Post by logansky on Apr 14, 2024 21:28:38 GMT
Logan stared at his chromebook screen, looking over the Facebook post he had written up. Some of the kids in the locker room had suggested that more social media interactions would help connect him with fans.
Course they also told him Facebook was for old people. But well, he was old people goddamnit and he couldn’t understand the grams or the X or the tiktoks. At least with Facebook he could just type out what was going on and not have to worry about making a video or word limits.
After re-reading the post for the third time he nodded his head and posted it before he pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. The hotel desk chair was too small for his rangy frame, so when he stood up a series of pops and cracks sounded from his hips, legs, and back. He sighed as he stretched himself out, moving from side to side to work the stiffness from his joints.
He looked down at the desk, his eyes on the phone that was resting there. He cursed softly and picked it up before paging through his contacts to find Timmy’s number. He stared down at the screen for a moment before hitting the call button and lifted it to his ear. The phone rang once before going to voicemail. With a heavy sigh he disconnected the call.
His new sponsor, Elliot, told him to give his kids space. To acknowledge that he had hurt them and that when they were ready to talk they’d reach out. Easier said than done. Alicia and Timmy were his entire world. His heart ached from how bad he missed them. His grandbabies too. Kurt and Suzy. Then Timmy had Courtney and now baby Philip. He wanted to see his family.
Of course Elliot had also said they may never want to talk to him again. That hurt. It hurt him in a way that nothing else ever had. But considering everything that had happened? Everything that he did? He couldn’t blame them. But that was another reason he had started posting more. Maybe they wouldn’t take his calls. But maybe they could see what he was up too. See that he was trying to be better. That’s what he hoped anyways. He moved into another stretch and a white hot flash of pain exploded from his knee.
He walked across his room, picking up the bottle of aleve he’d gotten at Costco and opened it so he could shake out two of the little blue pills. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down in a gulp. His knee was bothering him again. Hell, these days it bothered him all the time. And the entire time the little insidious whisper in his head told him all that he needed to make the pain go away.
But he wasn’t going to do that again. He was done walking down that road. He didn’t need those pills. He couldn’t go back to that.
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. The voice was getting louder. He walked over to his chromebook and unplugged it from the desk and carried it over to his bed. He dug around in one of his bags until he pulled out a pair of earbuds and plugged them in before he took a seat on the plush comforter and started searching for online meetings.
~_~
Our scene opens on Logan, seated on a work bench at a bench press rack. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up, casting shadows across his face. The old man looks tired, with his elbows resting on his knees and his back bent forward.
“The people have decided that I should have a shot at the World Television title. I can’t pretend to know their reasons behind it. I have no shame in the work that I have done since coming here, but I am realistic enough to acknowledge that I have only a single win to my name. But the people have spoken. Maybe they believe in me. Maybe they think I can do it.”
His body shakes as he exhales a ragged breath.
“It wouldn’t be the first title I’ve held. Oh ya, The Machine has held some belts in his time. But never anywhere so grand. Never anything so prestigious. And now I have to face one of the hottest young stars in the business for it. Someone hungry to leave his stamp on the world, who is ruthless in the ring. Someone who despite all his accolades is starting to realize that in this business, what you’ve done before doesn’t matter. You’ve got to stay hungry. You have to keep pushing. Cause everyone has short term memory loss and if you don’t keep stepping then you are nothing.”
Lifting his hands he pushes his hood back so that he can stare into the camera. His expression is open, not bothering to hide the pain or exhaustion he was feeling.
“That’s something you don’t understand, son. It’s something that a lot of you young folk don’t understand. You sit there and talk about your accomplishments and all of the people you’ve beaten but that doesn’t really matter. You are close to the top now and you are a tough son of a bitch. I’m not taking any of that from you. But what you’ve done before? That’s just a drop in the bucket. Because on any given day anyone can knock you on your ass. When you start leaning back on what you’ve done you get complacent. You get soft. The only thing that matters is what you are doing or what you are going to do. So sure, you might write me off as some old man, making a last desperate grab for glory. I know damn well that everyone else has. It’s all anyone can talk about. Let’s be fair, there is certainly some truth to that. But I ain’t done yet.”
His knuckles pop slightly as he slowly clenches his hands into a fist and a grimace crosses his face. He shakes out his hands and sits up to better stare into the camera.
“But The Machine ain’t gonna give up just yet. Seems like every week someone has come out here and talked about how they are going to put me out to grass. Every week someone is talking about how they are going to end my career for good. That they are going to hurt me so bad that I won’t be able to get up again. But none of them have succeeded. I drag my carcass out of that ring and I walk into the back with my boots still on my feet. You’re an arrogant little shit so I know you think you are better than everyone else. But I plan on stepping into that ring, looking you in the eye and telling you that you aren’t man enough to put me down for good.”
He pushes himself to his feet and walks around the bench towards the weight rack. He grabs some plates from the rack and starts to load up the barbell on the press rack. He exhales heavily when he picks up the plates but moves at a steady pace as he loads the weight on.
“You talk a lot about family, son, and for good reason. You got a daddy, a step-daddy, a mom, an aunt, and a brother in the business. A veritable dynasty of wrestling runs in your blood. But I got a family too. Now they ain’t a bunch of stars. They aren’t famous. No one really knows them. But they drive me just as much as yours does. Hell, even more so.”
He steps back from his work, having loaded about 500 lbs onto the barbell. His head moves back and forth as he checks each side of the bar before letting out a breath.
“I came here to cement my legacy. Not just what I have done in the ring, though you can be damn sure that’s part of it too. But more importantly the legacy I leave behind to my children. To my grandchildren. To show them that I pursued something that I loved. That I dragged myself out of the shit and the mud that I had mired myself in and turned my life around. That just maybe, I have done something they could be proud of. I’ll probably never know if that happens. But I am going to keep trying until they lay these old bones to rest. But that’s alright. I got plenty of time.”
He shakes his head, lifting a hand to smack the side of his skull a few times before stepping towards the barbell. The weighted bar stands waiting for him and he steps forward,and wraps his fingers around it from underneath the bar. He stands for a moment, taking several deep breaths before he lifts it up off the wrack. Breath escapes his mouth with a hiss and the muscles in his arms stand out in stark contrast as he lifts the heavy burden. He struggles to suck breath in through his nose but it escapes in high pitched whistles. The cords in his neck stand out and the flesh of his face reddens from the exertion. For a long moment it seems as if nothing is going to happen and he will just drop the bar back onto the rack. But slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to curl the bar. His whole body starts to shake as he strains himself to hold his posture. Finally he brings the bar up to his chest, letting out a gasp of air. The old man pants for breath, holding it up with quivering arms before he slowly starts to lower it again. He grunts and wheezes as he forces himself to lower the heavy weight down in a controlled manner until he is able to drop it back into the rack with a metallic crash.
He nearly falls forward, taking support from the weight that had so recently put his body through so much. Then he slowly lifts his head and stares up into the camera.
“I ain’t done yet, son. The Machine keeps grinding along. I’m gonna show you just how much fight I got left in me, boy. You ain’t man enough to put me to pasture. You still just a boy. So maybe this Tuesday I put you over my knee and show you just what an old hoss can do. I ain’t done, not by a long shot, and that belt would look real nice around my waist.”
Mouth curling into a tired smile he pushes himself to stand upright and crosses his arms over his chest as the camera fades to black.
Course they also told him Facebook was for old people. But well, he was old people goddamnit and he couldn’t understand the grams or the X or the tiktoks. At least with Facebook he could just type out what was going on and not have to worry about making a video or word limits.
After re-reading the post for the third time he nodded his head and posted it before he pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. The hotel desk chair was too small for his rangy frame, so when he stood up a series of pops and cracks sounded from his hips, legs, and back. He sighed as he stretched himself out, moving from side to side to work the stiffness from his joints.
He looked down at the desk, his eyes on the phone that was resting there. He cursed softly and picked it up before paging through his contacts to find Timmy’s number. He stared down at the screen for a moment before hitting the call button and lifted it to his ear. The phone rang once before going to voicemail. With a heavy sigh he disconnected the call.
His new sponsor, Elliot, told him to give his kids space. To acknowledge that he had hurt them and that when they were ready to talk they’d reach out. Easier said than done. Alicia and Timmy were his entire world. His heart ached from how bad he missed them. His grandbabies too. Kurt and Suzy. Then Timmy had Courtney and now baby Philip. He wanted to see his family.
Of course Elliot had also said they may never want to talk to him again. That hurt. It hurt him in a way that nothing else ever had. But considering everything that had happened? Everything that he did? He couldn’t blame them. But that was another reason he had started posting more. Maybe they wouldn’t take his calls. But maybe they could see what he was up too. See that he was trying to be better. That’s what he hoped anyways. He moved into another stretch and a white hot flash of pain exploded from his knee.
He walked across his room, picking up the bottle of aleve he’d gotten at Costco and opened it so he could shake out two of the little blue pills. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down in a gulp. His knee was bothering him again. Hell, these days it bothered him all the time. And the entire time the little insidious whisper in his head told him all that he needed to make the pain go away.
But he wasn’t going to do that again. He was done walking down that road. He didn’t need those pills. He couldn’t go back to that.
He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. The voice was getting louder. He walked over to his chromebook and unplugged it from the desk and carried it over to his bed. He dug around in one of his bags until he pulled out a pair of earbuds and plugged them in before he took a seat on the plush comforter and started searching for online meetings.
~_~
Our scene opens on Logan, seated on a work bench at a bench press rack. The hood of his sweatshirt is pulled up, casting shadows across his face. The old man looks tired, with his elbows resting on his knees and his back bent forward.
“The people have decided that I should have a shot at the World Television title. I can’t pretend to know their reasons behind it. I have no shame in the work that I have done since coming here, but I am realistic enough to acknowledge that I have only a single win to my name. But the people have spoken. Maybe they believe in me. Maybe they think I can do it.”
His body shakes as he exhales a ragged breath.
“It wouldn’t be the first title I’ve held. Oh ya, The Machine has held some belts in his time. But never anywhere so grand. Never anything so prestigious. And now I have to face one of the hottest young stars in the business for it. Someone hungry to leave his stamp on the world, who is ruthless in the ring. Someone who despite all his accolades is starting to realize that in this business, what you’ve done before doesn’t matter. You’ve got to stay hungry. You have to keep pushing. Cause everyone has short term memory loss and if you don’t keep stepping then you are nothing.”
Lifting his hands he pushes his hood back so that he can stare into the camera. His expression is open, not bothering to hide the pain or exhaustion he was feeling.
“That’s something you don’t understand, son. It’s something that a lot of you young folk don’t understand. You sit there and talk about your accomplishments and all of the people you’ve beaten but that doesn’t really matter. You are close to the top now and you are a tough son of a bitch. I’m not taking any of that from you. But what you’ve done before? That’s just a drop in the bucket. Because on any given day anyone can knock you on your ass. When you start leaning back on what you’ve done you get complacent. You get soft. The only thing that matters is what you are doing or what you are going to do. So sure, you might write me off as some old man, making a last desperate grab for glory. I know damn well that everyone else has. It’s all anyone can talk about. Let’s be fair, there is certainly some truth to that. But I ain’t done yet.”
His knuckles pop slightly as he slowly clenches his hands into a fist and a grimace crosses his face. He shakes out his hands and sits up to better stare into the camera.
“But The Machine ain’t gonna give up just yet. Seems like every week someone has come out here and talked about how they are going to put me out to grass. Every week someone is talking about how they are going to end my career for good. That they are going to hurt me so bad that I won’t be able to get up again. But none of them have succeeded. I drag my carcass out of that ring and I walk into the back with my boots still on my feet. You’re an arrogant little shit so I know you think you are better than everyone else. But I plan on stepping into that ring, looking you in the eye and telling you that you aren’t man enough to put me down for good.”
He pushes himself to his feet and walks around the bench towards the weight rack. He grabs some plates from the rack and starts to load up the barbell on the press rack. He exhales heavily when he picks up the plates but moves at a steady pace as he loads the weight on.
“You talk a lot about family, son, and for good reason. You got a daddy, a step-daddy, a mom, an aunt, and a brother in the business. A veritable dynasty of wrestling runs in your blood. But I got a family too. Now they ain’t a bunch of stars. They aren’t famous. No one really knows them. But they drive me just as much as yours does. Hell, even more so.”
He steps back from his work, having loaded about 500 lbs onto the barbell. His head moves back and forth as he checks each side of the bar before letting out a breath.
“I came here to cement my legacy. Not just what I have done in the ring, though you can be damn sure that’s part of it too. But more importantly the legacy I leave behind to my children. To my grandchildren. To show them that I pursued something that I loved. That I dragged myself out of the shit and the mud that I had mired myself in and turned my life around. That just maybe, I have done something they could be proud of. I’ll probably never know if that happens. But I am going to keep trying until they lay these old bones to rest. But that’s alright. I got plenty of time.”
He shakes his head, lifting a hand to smack the side of his skull a few times before stepping towards the barbell. The weighted bar stands waiting for him and he steps forward,and wraps his fingers around it from underneath the bar. He stands for a moment, taking several deep breaths before he lifts it up off the wrack. Breath escapes his mouth with a hiss and the muscles in his arms stand out in stark contrast as he lifts the heavy burden. He struggles to suck breath in through his nose but it escapes in high pitched whistles. The cords in his neck stand out and the flesh of his face reddens from the exertion. For a long moment it seems as if nothing is going to happen and he will just drop the bar back onto the rack. But slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to curl the bar. His whole body starts to shake as he strains himself to hold his posture. Finally he brings the bar up to his chest, letting out a gasp of air. The old man pants for breath, holding it up with quivering arms before he slowly starts to lower it again. He grunts and wheezes as he forces himself to lower the heavy weight down in a controlled manner until he is able to drop it back into the rack with a metallic crash.
He nearly falls forward, taking support from the weight that had so recently put his body through so much. Then he slowly lifts his head and stares up into the camera.
“I ain’t done yet, son. The Machine keeps grinding along. I’m gonna show you just how much fight I got left in me, boy. You ain’t man enough to put me to pasture. You still just a boy. So maybe this Tuesday I put you over my knee and show you just what an old hoss can do. I ain’t done, not by a long shot, and that belt would look real nice around my waist.”
Mouth curling into a tired smile he pushes himself to stand upright and crosses his arms over his chest as the camera fades to black.
Well howdy there pardner.