appear last. Hiding behind everyone else, as usual."

    Garcia thinks about his words before continuing.

    "It's often believed that anyone capable of pulling off the long con is smarter and more confident than the average person. I have to commend you, Shannon. You fooled us. You fooled us all. And to pull off that act and not have anyone, even the likes of a crazy motherfucker like Jack of Diamonds, not even suspect you is downright amazing. You accomplished so much as Shannon O'Neal. It begs the question to me, though. Why, Shannon, why? You can make up whatever bullshit excuse you want, but the answer is right there. Shannon O'Neal had to show her hand, she had to play her trump card to get the top prize in this business...

    because you just weren't good enough to win it on your own ability.

    You showed your hand.You called trump. You made your biggest move. Now,you're scammering. You're scammering to find ways to keep that title because you're just not good enough to keep it on your own. I'm familiar with the playbook. Lie. Cheat. Maipulate.There's no foreign concepts here, Shannon. All of those things have existed since the dawn of civilization. You do what you have to do to succeed. But in this match, Shannon, there's nowhere to hide. There's no way to cheat. And with everyone having a shot at the FWA Championship, it's going to be impossible to manipulate. You're going to try and just like every other time your back has been against the wall and there's no rules to will fail. Five other people are going to be watching every move you make, doing everything they can to ensure their victory. And baby, you've never been in the ring with someone with my combination of power, speed, smarts and confidence. Shannon O'Neal, there is no escape. No escaping yourself, no escaping this match and no escaping your fate as the biggest con the FWA has ever seen. You've conned everyone into believing you were a sweet southern girl with a splash of punk and a heart of gold. You've conned everyone into thinking that you were this chick with a never say die attitude and fire burning in her soul that just can't be extinguished. You conned everyone into thinking that you were worthy of being called a champion. At Mile High, I'm going to expose you for the absolute fraud that you are."

    One last splash. One more eye rub. The reflection of a champion stared back at him. His reflection.

    "At Mile High, I will do what EVERYONE said could never happen. I will become the FWA Champion and restore honor to the belt that she tainted. At Mile High, what once was thought impossible, becomes a reality!"

  2. #22
    Chikara Trainee

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    Re: Mile High 2017 Promo Thread

    November 19th 2017

    The sentence that had just left his mouth brought silence across the Fight Night arena. He had taken seven days to make sure he was making the right decision, but as sometimes is the case the right decision is often not the easy decision to make. Certainly, at this very moment, the easy decision would be to step between those ring ropes and head backstage once more to re-evaluate what he was about to do. But he knew it was time, he knew that he couldn’t lie to himself anymore or cheat those that he cared about. A glance out into the crowd didn’t help, as he saw children open mouthed in shock, wives holding their husbands for comfort. What usually is a robust crowd, full of energy and vigour, has now become the type of crowd you would expect to see congregating for a funeral. No buzz. No energy. No life. Parr leaned against the top rope and let the last sentence from his mouth take full effect. He had his jet black sunglasses pulled down over his eyes, usually for style but this time to save face. Nobody needed to see the tears well up and drip down his face, that’s not how he wanted to go. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he raised the microphone to his lips once more.

    “When I first started out in this business, when I first stepped in between the ropes, I remember slapping the canvas hard and thinking that I didn’t want to do this for the rest of my life. It hurt. It hurt bad. What I wanted to do was wear the World Championship around my waist and I wanted to take all the associated acclaim that goes with that. I wanted to be recognised as the best in the world and I wanted to prove that on a daily basis until there was no doubting that I was better than anyone you could stand across the ring from me. Day 1. Before I knew how to lock up correctly. Before I knew how to suplex you out of your wrestling boots. Before I knew how good it felt to punch somebody square in the face and hear the crowd groan after the connection made. Before the feeling of warm blood trickling down from my knuckles to my forearm and appreciating how good it felt, that was my goal and that is what I worked towards every day of my life.”

    The crowd instinctively clap out of respect. This isn’t the time for cheers or boos, for faces or for heels…this is a time for saying thanks.

    “So when people say that I am cocky or arrogant, I was just confident and driven. I was just confident in my own abilities to succeed and driven to put more work and effort into my craft than anyone stood across from me in the ring. Why? To take the element of luck out of the equation. To make sure that when it boiled down to it, and when we were both breathing heavy, that my extra work and my extra preparation was responsible for the defining moment in the match. That my dedication to my craft and my desire for being the best was that final push that got me over the line and led me to victory. Physically, sure I’m just over 6 feet tall and weigh 240 pounds but it’s more than physical attributes that make you a success in this business. Sure, you can’t get anywhere if you are 4 feet tall and can’t reach someones face to punch their teeth down their throat, but generally speaking what right should someone of my height or my weight have against those men that are physically bigger than me? My work ethic. My dedication. My natural intellect. I would say that it levelled the playing field but in truth there was nothing really level when I stepped in between these ropes, all of the aforementioned meant that the odds were nearly always in my favour.”

    Another short pause from The Prodigy as the crowd once again offer up a polite ripple of applause. There is a small “Thank you Parr” chant which catches Mike off guard. Yes, catches Mike off guard. This isn’t The Prodigy, this isn’t the exaggerated version of Mike Parr addressing the FWA crowd, this is the man who always wanted to be a wrestler addressing those that love the business as much as he does.

    “So tonight, bearing all of that in mind, I have to refer you back to the very first thing I said when I walked out here tonight. Tonight, I am retiring from professional wrestling.”

    There it is once more. Parr leans against the top rope and stares at the crowd and takes in the faces staring back at him. Privately, he is thankful of his decision to cover his eyes with those sunglasses because if this moment is one to be played back on YouTube for years and to be played on his inevitable Hall of Fame induction video, he doesn’t wanted to be remembered with tears rolling down his face.

    “If you aren’t moving forwards, then you might as well be going backwards. I’ve held this championship belt for fifteen months and yet I sit here and I think about how at Mile High last week, a year beforehand I was sat and the crowd were chanting “Triple Champ” and nearly blowing the roof off of the arena. I had my fingertips on the World Championship and nearly did become the triple champion. Last week…..last week I’m sitting there and I’m watching on as 6 men compete in the Mile High match for the championship that I truly believe I deserve. But instead of there being uproar, it was expected. Can you imagine what would have happened 1 year previous had I not been placed in a match that the fans expected me to be a part of? You would have had the show being taken over….you would have had no choice but to make the decision between putting The Prodigy in the main event. That’s where I truly believe that I belong and as time has passed my skills haven’t waned and my desire hasn’t faded but I haven’t been provided with an opportunity to grab….in short, I’ve stagnated. I don’t’ dedicated my life to stagnate. I don’t dedicate my time and make sacrifices to move backwards or be the warm up act for those challenging for World Championships. I haven’t held this championship for 15 months to be taken for granted. As such…this is why I believe that now is the time is right to step away. Now…the time is right to let somebody else take the ball and run forward with it……”

    With that, Mike removes the North American Championship from his shoulder as the crowd proceed to provide a round of applause and a “Triple Champ” chant to echo a year ago where Parr was arguably the hottest commodity in the company. Parr breathes in heavily, trying to compose himself. Despite the way in which he carries himself with this cocky and confident exterior, there is no denying that wrestling is all he has ever known in his adult life and that stepping away is a massive moment for him. He brings the North American Championship up to his lips and plants a tender kiss on the face of the championship before leaving it down in the centre of the ring. With that, and with the crowd’s “Triple Champ” chant reverberating through the arena, Parr raises his hand and waves goodbye once more…

    November 12th 2017 – night of Mile High 2017.

    The dull sounds of the crowd in the main floor of the arena can be heard carrying through to the locker room of The Prodigy, who is sat taping his fists in preparation for his triple threat match this evening. Sat in the corner of the room facing him is the North American Championship, the prize that Wolf and Kazadi have focused on. Or do they? You can’t escape the feeling that both men more have attention for each other as opposed to worrying about the true threat in the match, the threat posed by the reigning and defending North American Champion, The Prodigy.


    The tweet that broke the internet just as the show started earlier tonight. Well…broke the internet may have been an exaggeration but it certainly ruffled a few feathers. The reference? Back to Mile High 2016 where Prodigy was one of four men competing for the FWA World Heavyweight Championship, an honour that he has not experienced since. That should tell you where Prodigy’s mindset is at in preparation for tonight.

    “Come closer”

    With nobody else in the room, the cameraman obeys the instruction and shuffles closer to Mike Parr, although with a degree of caution as he isn’t sure of the purpose of doing so or what to expect when he in fact does get within touching distance.

    “Between you and me, I did it to prove a point…” Parr begins. “There is, of course, the underlying truth that I want people to think back to one year ago and get angry about what is happening tonight, but there is a point to that which goes beyond self pity. So I want you to record every word that I say, and when this night is over, you can send it to Kazadi and you can send it to Wolf and they can both sit and think about what they’ve done and how they’ve been dominated by The Prodigy Mike Parr.”

    There it is, the knowing and now trademark confident smirk that Parr is known for. For Prodigy to be aware of what his social media account has tweeted is remarkable in itself in all honesty.

    “What they’ve both done is disrespect me, and that is something that I don’t deserve and that I’m not about to stand for. This is a triple threat match for the North American Championship yet somehow it has turned into a Wolf vs Kazadi grudge match with my presence and my championship belt becoming an afterthought? Are you kidding me? Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

    A rhetorical question, good thing that it was too as he is the only person aside from the cameraman in the locker room.

    “In the absence of any confirmation that this is in fact a joke, it leaves me with one option tonight. Up until last Fight Night, the plan was to walk to the ring and beat the hell out of Zachary Kazadi and prove that the little marketing stunt to drum up interest in this North American Championship was academic and unnecessary. Academic because regardless of what man or woman came through that championship tournament victorious, they were always going to encounter the same problem waiting for them at Mile High….the longest reigning current champion in the FWA.”

    “But unnecessary? What do I mean about unnecessary? Simple. It was unnecessary to take a look at the current situation in this company and think that the North American Championship is the one thing that needed a bit of a boost as it had become stale….it’s not stale, it’s just become predictable. Predictable in the sense that you can line up any number of challengers and one by one they have all been put to the back of the line. You tag division needs the shot of adrenaline. Your X Division could do with the help. But for the powers that be to look around and think that I, as the representative of the North American Division and it’s reigning champion, needed the boost and needed a tournament to bring some sort of prestige back to this championship is a spit in the face of everything that I have achieved in the last 15 months. Being good……no – being great isn’t something that should be looked upon as a negative. Being dominant isn’t something that should be looked upon as boring. It should be admired. It should be rewarded…”

    Parr cools down for a second, gathering his thoughts.

    “The irony of Kazadi winning the championship tournament is not lost on me, in that if he had not made it through he would have ended up in a better position than the one he finds himself currently. You see his prize for victory was to be shown, first hand, that I am better than anything or anyone he has ever faced. He comes out to the ring on Fight Night and plays sounds and makes clever comments and soundbites about how he enjoys inflicting pain upon people? You know what I enjoy….I enjoy winning. I enjoying beating people. I enjoy listening to people like yourself, Kazadi, who for the last 15 months have said that I don’t train hard enough or I don’t prepare well enough and about how they are going to be one to take that championship from my grasp and I enjoy seeing that look in their eyes whenever I’m too quick for their punches or have them tied up in knots with my wrestling ability and they realise they don’t stand a chance……”

    Prodigy rises from his seat and creaks his neck from side to side, the start of his warm up before he heads to the ring. By the sound of the crowd that is barely audible, the current match is nearing its conclusion.

    “And then there is Wolf….the man who cashes in an historic rematch clause to get his hands on Kazadi. Once again…I reiterate….Are. You. Kidding. Me.”

    “You have a shot at statistically the most dominant champion in this company and your focus is on finally getting your hands on Kazadi? Your obsession is somehow proving that you are better than Zachary Kazadi? You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve my time and you don’t deserve me effort, and if you think that I’m going to turn up in that arena and become nothing more than an afterthought in your feud with Kazadi then I’m afraid you are about one punch in the mouth away from being really surprised about what I am bringing to the table. You see….I know how obsessions works. I know that you are blinded by the one goal that you have at present and that is getting your hands on someone that you have been dying to beat within an inch of his life, so much so that you forget about anything else that goes with it. The price you have to pay tonight for getting your hands on Kazadi is becoming another footnote to what is becoming an historic championship reign. The consequence of you interjecting into my situation and the consequence of your obsession with Kazadi is being shown that you and Kazadi truly are made for each other…..that you and him should be free to open every show from now until time ends and beat the shit out of each other….just get the hell out of my ring and stop taking up my time when you two are doing it….”

    One final momentary pause from Parr.

    “#TripleChamp. Just a reminder that last year I was within a fingertip of becoming the World Champion and I was the most talked about wrestler in this company. This year…’s time to remind everyone just exactly what I’m capable of once more.”

    With that , Parr picks up his North American Championship as the low rumblings of Adema’s “Giving In” begins to play in the arena and his audience awaits…….

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