Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Mar 29, 2015 4:55:51 GMT
THREE MONTHS AGO…
For the first time in a long time, our scene opens on Andrew Jacobsen. He’s sitting on a couch in his home in Minnesota, a heating pad resting at the base of his neck, and he has his feet up. The wreckage of a Christmas just to come litters the room, and the semi-melted frost on the windows is testament to the pace the heaters are trying to work at. The look in his eyes is a bit distant, a bit glazed over, far removed from the focused gaze of the North Star the fans have seen before. It’s clear that the man who tore down the house in the waning months of NCW is lurking beneath the surface, but the surface shows a shadow of the man who once was. He sighs, reaching over and grabbing a can of soda, and cracks it open. Andrew’s about to knock it back when his phone rings. Confused, he sets the can down and answers the call.
”Hello?”
The voice that we hear over the phone is another one that’s been long for the ears of the IWF faithful: Emma Danielson. She sounds somewhat concerned, but covers it up well enough with a façade of cheeriness.
”Hey, Andy. How’s it going today?”
Andrew sighs, left hand instinctively going to the base of his neck and rubbing it gently with his fingertips.
”Same as it’s been. Pain’s less strong than it’s been. That pillow’s been helping…a lot, actually.”
"Good! Good...Dad says hi, tells you to suck it up and get back on the clock. As usual."
This draws a quick chuckle from Andrew, who sighs, looking up at the ceiling. His gaze slides over to his trophy case, where the testaments to his accomplishments sit: his college degree, the four NCW titles he won during his time with that organization, and a few photos of career highlights. He runs a hand through his hair, looking back down.
"D'you think I should?"
"Should what?"
"Get back into things. I...I miss it, Em. I mean, look at me. I'm screaming towards thirty, haven't had much in the way of work that wasn't autographing and photo ops over the last year or so, and...really, what am I going to do? Take a bachelor's in sociology and go find an office job? Do you think that'd last for me?"
A pause from the other side of the phone.
"...yeah, I suppose not. You're going to need to be careful. Last time you tried that, you re-injured yourself within a month."
Andrew shrugs, rolling his shoulders back.
"And maybe that's a lesson to be learned. Wrestle smarter, not harder. I'm going to need a training partner, though...someone I know won't go easy on me, someone who'll kick my ass to get back into shape."
As he says this, a contemplative look crosses over his eyes. Emma "hmm"s into the phone, and her questioning tone pipes through the speaker.
"Yeah? Who'll you find like that? Besides me, of course."
Andrew sits up straight, taking the heating pad off of his neck and setting it aside. He leans forward, a small grin spreading onto his face as a familiar look of determination sets in his eyes.
"I think I know just the guy..."
Well well, IWF. Hasn't it been a while? God, it feels like forever since I've actually...sat down and had one of these conversations with everyone. This is nice. I...I really missed this.
Anyone remember the Riot? I remember the Riot, the Roulette...I always had crap luck with the draw in those. Don't get the luxury of revealing my entry number on this one, though. Kind of makes it better. I have to make do with how it falls and not obsess over it.
I suppose I should address the elephant in the room first...why am I suddenly friends with the Ace? Why am I alright with standing with a man who helped try to tear my family apart, who beat me bloody and turned my best friend against me? Given all the history between us, how can I really throw away all of that and just smile at him?
It's simple. Forgiveness.
Forgiveness is a powerful concept. I forgave the Ace for what he did because when the lights went out and everyone went home, I got to see Jake Conway. I got to see the father and husband busting his ass week in and week out, sticking to his principles and never giving up or in. I got to see a man who would go through hell if it meant his girls would never have to want or worry ever again. I saw a man who's stuck by his wife for seven years without a hint of wavering.
In short? I saw a man of integrity. And that's something wrestling sorely lacks. Integrity. Rob Diamond, Alex Jones, Spike Kane...these aren't men of integrity. They built their reputations on the most sophomoric of antics, turning themselves into a walking Jackass reel in order to draw laughs and entertainment from the crowd. But there's a reason you don't hear about Johnny Knoxville or Bam Margera anymore: people burn out on them. There's always got to be some new flavor.
The world loves a bastard, it seems. They like the escapism that seeing someone who just doesn't give a damn run around and unleash their id on the world provides. But at the end of the day, that's all it is: fantasy. They're a walking power trip, and power trips never last. But hard work? Dedication? That builds foundations, that builds monuments, that builds cities and countries. Those are the values that'll last forever.
On that note, Spike Kane! My God, man. It's been too long! How've you been, buddy? I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Though it seems weird with you now, I'll be the bigger man. I won't try to rail against you as being completely obsolete. You've got your place, you've got your just reason for being here. I didn't think it was drunken brawls with Brad, though. But hey, what do I know? Just a never-was working over a neck injury and ring rust.
Seeing Alex Jones at the top...it sticks in my craw. I've always disliked that man. Call it what you will: envy, ego, holier-than-thou righteousness, but he's always seemed like a man who never really deserved the crowd's love. He's a disrespectful douchebag who'll play any flavor of the month role he has to in order to stay in the spotlight. But then, I suppose the world loved Steve Awesome too, so what do I know?
So many faces I barely recognize. Renee Pleasant, Mohammad al-Thani...it's a strange world that I'm walking back into. It's so weird feeling like the vet that's been around forever. I've only been a pro for five, five and a half years and here I am acting like I'm some territory throwback going for one last glory run. But no matter what I do, I know I'm doing it with the same ethical core that I've always had: fight hard. Fight clean. Stand for what's right. Stand for what you believe in.
I haven't changed. Why does it feel like the world's changed without me?
Andrew taps a number in his phone, setting it to dialing. He squares up on the couch, the same focused look in his eyes, sharper than before. His fingers drum on the arm of the couch, and when the other person picks up it's with an audible amount of surprise. Andrew just grins at the sound of their voice, nodding as he leans forward.
"Hello, Jake. How's it going? Wanted to know if you wanted to meet up sometime soon...talk a little opportunity."
For the first time in a long time, our scene opens on Andrew Jacobsen. He’s sitting on a couch in his home in Minnesota, a heating pad resting at the base of his neck, and he has his feet up. The wreckage of a Christmas just to come litters the room, and the semi-melted frost on the windows is testament to the pace the heaters are trying to work at. The look in his eyes is a bit distant, a bit glazed over, far removed from the focused gaze of the North Star the fans have seen before. It’s clear that the man who tore down the house in the waning months of NCW is lurking beneath the surface, but the surface shows a shadow of the man who once was. He sighs, reaching over and grabbing a can of soda, and cracks it open. Andrew’s about to knock it back when his phone rings. Confused, he sets the can down and answers the call.
”Hello?”
The voice that we hear over the phone is another one that’s been long for the ears of the IWF faithful: Emma Danielson. She sounds somewhat concerned, but covers it up well enough with a façade of cheeriness.
”Hey, Andy. How’s it going today?”
Andrew sighs, left hand instinctively going to the base of his neck and rubbing it gently with his fingertips.
”Same as it’s been. Pain’s less strong than it’s been. That pillow’s been helping…a lot, actually.”
"Good! Good...Dad says hi, tells you to suck it up and get back on the clock. As usual."
This draws a quick chuckle from Andrew, who sighs, looking up at the ceiling. His gaze slides over to his trophy case, where the testaments to his accomplishments sit: his college degree, the four NCW titles he won during his time with that organization, and a few photos of career highlights. He runs a hand through his hair, looking back down.
"D'you think I should?"
"Should what?"
"Get back into things. I...I miss it, Em. I mean, look at me. I'm screaming towards thirty, haven't had much in the way of work that wasn't autographing and photo ops over the last year or so, and...really, what am I going to do? Take a bachelor's in sociology and go find an office job? Do you think that'd last for me?"
A pause from the other side of the phone.
"...yeah, I suppose not. You're going to need to be careful. Last time you tried that, you re-injured yourself within a month."
Andrew shrugs, rolling his shoulders back.
"And maybe that's a lesson to be learned. Wrestle smarter, not harder. I'm going to need a training partner, though...someone I know won't go easy on me, someone who'll kick my ass to get back into shape."
As he says this, a contemplative look crosses over his eyes. Emma "hmm"s into the phone, and her questioning tone pipes through the speaker.
"Yeah? Who'll you find like that? Besides me, of course."
Andrew sits up straight, taking the heating pad off of his neck and setting it aside. He leans forward, a small grin spreading onto his face as a familiar look of determination sets in his eyes.
"I think I know just the guy..."
Well well, IWF. Hasn't it been a while? God, it feels like forever since I've actually...sat down and had one of these conversations with everyone. This is nice. I...I really missed this.
Anyone remember the Riot? I remember the Riot, the Roulette...I always had crap luck with the draw in those. Don't get the luxury of revealing my entry number on this one, though. Kind of makes it better. I have to make do with how it falls and not obsess over it.
I suppose I should address the elephant in the room first...why am I suddenly friends with the Ace? Why am I alright with standing with a man who helped try to tear my family apart, who beat me bloody and turned my best friend against me? Given all the history between us, how can I really throw away all of that and just smile at him?
It's simple. Forgiveness.
Forgiveness is a powerful concept. I forgave the Ace for what he did because when the lights went out and everyone went home, I got to see Jake Conway. I got to see the father and husband busting his ass week in and week out, sticking to his principles and never giving up or in. I got to see a man who would go through hell if it meant his girls would never have to want or worry ever again. I saw a man who's stuck by his wife for seven years without a hint of wavering.
In short? I saw a man of integrity. And that's something wrestling sorely lacks. Integrity. Rob Diamond, Alex Jones, Spike Kane...these aren't men of integrity. They built their reputations on the most sophomoric of antics, turning themselves into a walking Jackass reel in order to draw laughs and entertainment from the crowd. But there's a reason you don't hear about Johnny Knoxville or Bam Margera anymore: people burn out on them. There's always got to be some new flavor.
The world loves a bastard, it seems. They like the escapism that seeing someone who just doesn't give a damn run around and unleash their id on the world provides. But at the end of the day, that's all it is: fantasy. They're a walking power trip, and power trips never last. But hard work? Dedication? That builds foundations, that builds monuments, that builds cities and countries. Those are the values that'll last forever.
On that note, Spike Kane! My God, man. It's been too long! How've you been, buddy? I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. Though it seems weird with you now, I'll be the bigger man. I won't try to rail against you as being completely obsolete. You've got your place, you've got your just reason for being here. I didn't think it was drunken brawls with Brad, though. But hey, what do I know? Just a never-was working over a neck injury and ring rust.
Seeing Alex Jones at the top...it sticks in my craw. I've always disliked that man. Call it what you will: envy, ego, holier-than-thou righteousness, but he's always seemed like a man who never really deserved the crowd's love. He's a disrespectful douchebag who'll play any flavor of the month role he has to in order to stay in the spotlight. But then, I suppose the world loved Steve Awesome too, so what do I know?
So many faces I barely recognize. Renee Pleasant, Mohammad al-Thani...it's a strange world that I'm walking back into. It's so weird feeling like the vet that's been around forever. I've only been a pro for five, five and a half years and here I am acting like I'm some territory throwback going for one last glory run. But no matter what I do, I know I'm doing it with the same ethical core that I've always had: fight hard. Fight clean. Stand for what's right. Stand for what you believe in.
I haven't changed. Why does it feel like the world's changed without me?
Andrew taps a number in his phone, setting it to dialing. He squares up on the couch, the same focused look in his eyes, sharper than before. His fingers drum on the arm of the couch, and when the other person picks up it's with an audible amount of surprise. Andrew just grins at the sound of their voice, nodding as he leans forward.
"Hello, Jake. How's it going? Wanted to know if you wanted to meet up sometime soon...talk a little opportunity."
Well howdy there pardner.