Post by Mike Laszlo on Mar 23, 2017 4:31:39 GMT
As the scene opens up, the camera is held by my lovely wife, and we’re sitting on the plane, headed to the host city of High Stakes, St. Louis, Missouri. I look quite comfortable, and why shouldn’t I? This plane was made with my own specifications...the perks of having a good sum of money. As I lean forward in the chair, I start what is my final statement on the Roulette Match.
We know the when, and we know the why, hell, we even know the overall guidelines of the how. This Sunday, in St. Louis Missouri, at the Scottrade Center, thirty competitors are going to walk down that ramp and enter the Roulette. Each has their reasons as to why they need to win, mine have already been stated; and as we all know, the way to win is to be the last man standing after everyone else has come and been eliminated.
I sit back in my seat, folding my hands together in my lap with a somewhat quizzical look in my eyes.
But what does it all mean? What does the Roulette itself symbolize?
I hold a hand out, palm up and stare at it.
For some, the Roulette is a chance to grasp at the spotlight they once had, to relive that glory one last time before finally riding off into the sunset, finally knocking that chip off their shoulder and settling every last desire they had of this business.
I flick my hand away, like throwing the entire premise of the idea away before turning back to the camera.
Despite the claims of some, that’s not me.
I hold my hand out again, palm up.
For others, this is merely the beginning of a winding journey up and over hills, down into the deepest of trenches, and straight through tunnels, burrowing through a mountain on our way to the grandest stage of them all...Night of the Immortals. I mean, the winner of this whole thing has his course plotted with a trip to the main event guaranteed.
I nod.
This sounds more like the path I want to take.
I fold my hand back into my lap.
But...what does that mean for everyone else? If I win the Roulette, what happens to the likes of Spike Kane? What happens to Andrew Jacobsen, or Nighthawk, or JFK? Do they go back to what they were doing beforehand; act as if the Roulette never really happened? Are new enemies forges within the battlegrounds of the Roulette?
I lean forward in my seat.
Speaking of enemies, does anyone look to settle a score? Perhaps Joe Everyman will come out from behind the counselor’s desk to punch Spike in the face for calling him a worthless piece of crap? Maybe the Union of Jobbers in all of their glory will try to target Steve Awesome after I beat him and make him the number one entrant?
There’s a smug look on my face as I think of the other side of the coin.
Perhaps we’ll see some things break up? Maybe the Union of Jobbers really has two sides to the story and they’ll end their union for the betterment of themselves? Maybe Nighthawk will try to throw Andrew out or vice versa? Maybe Jayson Matthews gets in and knocks them both out? Where does that leave them?
I sit back in my seat.
And that truly is the fun of this event. Some look at it as an obstacle, I look at it as the unknown. You don’t know who is going to target who. You can walk into this thing with a master plan of epic proportions, only to find out, the guy you were counting on to help you is stuck with a number far and away from you and either he or you gets eliminated before you even have a chance to put it into motion.
You could have that same plan and a blast from the past could show up and take you so far off your game that some random nobody, takes the opportunity and blasts you over that top rope, your ass and feet hitting the floor with a thud, and just like that…
I snap my fingers.
It’s all over.
I rub the stubble on my face, contemplating the next direction, but instead choose to embellish just a little more about plans...mine in specific.
That’s why, when it comes to a match like this; a match that is full of utter chaos, you can’t walk in with a plan...only a goal. That’s why when the buzzer goes off, and my music hits, I’m walking down to that ramp, not with a plan, but a mission...to win.
I know to do that, I have to take out every single person in the ring, and every single person to enter after me, and to do so, I have to do whatever it takes. It won’t be pretty, it won’t be a grand scheme to get it done. It will be blunt, it will be in your face, and it will be the biggest fight any of us have ever seen.
My “plan” is my goal. My goal is my mission. My mission is to win.
And win...I shall.
The scene fades out.
====================================================
Title: This Is It
Location: 39,000 Feet In The Air
Time: 11:57 AM Local Time
We were at a cruising altitude, and for most of a flight like this, Alexis and I usually try to take a nap, or just cuddle up and relax, enjoying each other’s company. I can’t relax, and it clearly shows as I lay back in the reclined chair, my eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling. She’s in the oversized seat with me, her head nuzzled right up on my chest, my arm wrapped around her. I don’t know if she could hear my heart beating quickly, or she could just feel the overall tense feeling in the pressurized cabin, but she picked her head up.
Alexis Caffrey: Babe, are you okay?
There was a blank stare on my face. We were headed to St. Louis and I had just filmed the first part of my promo, the final for the big event, and after talking it up, talking about what it meant, I found myself wondering...what if I didn’t win? With the intense thought cramming my mind, I didn’t have much space to comprehend what she had just said to me. She puts her hand on my chest though and shakes through the thoughts to get my attention.
Mike Laszlo: Huh? What?
Alexis Caffrey: I asked if you were okay? You seem nervous...very tense.
I took a deep breath. I had been in this spot before, and perhaps I was over-thinking things a bit.
Mike Laszlo: Yeah, I’m fine. I just have butterflies is all.
Alexis Caffrey: I’m sure you’ll do fine. In fact, you’ll do better than fine...you’ll win.
I looked over and smiled.
Mike Laszlo: The confidence is reassuring, trust me. I just can’t help but wonder, especially after everything I just said, what happens if I don’t win? What do I go back to? This thing between Steve and I...it’s pretty much over after High Stakes one way or another. Others have championships to deal with...you know, hopefully like that Diamonds Title you’ll have for a third time.
She smiled. She too has her own big match to worry about.
Alexis Caffrey: Well, that would be nice, but I’m not taking her lightly.
Mike Laszlo: I know you’re not, and that’s why I have this tense feeling. I know I’m capable of winning this whole damn thing. I know that when I talk, and I tell the world that I’m the best, that I’m not just spewing bullshit. I also know the other guys in this match. I know that some of them are just as capable of winning and others are capable of surprising the world and winning as well.
She moved herself up in the chair, propping herself up with her hand on the side of her head, her elbow bent against the headrest to make her rise above me. By now I had put my hands behind my head and was staring at her as she tried her best to give me a pep talk.
Alexis Caffrey: You can’t worry about all of that Mike. You can only worry about what you can control, and you, being the gambler you are, have to leave the rest to chance. You walk down that ramp, you beat people up, and you throw them over the top rope, and you hope that someone doesn’t sneak up and get the drop on you. Don’t worry about what comes next, just focus on the task at hand.
I smirked.
Mike Laszlo: Winning.
Alexis Caffrey: That’s right. Focus on winning, that way, come Night of the Immortals, when you beat whoever the champion is, we can leave the night as the true IT couple of the IWF.
I glanced over and smiled.
Mike Laszlo: That would be a sight to see.
Alexis Caffrey: It’s a sight we WILL see. Now relax. We still have another hour on this flight.
I let out a loud groan. You’d think for someone who flies as much as I do, it wouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’m the type of person who likes to get there and get something done. Sitting on a plane or in a car to me is a waste of time. I grabbed my wife by her waist with a smile.
Mike Laszlo: Might as well make it worth it then.
I pull her on top of me in the chair as she lets out a playful laugh before the two of us start to kiss as the scene fades out.
====================================================
The Roulette can do a lot of things for a man’s career.
The scene fades in and now we’re in a car on our way to the hotel room nearby. I’m looking into the camera, my stone cold stare enough to cause concern, or subtle enough to let you know I’m simply serious about the topic at hand.
For a rookie, it can skyrocket you up the ladder. It can take you to heights you can only dream about, and it really only takes the blink of an eye to make it happen. You only have to be in the right place at the right time, and knock that last guy over the top rope with both feet hitting the floor.
I turn my gaze out the window, resting my chin in my hand which muffles my words a little, but not enough to not be understood.
Then there’s those who have been stuck in what plenty like to call midcard purgatory. These are the guys who are like many tourist in a big city. They walk around standing on the sidewalk, gazing up at the skyscrapers and other tall buildings, wondering what it is like to be at the top. They’ve scratched and clawed, and yet can’t seem to throw that brick up and shatter the glass ceiling. I know what it’s like. I know how it feels to have the pressure against you, shoving your face into that glass ceiling, yet not hearing it make a single cracking sound.
I turn back to the camera.
But I also know what it’s like to finally shatter said ceiling, and while I hope one day you get there, you who dwell in said purgatory, I hate to break it to you, it’s not happening at my expense...not now...not ever again.
I look up at the ceiling of the car as I take a deep breath, focusing on the third group, the one that some would even acquaint me with...but they’d be wrong.
Then there’s the one’s who have been at the top of the mountain. They’re the ones grasping at straws, trying to keep something going that quite frankly, just isn’t there anymore. They want the glory, they hug that damaged spotlight, basking in the warmth of every last flicker until it finally dies and the rest of the world passes them by. I won’t mention names, but they too exist within the confines of this match. Some have gone out and said that I am one of these broken lost souls, but they would be wrong, and so much further from the truth than they care to believe.
I place my fingertips into my chest, leaving indents in my shirt.
I am not one of those lost souls fighting for the memories, and the glory days for my glory days are only just beginning. You think I honestly peaked out simply beating Angel for an Imperial Title? Do you think I’m merely a flash in the pan?
DO YOU THINK I’M DONE ALREADY!?
I let out a sarcastic chuckle as I look away, shaking my head.
If that’s what you think, you’re a moron. If that’s what you think, you’re sadly mistaken. If that’s what you think…
I turn back to the camera.
You’re in for a big surprise...a rude awakening.
I point to the back of the car to reference other stars of this company.
While others have come and gone, there’s been a constant in this company...me. While others have won titles and lost them, and become Hall of Famers, I’m fighting this Sunday again thirty other men to do something that none of them has done before.
They’ve had their lengthy title reigns, and their group leadership stints, but when I win the Roulette at Highstakes, there will be one single man in the entire history of this company who can claim he’s won the Roulette, he’s won the Heir to the Throne, and he’s won the Joker in the Pack. It won’t be Spike Kane, or Angel, or Alex Jones, or Roberto Verona, or Jake Conway. It will be the man you look upon right now. It will be the man who is going to step into that ring and beat the holy hell out of whoever is in my way, and throw their ass out of MY ring.
It is the man who right now is oozing with confidence, not to be confused with cockiness, because he knows that he is what he’s said all along, THE BEST...PERIOD!
And his name...MY NAME...is Mike...Laszlo.
The car pulls to a stop and Alexis zooms the camera in on my eyes. There’s not a shadow of doubt, nor a flash of weakness. There is no glimmer of hope for the rest of you because you’re stepping in that ring with a man possessed, a man obsessed, and a man determined to win the whole fucking thing.
We know the when, and we know the why, hell, we even know the overall guidelines of the how. This Sunday, in St. Louis Missouri, at the Scottrade Center, thirty competitors are going to walk down that ramp and enter the Roulette. Each has their reasons as to why they need to win, mine have already been stated; and as we all know, the way to win is to be the last man standing after everyone else has come and been eliminated.
I sit back in my seat, folding my hands together in my lap with a somewhat quizzical look in my eyes.
But what does it all mean? What does the Roulette itself symbolize?
I hold a hand out, palm up and stare at it.
For some, the Roulette is a chance to grasp at the spotlight they once had, to relive that glory one last time before finally riding off into the sunset, finally knocking that chip off their shoulder and settling every last desire they had of this business.
I flick my hand away, like throwing the entire premise of the idea away before turning back to the camera.
Despite the claims of some, that’s not me.
I hold my hand out again, palm up.
For others, this is merely the beginning of a winding journey up and over hills, down into the deepest of trenches, and straight through tunnels, burrowing through a mountain on our way to the grandest stage of them all...Night of the Immortals. I mean, the winner of this whole thing has his course plotted with a trip to the main event guaranteed.
I nod.
This sounds more like the path I want to take.
I fold my hand back into my lap.
But...what does that mean for everyone else? If I win the Roulette, what happens to the likes of Spike Kane? What happens to Andrew Jacobsen, or Nighthawk, or JFK? Do they go back to what they were doing beforehand; act as if the Roulette never really happened? Are new enemies forges within the battlegrounds of the Roulette?
I lean forward in my seat.
Speaking of enemies, does anyone look to settle a score? Perhaps Joe Everyman will come out from behind the counselor’s desk to punch Spike in the face for calling him a worthless piece of crap? Maybe the Union of Jobbers in all of their glory will try to target Steve Awesome after I beat him and make him the number one entrant?
There’s a smug look on my face as I think of the other side of the coin.
Perhaps we’ll see some things break up? Maybe the Union of Jobbers really has two sides to the story and they’ll end their union for the betterment of themselves? Maybe Nighthawk will try to throw Andrew out or vice versa? Maybe Jayson Matthews gets in and knocks them both out? Where does that leave them?
I sit back in my seat.
And that truly is the fun of this event. Some look at it as an obstacle, I look at it as the unknown. You don’t know who is going to target who. You can walk into this thing with a master plan of epic proportions, only to find out, the guy you were counting on to help you is stuck with a number far and away from you and either he or you gets eliminated before you even have a chance to put it into motion.
You could have that same plan and a blast from the past could show up and take you so far off your game that some random nobody, takes the opportunity and blasts you over that top rope, your ass and feet hitting the floor with a thud, and just like that…
I snap my fingers.
It’s all over.
I rub the stubble on my face, contemplating the next direction, but instead choose to embellish just a little more about plans...mine in specific.
That’s why, when it comes to a match like this; a match that is full of utter chaos, you can’t walk in with a plan...only a goal. That’s why when the buzzer goes off, and my music hits, I’m walking down to that ramp, not with a plan, but a mission...to win.
I know to do that, I have to take out every single person in the ring, and every single person to enter after me, and to do so, I have to do whatever it takes. It won’t be pretty, it won’t be a grand scheme to get it done. It will be blunt, it will be in your face, and it will be the biggest fight any of us have ever seen.
My “plan” is my goal. My goal is my mission. My mission is to win.
And win...I shall.
The scene fades out.
====================================================
Title: This Is It
Location: 39,000 Feet In The Air
Time: 11:57 AM Local Time
We were at a cruising altitude, and for most of a flight like this, Alexis and I usually try to take a nap, or just cuddle up and relax, enjoying each other’s company. I can’t relax, and it clearly shows as I lay back in the reclined chair, my eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling. She’s in the oversized seat with me, her head nuzzled right up on my chest, my arm wrapped around her. I don’t know if she could hear my heart beating quickly, or she could just feel the overall tense feeling in the pressurized cabin, but she picked her head up.
Alexis Caffrey: Babe, are you okay?
There was a blank stare on my face. We were headed to St. Louis and I had just filmed the first part of my promo, the final for the big event, and after talking it up, talking about what it meant, I found myself wondering...what if I didn’t win? With the intense thought cramming my mind, I didn’t have much space to comprehend what she had just said to me. She puts her hand on my chest though and shakes through the thoughts to get my attention.
Mike Laszlo: Huh? What?
Alexis Caffrey: I asked if you were okay? You seem nervous...very tense.
I took a deep breath. I had been in this spot before, and perhaps I was over-thinking things a bit.
Mike Laszlo: Yeah, I’m fine. I just have butterflies is all.
Alexis Caffrey: I’m sure you’ll do fine. In fact, you’ll do better than fine...you’ll win.
I looked over and smiled.
Mike Laszlo: The confidence is reassuring, trust me. I just can’t help but wonder, especially after everything I just said, what happens if I don’t win? What do I go back to? This thing between Steve and I...it’s pretty much over after High Stakes one way or another. Others have championships to deal with...you know, hopefully like that Diamonds Title you’ll have for a third time.
She smiled. She too has her own big match to worry about.
Alexis Caffrey: Well, that would be nice, but I’m not taking her lightly.
Mike Laszlo: I know you’re not, and that’s why I have this tense feeling. I know I’m capable of winning this whole damn thing. I know that when I talk, and I tell the world that I’m the best, that I’m not just spewing bullshit. I also know the other guys in this match. I know that some of them are just as capable of winning and others are capable of surprising the world and winning as well.
She moved herself up in the chair, propping herself up with her hand on the side of her head, her elbow bent against the headrest to make her rise above me. By now I had put my hands behind my head and was staring at her as she tried her best to give me a pep talk.
Alexis Caffrey: You can’t worry about all of that Mike. You can only worry about what you can control, and you, being the gambler you are, have to leave the rest to chance. You walk down that ramp, you beat people up, and you throw them over the top rope, and you hope that someone doesn’t sneak up and get the drop on you. Don’t worry about what comes next, just focus on the task at hand.
I smirked.
Mike Laszlo: Winning.
Alexis Caffrey: That’s right. Focus on winning, that way, come Night of the Immortals, when you beat whoever the champion is, we can leave the night as the true IT couple of the IWF.
I glanced over and smiled.
Mike Laszlo: That would be a sight to see.
Alexis Caffrey: It’s a sight we WILL see. Now relax. We still have another hour on this flight.
I let out a loud groan. You’d think for someone who flies as much as I do, it wouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’m the type of person who likes to get there and get something done. Sitting on a plane or in a car to me is a waste of time. I grabbed my wife by her waist with a smile.
Mike Laszlo: Might as well make it worth it then.
I pull her on top of me in the chair as she lets out a playful laugh before the two of us start to kiss as the scene fades out.
====================================================
The Roulette can do a lot of things for a man’s career.
The scene fades in and now we’re in a car on our way to the hotel room nearby. I’m looking into the camera, my stone cold stare enough to cause concern, or subtle enough to let you know I’m simply serious about the topic at hand.
For a rookie, it can skyrocket you up the ladder. It can take you to heights you can only dream about, and it really only takes the blink of an eye to make it happen. You only have to be in the right place at the right time, and knock that last guy over the top rope with both feet hitting the floor.
I turn my gaze out the window, resting my chin in my hand which muffles my words a little, but not enough to not be understood.
Then there’s those who have been stuck in what plenty like to call midcard purgatory. These are the guys who are like many tourist in a big city. They walk around standing on the sidewalk, gazing up at the skyscrapers and other tall buildings, wondering what it is like to be at the top. They’ve scratched and clawed, and yet can’t seem to throw that brick up and shatter the glass ceiling. I know what it’s like. I know how it feels to have the pressure against you, shoving your face into that glass ceiling, yet not hearing it make a single cracking sound.
I turn back to the camera.
But I also know what it’s like to finally shatter said ceiling, and while I hope one day you get there, you who dwell in said purgatory, I hate to break it to you, it’s not happening at my expense...not now...not ever again.
I look up at the ceiling of the car as I take a deep breath, focusing on the third group, the one that some would even acquaint me with...but they’d be wrong.
Then there’s the one’s who have been at the top of the mountain. They’re the ones grasping at straws, trying to keep something going that quite frankly, just isn’t there anymore. They want the glory, they hug that damaged spotlight, basking in the warmth of every last flicker until it finally dies and the rest of the world passes them by. I won’t mention names, but they too exist within the confines of this match. Some have gone out and said that I am one of these broken lost souls, but they would be wrong, and so much further from the truth than they care to believe.
I place my fingertips into my chest, leaving indents in my shirt.
I am not one of those lost souls fighting for the memories, and the glory days for my glory days are only just beginning. You think I honestly peaked out simply beating Angel for an Imperial Title? Do you think I’m merely a flash in the pan?
DO YOU THINK I’M DONE ALREADY!?
I let out a sarcastic chuckle as I look away, shaking my head.
If that’s what you think, you’re a moron. If that’s what you think, you’re sadly mistaken. If that’s what you think…
I turn back to the camera.
You’re in for a big surprise...a rude awakening.
I point to the back of the car to reference other stars of this company.
While others have come and gone, there’s been a constant in this company...me. While others have won titles and lost them, and become Hall of Famers, I’m fighting this Sunday again thirty other men to do something that none of them has done before.
They’ve had their lengthy title reigns, and their group leadership stints, but when I win the Roulette at Highstakes, there will be one single man in the entire history of this company who can claim he’s won the Roulette, he’s won the Heir to the Throne, and he’s won the Joker in the Pack. It won’t be Spike Kane, or Angel, or Alex Jones, or Roberto Verona, or Jake Conway. It will be the man you look upon right now. It will be the man who is going to step into that ring and beat the holy hell out of whoever is in my way, and throw their ass out of MY ring.
It is the man who right now is oozing with confidence, not to be confused with cockiness, because he knows that he is what he’s said all along, THE BEST...PERIOD!
And his name...MY NAME...is Mike...Laszlo.
The car pulls to a stop and Alexis zooms the camera in on my eyes. There’s not a shadow of doubt, nor a flash of weakness. There is no glimmer of hope for the rest of you because you’re stepping in that ring with a man possessed, a man obsessed, and a man determined to win the whole fucking thing.
Well howdy there pardner.