Post by Dre Cutler on Oct 20, 2013 16:32:10 GMT
It'd be easy for me to throw out a million excuses for my performance these past couple of weeks. I could use my personal life as an excuse, I could use various injuries as an excuse, or I could use exhaustion as an excuse following countless wild nights with Alexis Caffrey. I could use all of those and many more excuses to explain my recent losses to Roberto Verona and Cyrus Daniels.
I could.... but I won't.
See, the only thing that matters is that I lost those matches. No excuses, no sob stories; nothing, I just didn't get the job done two consecutive weeks. That's all there is to it. Roberto, I don't blame the tactics you used to win our match. I'd done the same if the opportunity presented itself. Cyrus, I applaud you for a great effort and I appreciate the fact that you know your way around a wrestling ring.
Just remember this, gentlemen. I don't care if one of you is the longest reigning NCW champion in history or not, both of you are beatable. And if our paths ever cross again, the results will be very, very different. I promise you that. But until that day arrives, kudos to both of you for amazing performances.
But that's in the past, and if there's one consistent thing about professional wrestling, it's that thinking in the past will lead to broken bones, loss of teeth, and various losses in the record books. So, I'm done with it, washing my hands of it, and moving on because while I may have lost a lot of my momentum, the opportunity to regain it is staring my right in the face.
Mike Laszlo. I don't know if IWF is your first rodeo. I don't know if you were in NCW or not. Truthfully, I couldn't careless because unlike other people, my focus is solely on the here and now. And here and now pits us against one another at October Revolution. Mike, you're truly hard to figure out, you know? You're built like a brick shithouse. You appear to be well-trained as a professional wrestling. To the naked eye, it'd appear that you know what you're doing.
But you don't, do you? You're lost in the ring. You look scared in the ring. You look like a lost puppy, frantically searching around the ring for your mother so you can latch back onto her nipples. You're a disaster, to be honest.
To me, you're just wasted potential.
You can't get the job done. You'll never be able to get it done. Judging from your record and performance here, I think you enjoy losing. Maybe losing is okay with you, but I can't fucking stand to lose. If I performed like you do on a weekly basis, I'd put a bullet in my head years ago. You're pathetic, and it baffles me that individuals like you are STILL getting opportunities when you've proven unable to capitalize on them. As far as I'm concerned, you should be wrestling on the house shows and pay-per-view pre-shows because that's all you deserve. You're as inconsistent as a dollar store condom, Mike. It's embarrassing. You need to pull your fucking self together, man.
But you can't, can you? What we see is what we get with Mike Laszlo. A guy who looks like a World champion, but wrestles like he should be competing for the Diamond's championship.
Such a fucking shame, man. Such a fucking shame.
-----
I could.... but I won't.
See, the only thing that matters is that I lost those matches. No excuses, no sob stories; nothing, I just didn't get the job done two consecutive weeks. That's all there is to it. Roberto, I don't blame the tactics you used to win our match. I'd done the same if the opportunity presented itself. Cyrus, I applaud you for a great effort and I appreciate the fact that you know your way around a wrestling ring.
Just remember this, gentlemen. I don't care if one of you is the longest reigning NCW champion in history or not, both of you are beatable. And if our paths ever cross again, the results will be very, very different. I promise you that. But until that day arrives, kudos to both of you for amazing performances.
But that's in the past, and if there's one consistent thing about professional wrestling, it's that thinking in the past will lead to broken bones, loss of teeth, and various losses in the record books. So, I'm done with it, washing my hands of it, and moving on because while I may have lost a lot of my momentum, the opportunity to regain it is staring my right in the face.
Mike Laszlo. I don't know if IWF is your first rodeo. I don't know if you were in NCW or not. Truthfully, I couldn't careless because unlike other people, my focus is solely on the here and now. And here and now pits us against one another at October Revolution. Mike, you're truly hard to figure out, you know? You're built like a brick shithouse. You appear to be well-trained as a professional wrestling. To the naked eye, it'd appear that you know what you're doing.
But you don't, do you? You're lost in the ring. You look scared in the ring. You look like a lost puppy, frantically searching around the ring for your mother so you can latch back onto her nipples. You're a disaster, to be honest.
To me, you're just wasted potential.
You can't get the job done. You'll never be able to get it done. Judging from your record and performance here, I think you enjoy losing. Maybe losing is okay with you, but I can't fucking stand to lose. If I performed like you do on a weekly basis, I'd put a bullet in my head years ago. You're pathetic, and it baffles me that individuals like you are STILL getting opportunities when you've proven unable to capitalize on them. As far as I'm concerned, you should be wrestling on the house shows and pay-per-view pre-shows because that's all you deserve. You're as inconsistent as a dollar store condom, Mike. It's embarrassing. You need to pull your fucking self together, man.
But you can't, can you? What we see is what we get with Mike Laszlo. A guy who looks like a World champion, but wrestles like he should be competing for the Diamond's championship.
Such a fucking shame, man. Such a fucking shame.
-----
March 3rd, 2000
The location is the Lee Correctional Institution in Bishopville, South Carolina; the more precise setting is inside the visitor's wing of the facility. The visitor's room, painted white with tiled floors and barred windows, is full of various prisoners as well as their friends and family. Not every inhabitant of this facility has the opportunity to enter this room, some people's crimes automatically disqualify them from having visiting rights, while other individuals simply have no one to visit them.
Constant chatter fills the room, there's roughly about thirty conversations ongoing at the moment, which makes all of the conversations inaudible to the distant ear. There's many roundtables throughout; some prisoners sit freely at the tables, while others find themselves cuffed to it. All in all, the room is a melting pot for criminals and it's definitely not Disney World.
At one of the far tables sits Killian Creed, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He's a lucky one; his hands are free, allowing him to clasp them together in front of him on the table top. Sitting across from him is Samantha Williams, clad in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a too-big-for-her sweatshirt. Her hair is a mess and she's not wearing any makeup -- she obviously thought things through before beautifying herself for a trip to a prison.
They've been sitting in silence for the past five minutes, neither one knowing exactly what to say to the other. This is their first face-to-face encounter since the end of 1998, just before Killian was arrested. Killian, realizing his time is running out on his visitation time, decides to take a leap.
Killian Creed: You look beautiful, Sam.
She looks confused before allowing a small smile to cross her face.
Samantha Williams: You're a terrible liar, Killian, you always have been.
Killian Creed: (shaking his head) No, I mean it, you're beautiful. But don't worry, all right? If anyone in here tries anything, I'll be all over 'em like stink on shit.
The smile is still present on her delicate face, and following Killian's remark, it grows a bit bigger. Killian smiles a bit himself, but it quickly disappears from his face when he remembers where he is. Sam sighs softly, before clearing her throat, realizing it's her turn to take a leap.
Samantha Williams: I want you to know that I'm sorry, Killian. I know it's been a long time and I'm a horrible person for not being by your side when you needed me the most, but I just didn't know what to think, you know? I had -- I have -- so many questions, you know? And I stayed away from the court hearings, news, internet, etc. because I didn't want to hear the bullshit. And I guess with me choosing to ignore all of it, I just kind of forced myself to stay away, you know?
Killian Creed: You don't owe me anything, Sam. Not a damn thing is owed by you to me, I promise you that.
Samantha Williams: I -- uh, I -- can you -- I mean, I just don't understand it, Killian. What happened? Why did you put yourself in that situation? I -- why did you do it?
Sam's smile is gone, replaced by a sad expression that rips Killian's heart into pieces. Her eyes are filled with tears and she's fighting to keep them locked away. Killian is doing his best to maintain an expressionless face, this may be the visiting room, but the fellow prisoner's are still trying to figure him out, so he has to keep his composure.
Guard: (yelling) All right, time's up -- every body up and single file, back to your cells!
Sam loses her battle, a tear and then another escapes and tumbles down her cheek. Killian sighs before climbing to his feet and looking down at her.
Killian Creed: I know you want answers, Sam. I know. And I promise you, when the time's right, I'll tell you everything you want to know.
Sam forces herself to nod in response as she's unable to speak because she's still trying to fight back her emotions. Killian looks at her for another moment, before spinning and heading towards the line. Sam watches as all of the prisoner's file out of the room, one-by-one... and as soon as Killian disappears, she lets all of her emotions lose. She feels the burning desire to leave; she wants to be anywhere but here and quickly gets to her feet. She reaches the exit and quickly steps outside, slamming the door closed behind her....
-----
Present
The wind is howling, throwing Fall colored leaves all over the place. The sounds of birds chirping attempts to compete with the evil yell of the wind, but fails to put up much fight. The sun struggles to peak through closed clouds and each time it manages to break throuh, the clouds bully their way back in front. These same clouds are in the middle of relieving themselves, dropping small droplets of rain to the ground below. The world stops for no one; and all of these acts of nature are occurring simultaneously, catching Killian Creed in the crossfire. Creed, clad in a pair of blue jeans and a gray hoodie, is standing in the middle of a cemetery in the heart of Charleston. He's standing mere feet away from a headstone and the stone reads as this:
Michelle Francis Creed
June 2nd, 1940 to February 14th, 2009
"An Angel on earth who returned home far too soon"
June 2nd, 1940 to February 14th, 2009
"An Angel on earth who returned home far too soon"
The burial belongs to his mother; Michelle was a strong and resilient woman. She raised her two sons on her own and never complained. She loved her kids more than life itself, she did everything in her power to make sure they had the lives they deserved. She was always there for them, no matter what.
Killian Creed: (clears his throat) I, uh -- I don't really know what to say, you know? I mean, it's just --
He trails off in mid-sentence; he feels kind of silly talking to a grave, which is causes him to look around every few minutes to make sure no one's watching him. But so many more emotions are making themselves felt inside his body. This is the first time he's been to her grave. And while she was always around for her sons, neither one of them was around for her when she was dying and needed them the most. Not one of them attended her funeral. This is the first time Killian's been in her presence in fifteen years.
Killian Creed: I just -- you know, there's so many things I wanted -- or, I mean, I want -- to tell you. I know you had so many questions; so many of them, and rightfully so. I can't imagine how much pain we caused you. I just -- I don't know.
He pauses for a moment, unsure of what he wants to say next. The rain is picking up a bit more and to counteract it, he puts on his hood to try to block some of it out. The sun has been completely defeated; down and out for the ten count, as the clouds have just taken over the sky. Killian looks up towards the sky, staring aimlessly at the clouds above, allowing the raindrops to crash into his face. He sighs once more before returning his attention to the headstone in front of him.
Killian Creed: I feel stupid doing this, you know? I don't even know if you can hear me. But -- I don't know, I guess I just felt like it was time for me to come here. You remember Sam, right? Well, she's gone and I don't know where she is. It's entirely my fault, I did the one thing I knew I couldn't -- and that was to get upset in front of her. With her gone, I just -- I don't know, I really don't know what I'm doing anymore, you know? I'm just here -- just -- here.
He pauses again, his eyes are gradually filling up with tears. Killian is a tough son of a bitch; from the days of his childhood, wrestling, prison, etc. -- everything in his life has molded him into who he is today. But there are only two people than can cause him to breakdown emotionally, Sam and his mother. He sniffles before wiping at his eyes, refusing to allow the tears to roll down his cheeks.
Killian Creed: I don't know. I just, I want you to know that Ethan and I love you. We always will -- I promise you that. It's just, uh, things happened, you know? More than what you read in the papers or saw on the TV. Things happened -- and I know that doesn't really explain everything for you, but I, uh, I just want you to know that we would have been there for you if we could have been. And you know, I know the questions you had, or have, aren't answered. Some day they will be, but please -- just understand that we never meant to hurt you.
Even Killian is not entirely sure why he decided to do this today, maybe it's because losing Sam has made him want to repair any ill will he caused others, or maybe today was just the day -- but either way, it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest.
Killian Creed: Things don't always work out like they should, and I know I can't go back and make it up to you. But understand this: I love you. And I did what I did because it was the best thing to do for our family. I may look like the villain, but my intentions were pure. Don't ever forget that, please.
He takes a deep breath, pausing for a moment as he looks down at the stone in front of him. He wipes away freshly developed tears from his eyes.
Killian Creed: I won't be a stranger, I'll try to come back more often because you deserve it. And I --
The sound of a car door closing catches his attention, and quickly he turns his head towards the pathway. A man is standing at his car; through the gloomy air and rain, he's not able to make out any facial features, but immediately he sees a familiar vehicle: a brown, beaten, and battered Camaro. He runs towards the pathway, hoping to get his hands on that son of a bitch. The man quickly hurries to his car and gets inside. He pulls off in a hurry before Killian can reach him. Creed runs in his direction down the pathway for a few feet, before realizing he has no chance to catch him.
Killian Creed: (yelling) FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
He watches as the guy drives wildly throughout the cemetery, before eventually making his exit onto the street. Killian mumbles more obscenities to himself as he walks back to his car. Moving towards the driver's side, he notices something sticking into his front tire. It's a heroin needle, the man must have stuck it into Killian's tire. Attached to the needle is a small piece of paper; being careful not to come into contact with the needle itself, Killian grabs a corner of the note and rips it away. He tries to prevent the rain from hitting it as he reads it. The note says this:
"If you don't stop trying to contact Sam, or stop trying to find her, I will kill her. I promise you. I will kill her. Unless you want to see the bitch dead, it's time for you to move on."
Killian's cheeks are hot and shaking with anger, teeth are grinding, and blood is pumping has he reads the note over to himself a second and a third time. He pauses for a moment, showing no movement as the anger just continues to build inside. He drops the note and just loses it, viciously kicking at the driver's side door of his car. As hard as he can, over and over again, before finishing it off with a right hand to the glass of the door. It causes the window to crack in various places from the impact, but it doesn't shatter.
Killian Creed: (through clenched teeth) Better get my bunk ready at Lee Correctional; looks like I'll be coming back very, very soon.
Killian looks at the needle; he decides to leave it in there so that the tire won't lose air as fast. His front door won't open, so he climbs in through the passenger side. He angrily jams his key into the ignition and immediately hits the gas. He drives like a madman, before disappearing following a right turn out of the cemetery...
-----
I don't know about you, Mike, but I'm excited for this match. I have a chance to redeem myself after two poor performances and you're also looking to make up for your effort last week. We're both hungry, ready to tear each other apart, and I know that's going to make a great match. And not only will it be great, but it's going to be fought under Man of Steel rules, which apparently is a popular stipulation around here. Which means I get to decide whether I make you tap or knock your ass out.
Decisions, decisions.
But I'll keep that a surprise, okay? I want you pissing your pants in fear because you don't know whether you're about to lose some teeth or have your windpipe closed.
But that excitement is for our match. Let's analyze how we got here, shall we? Things are ran odd around here. I still haven't been able to figure them out. When I faced Verona, I mentioned many of his questionable decisions: from the way he dresses, why he uses the woman's bathroom, and most importantly, why he books certain matches. I mentioned his booking of you against Ryan Blade for the Man of Steel title. I stand by that, Mike. It was questionable.
You deserve nothing, but get everything. Funny how that works, isn't it?
It's irrelevant that you beat Ryan in a match prior to that. Big deal; you beat Rob Diamond a couple of weeks ago, thing that means you can fuck his mother? NO! One match doesn't earn you shit in this business. You didn't earn your title shot. You weren't prepared for it. And that's why you got beat. You were out of your league against Blade, and quite frankly, you're out of your league against me this week as well.
But let's use Mike Laszlo's logic for a moment, shall we? A couple of weeks ago, I wrestled a match that featured Gjenrei. I made him tap out. But yet, he's wrestling Alex Jones for the Cruiserweight championship the same night you and I are going to battle.
GOD DAMNIT! THAT'S NOT FAIR! I BEAT GJENREI! THAT TITLE SHOT IS MINE!!!
No, no it's not. A victory, no matter who it's over, comes with no promises. You beat Ryan, but you weren't prepared for a title shot. Plain and simple. But with your logic, shouldn't I be wrestling for gold this week? That ridiculously bleached-blonde hair is evidently making you more stupid than most.
But of course, even if I did earn a title shot, Joe ruined that for me. But that's something for another time.
I don't know, Mike. It's crazy, you beat Rob Diamond one week, but lose to Davey Ortega the next week. You can't put multiple wins together, can you? You just can't get over that hump. The only thing you leave your mark on around here is the bathroom stalls in the men's bathroom.
No, I will not call you for a ride on the Laszlo train. Quit asking!
People will never remember the name Mike Laszlo. Your wrestling, while solid when you want it to be, isn't memorable. You can't win the big one. You're doomed for mediocrity the rest of your life, Mike. It's a shame, really.
I could go on and on for days, Mike. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you're entirely shit. You could do so much better and one of these days, I hope you do break through. But it's not going to be this week, man. We're both looking to rebound. We're both looking to make an impact heading into the new year.
The question is: between you and me, who wants it more? And I already know the answer to it, so don't even bother. The desire I have to succeed is stronger than anything you can imagine. Father Time is coming for me, my days as a professional wrestler are numbered; so if I'm going to make my move, I have to do it now.
And I will. This week, you and me, I know will put on a solid match. And I know one day you'll discover your passage and find your potential, but it's not going to be this week. You will get beat.
And if you find yourself unable to perform after the ass kicking I hand to you this week, just send Alexis my way. She can have all the Creed she wants.
I'll see you at October Revolution, Mikey. Be ready.
Well howdy there pardner.