Post by Chris King on Sept 25, 2016 1:43:57 GMT
“Endurance is one of the most difficult disciplines, but it is to the one who endures that the final victory comes.” - Buddha
Ya see what happens when nobody fuckin’ interferes in my matches?
That’s right, Chris King is back on the horse after a few weeks walking beside--or behind, depending on who you talk to--that same horse. And no, the horse is not real.
John Gillmen, I told you that you were at a disadvantage, and I meant it. You weren’t ready to take on a guy like me in a big-game situation. In a way, it’s really your own fault; had you not inspired me so, then perhaps this message would have a different tone. As it is, though… I told you so.
I looked you in the face, took your best shots, and stood tall at the end.
My father told me that “hard work beats talent if talent don’t work as hard.” You worked hard; I worked harder. Simple as that.
Now, I’m sure we’ll see each other down the road sometime, and I welcome another chance to remind you that things aren’t going to be easy for you in Imperial. You may win, you may not; the challenge is still there. And I hope you came out of this contest learning something more about yourself than you had already known. If you didn’t, well… there’s always the tape.
Scoreboard, son!
FINAL SCORE
Chris King: 1
John Gillmen: 0
On to the bigger fish to fry.
------------
Location: King Household, Kalamazoo, MI
Date/Time: 05MAY04, 0609 Hours EDT
When I started out in Imperial, I told you guys about some pivotal events that made me the man I am today. They mostly revolved around my wrestling career; my first time out to see an event, a time where I needed reassurance, how I met my wife. This moment, that I’m going to talk to you about, is along those lines… just a little earlier in the show.
So on the morning of my 18th birthday, it was shaping up to be a typical Wednesday. I didn’t want to go to class today, but there was no way you could miss a day unless you were sick in my house. No playing hooky in the King household, for sure.
Judy King: Get up, Christopher.
I groaned and rolled over, away from my mom and the light that blared through the bedroom window.
Judy King: Get UP, Christopher.
I made an unintelligible whine, I think--I was 18, after all--and pulled the covers over my head. Clearly, my mom didn’t want to deal with it. She yanked the covers off my bed.
Judy King: I promise you, boy, I gave birth to you 18 years ago today, and if you don’t get up and get ready for school, it’ll be the last anniversary we celebrate.
I rolled over again, squinting in the sun.
Chris King: Mom, haven’t I earned the right to have my birthday off? I mean, I’m 18, for crying out loud!
Judy King: Until the school declares your birthday a holiday, you’re going.
Chris King: but Mooooommmmm…
Judy King: Don’t you ‘but mom’ me. Get up and get in the bathroom before your sisters start their morning routine.
I shot out of bed, remembering how long it would take to get into the can if Hannah or Emily made it in there first.
Chris King: Oh shit!
Mom gasped.
Judy King: Language!
I moved past Mom really quickly, not pausing for the lecture that would inevitably follow.
Chris King: Sorry, mom. Love you!
Judy King: Happy birthday, son…
The rest of the day was pretty much a blur. Mom had a party for me after school, and my siblings all got me something for my birthday--never was much, but a couple of them put some thought into a joint gift of University of Michigan sleep pants and a mini Wolverines helmet signed by Desmond Howard--but the biggest deal came later.
Location: King Household, Kalamazoo, MI
Date/Time: 05MAY04, 1849 Hours EDT
After the party wrapped up, my dad came home from work and pulled me aside. Normally, when Dad wanted to talk, it was bad; we came from the “no news is good news” camp. But he had me close my eyes and step outside into the driveway.
When I opened my eyes, our primer gray 1995 Toyota Tercel station wagon had a big maize and blue bow on top of it.
Harold King: Happy birthday, son.
I couldn’t believe my eyes: I’d been driving that thing around for the last couple years, as it was our third vehicle, but it was never mine. I always had to share it with my older sisters. But Dad was telling me it was MINE now!
Chris King: No way… you mean this is mine now?
Harold King: You’ll have to put your own gas in it, and find a way to pay us for the insurance you’ll need, but… you’re a man now. You should be able to drive to where you want without being stuck.
He smiled at me. I was overjoyed. I had my own CAR! Sure, it looked like hell, but it was mine! I hugged my dad and took the keys from him. I climbed behind the wheel and turned the key… and nothing. One of my DAMN sisters had run all the gas out of the car. I sighed and headed back inside, while my dad just laughed.
Harold King: And what did we learn, son?
Chris King: (dejectedly) Check the gas gauge before getting excited.
He chuckled again.
Harold King: We’ll get you some gas tomorrow, and you can take your ride to school. No more bus for you.
My frown went right back to a smile as I hugged him again, more than I’m sure he was comfortable with; Dad wasn’t much of a hugger, but he put up with his children’s affections.
Chris King: Thanks, Dad!
Harold King: Happy birthday, Christopher.
I’ll never forget that day; I still have the station wagon. I could have traded it in 200,000 miles ago, but I have treated it with the respect it deserves.
I’ve had to endure many, many miles in that car. But it was MINE then, and it’s MINE now. So the lesson my dad taught me has stuck with me all these years: value what you have, strive for what you want, work harder than you think you even can, and do things the right way.
Hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
------------
Welcome to the “Bigger Fish to Fry” portion of the show. First up, the sham of a champion, living off his daddy’s name and legacy, even if it doesn’t even belong to him--Noah Field.
Ever since I convinced the bastard to finally step up and be a man, giving me my rematch I rightfully deserve for the Invictus Championship at Extreme Endurance, one thing has been on my mind: why didn’t I push harder a while ago? Why did it take a contest of this magnitude for me to finally come out of my shell and strive for better? I guess I was trying to take the high road, to be the bigger person and let my accomplishments speak for themselves. But that’s not how things are done around here. If you want something, you have to take it. I mean, look at our current Invictus Champion. He didn’t wait his turn; instead, he stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong enough times that it forced the front office to take notice. He used his bullshit claims of “being undefeated” to justify his actions, and used his tainted victories over me to justify getting involved in my RIGHTFULLY earned Invictus Title shot.
You know what? I’m going to take a break from talking about Noah Field to discuss something near and dear to my heart: my relationship with my dad. You see, as the seventh kid in my house, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for my father to see me at my sporting events or anything. He worked ungodly hours to support all his children, and while we didn’t go without, we didn’t have all the creature comforts that kids have today. We knew that mom and dad were doing the best they could, and that they loved us. But sometimes, Mom would have to bring the video camera to my football games so Dad could see it later.
Dad would watch the game film with me--Mom got much better at recording just me as time went on--and we’d talk about what I could have done differently if I did something wrong, or how I did the right thing. It was a bonding experience, and I’m better for it.
...Hey Noah, do you even HAVE any memories of your dad that don’t involve watching old wrestling tapes in the dark and having the woman who spawned you point at the screen and say ‘that’s your daddy, you little bastard’? Do you have any of those moments where you came home from school with your report card, filled with great grades, and running up to your dad and hearing, ‘I’m proud of you, son’? Do you have ANYTHING you can hold onto and say is yours in the parenting department? I mean, other than you adopting his name, trying to co-opt his wrestling holds, and corrupting his legacy with a bastardized version of “Field Envy”... do you really have anything at all?
I feel like I’m losing focus though. Like… I’m drifting from the point.
My point is this: I’m over chasing Noah Field around. I’m done. The only person it benefits is Noah Field. I gain nothing by following his every move like it’s the most important thing occurring in this company. That’s what he WANTS. It’s what he CRAVES. Noah Field has to be the center of attention, no matter what. If you don’t think so, you’re not paying attention--or possibly mentally ill.
And finally, to the former Invictus Champion who got the ball rolling and made the mistake of offering up a title shot to me all those weeks ago, only to see me TAKE his championship from around his waist; Zasshu.
I don’t know what else to say about you that we haven’t covered in our previous contests. You’re either a total genius for letting that blonde bimbo speak for you, so you don’t have to be exposed for the milquetoast person you truly are, or a complete idiot for letting her write checks your body can’t cash. Either way, this mess ends on Sunday.
I’d love to stay and chat, but frankly, I’ve already beaten you twice. As my father once told me, “score, don’t spike”; meaning that there is a chance to be respected when you remain humble in victory. Of course, daddy never had to compete with the likes of a masked man with the personality of wallpaper paste, either. So I guess I can give it another go. Some days, you have to work really hard to nail down that pysch-out, and other days, you know you’re already in someone’s head. Today’s one of the “other days”. I’m in your head, Zasshu. You know you can’t beat me in a fair fight, and this match is going to be as fair as it’ll ever get. You don’t scare me, you don’t intimidate me, and you sure as hell won’t give me pause. I’m gonna make sure that you go down and stay down, and the mighty House of Howlett remains a one-trick pony.
Oh my goodness… how silly of me not to have mentioned the other participant in this contest: the ladder! Now, I’m sure in all their myriad matches, both Noah Field and Zasshu know their way around a ladder. But can either of them say they’ve made a name for themselves in a match like this? No disqualifications, no countouts, no pinfalls, no submissions, no excuses, and no mercy… I’m practically overwhelmed with emotion here. I love the purity of a ladder match; it forces even the best wrestlers in the world to get their hands dirty. It pushes everyone in the contest to their absolute limit--to heights they never anticipated reaching. This match was made for me. I can’t wait.
My name is Chris King. I am the Kingmaker. I am a former Invictus Champion, and soon to be again. I will lay waste to anyone and anything that stands in my way of success. And if I have to lead a revolution to regain my title, so be it.
See you Sunday, boys.
Long Live the King.
Ya see what happens when nobody fuckin’ interferes in my matches?
That’s right, Chris King is back on the horse after a few weeks walking beside--or behind, depending on who you talk to--that same horse. And no, the horse is not real.
John Gillmen, I told you that you were at a disadvantage, and I meant it. You weren’t ready to take on a guy like me in a big-game situation. In a way, it’s really your own fault; had you not inspired me so, then perhaps this message would have a different tone. As it is, though… I told you so.
I looked you in the face, took your best shots, and stood tall at the end.
My father told me that “hard work beats talent if talent don’t work as hard.” You worked hard; I worked harder. Simple as that.
Now, I’m sure we’ll see each other down the road sometime, and I welcome another chance to remind you that things aren’t going to be easy for you in Imperial. You may win, you may not; the challenge is still there. And I hope you came out of this contest learning something more about yourself than you had already known. If you didn’t, well… there’s always the tape.
Scoreboard, son!
FINAL SCORE
Chris King: 1
John Gillmen: 0
On to the bigger fish to fry.
------------
Location: King Household, Kalamazoo, MI
Date/Time: 05MAY04, 0609 Hours EDT
When I started out in Imperial, I told you guys about some pivotal events that made me the man I am today. They mostly revolved around my wrestling career; my first time out to see an event, a time where I needed reassurance, how I met my wife. This moment, that I’m going to talk to you about, is along those lines… just a little earlier in the show.
So on the morning of my 18th birthday, it was shaping up to be a typical Wednesday. I didn’t want to go to class today, but there was no way you could miss a day unless you were sick in my house. No playing hooky in the King household, for sure.
Judy King: Get up, Christopher.
I groaned and rolled over, away from my mom and the light that blared through the bedroom window.
Judy King: Get UP, Christopher.
I made an unintelligible whine, I think--I was 18, after all--and pulled the covers over my head. Clearly, my mom didn’t want to deal with it. She yanked the covers off my bed.
Judy King: I promise you, boy, I gave birth to you 18 years ago today, and if you don’t get up and get ready for school, it’ll be the last anniversary we celebrate.
I rolled over again, squinting in the sun.
Chris King: Mom, haven’t I earned the right to have my birthday off? I mean, I’m 18, for crying out loud!
Judy King: Until the school declares your birthday a holiday, you’re going.
Chris King: but Mooooommmmm…
Judy King: Don’t you ‘but mom’ me. Get up and get in the bathroom before your sisters start their morning routine.
I shot out of bed, remembering how long it would take to get into the can if Hannah or Emily made it in there first.
Chris King: Oh shit!
Mom gasped.
Judy King: Language!
I moved past Mom really quickly, not pausing for the lecture that would inevitably follow.
Chris King: Sorry, mom. Love you!
Judy King: Happy birthday, son…
The rest of the day was pretty much a blur. Mom had a party for me after school, and my siblings all got me something for my birthday--never was much, but a couple of them put some thought into a joint gift of University of Michigan sleep pants and a mini Wolverines helmet signed by Desmond Howard--but the biggest deal came later.
Location: King Household, Kalamazoo, MI
Date/Time: 05MAY04, 1849 Hours EDT
After the party wrapped up, my dad came home from work and pulled me aside. Normally, when Dad wanted to talk, it was bad; we came from the “no news is good news” camp. But he had me close my eyes and step outside into the driveway.
When I opened my eyes, our primer gray 1995 Toyota Tercel station wagon had a big maize and blue bow on top of it.
Harold King: Happy birthday, son.
I couldn’t believe my eyes: I’d been driving that thing around for the last couple years, as it was our third vehicle, but it was never mine. I always had to share it with my older sisters. But Dad was telling me it was MINE now!
Chris King: No way… you mean this is mine now?
Harold King: You’ll have to put your own gas in it, and find a way to pay us for the insurance you’ll need, but… you’re a man now. You should be able to drive to where you want without being stuck.
He smiled at me. I was overjoyed. I had my own CAR! Sure, it looked like hell, but it was mine! I hugged my dad and took the keys from him. I climbed behind the wheel and turned the key… and nothing. One of my DAMN sisters had run all the gas out of the car. I sighed and headed back inside, while my dad just laughed.
Harold King: And what did we learn, son?
Chris King: (dejectedly) Check the gas gauge before getting excited.
He chuckled again.
Harold King: We’ll get you some gas tomorrow, and you can take your ride to school. No more bus for you.
My frown went right back to a smile as I hugged him again, more than I’m sure he was comfortable with; Dad wasn’t much of a hugger, but he put up with his children’s affections.
Chris King: Thanks, Dad!
Harold King: Happy birthday, Christopher.
I’ll never forget that day; I still have the station wagon. I could have traded it in 200,000 miles ago, but I have treated it with the respect it deserves.
I’ve had to endure many, many miles in that car. But it was MINE then, and it’s MINE now. So the lesson my dad taught me has stuck with me all these years: value what you have, strive for what you want, work harder than you think you even can, and do things the right way.
Hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
------------
Welcome to the “Bigger Fish to Fry” portion of the show. First up, the sham of a champion, living off his daddy’s name and legacy, even if it doesn’t even belong to him--Noah Field.
Ever since I convinced the bastard to finally step up and be a man, giving me my rematch I rightfully deserve for the Invictus Championship at Extreme Endurance, one thing has been on my mind: why didn’t I push harder a while ago? Why did it take a contest of this magnitude for me to finally come out of my shell and strive for better? I guess I was trying to take the high road, to be the bigger person and let my accomplishments speak for themselves. But that’s not how things are done around here. If you want something, you have to take it. I mean, look at our current Invictus Champion. He didn’t wait his turn; instead, he stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong enough times that it forced the front office to take notice. He used his bullshit claims of “being undefeated” to justify his actions, and used his tainted victories over me to justify getting involved in my RIGHTFULLY earned Invictus Title shot.
You know what? I’m going to take a break from talking about Noah Field to discuss something near and dear to my heart: my relationship with my dad. You see, as the seventh kid in my house, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for my father to see me at my sporting events or anything. He worked ungodly hours to support all his children, and while we didn’t go without, we didn’t have all the creature comforts that kids have today. We knew that mom and dad were doing the best they could, and that they loved us. But sometimes, Mom would have to bring the video camera to my football games so Dad could see it later.
Dad would watch the game film with me--Mom got much better at recording just me as time went on--and we’d talk about what I could have done differently if I did something wrong, or how I did the right thing. It was a bonding experience, and I’m better for it.
...Hey Noah, do you even HAVE any memories of your dad that don’t involve watching old wrestling tapes in the dark and having the woman who spawned you point at the screen and say ‘that’s your daddy, you little bastard’? Do you have any of those moments where you came home from school with your report card, filled with great grades, and running up to your dad and hearing, ‘I’m proud of you, son’? Do you have ANYTHING you can hold onto and say is yours in the parenting department? I mean, other than you adopting his name, trying to co-opt his wrestling holds, and corrupting his legacy with a bastardized version of “Field Envy”... do you really have anything at all?
I feel like I’m losing focus though. Like… I’m drifting from the point.
My point is this: I’m over chasing Noah Field around. I’m done. The only person it benefits is Noah Field. I gain nothing by following his every move like it’s the most important thing occurring in this company. That’s what he WANTS. It’s what he CRAVES. Noah Field has to be the center of attention, no matter what. If you don’t think so, you’re not paying attention--or possibly mentally ill.
And finally, to the former Invictus Champion who got the ball rolling and made the mistake of offering up a title shot to me all those weeks ago, only to see me TAKE his championship from around his waist; Zasshu.
I don’t know what else to say about you that we haven’t covered in our previous contests. You’re either a total genius for letting that blonde bimbo speak for you, so you don’t have to be exposed for the milquetoast person you truly are, or a complete idiot for letting her write checks your body can’t cash. Either way, this mess ends on Sunday.
I’d love to stay and chat, but frankly, I’ve already beaten you twice. As my father once told me, “score, don’t spike”; meaning that there is a chance to be respected when you remain humble in victory. Of course, daddy never had to compete with the likes of a masked man with the personality of wallpaper paste, either. So I guess I can give it another go. Some days, you have to work really hard to nail down that pysch-out, and other days, you know you’re already in someone’s head. Today’s one of the “other days”. I’m in your head, Zasshu. You know you can’t beat me in a fair fight, and this match is going to be as fair as it’ll ever get. You don’t scare me, you don’t intimidate me, and you sure as hell won’t give me pause. I’m gonna make sure that you go down and stay down, and the mighty House of Howlett remains a one-trick pony.
Oh my goodness… how silly of me not to have mentioned the other participant in this contest: the ladder! Now, I’m sure in all their myriad matches, both Noah Field and Zasshu know their way around a ladder. But can either of them say they’ve made a name for themselves in a match like this? No disqualifications, no countouts, no pinfalls, no submissions, no excuses, and no mercy… I’m practically overwhelmed with emotion here. I love the purity of a ladder match; it forces even the best wrestlers in the world to get their hands dirty. It pushes everyone in the contest to their absolute limit--to heights they never anticipated reaching. This match was made for me. I can’t wait.
My name is Chris King. I am the Kingmaker. I am a former Invictus Champion, and soon to be again. I will lay waste to anyone and anything that stands in my way of success. And if I have to lead a revolution to regain my title, so be it.
See you Sunday, boys.
Long Live the King.
Well howdy there pardner.