Post by Old Line Jeff on Dec 20, 2022 22:17:08 GMT -5
"My best friend in this business was a promoter."
Unknown date. Unknown location.
Ronnie Long, sitting on a steel folding chair. The lighting is faint. He can be seen pretty clearly, although shadows move across him every time he shifts position. The rest of the set is dark.
"Jeff Andrews used to sing the blues to me about how he had lots of superstars but no legends. Because, as he said, superstars have a way of quitting when they lose a match and a title is involved."
He rolls his shoulders. Something cracks.
"My least favorite person in this business was also a promoter."
"Eric Dane was always happy to set his promotions aside for another lunge at personal glory. He only ever left another promotion for two reasons. Losing the World Title, and failing to win the World Title."
One corner of Long's mouth curls up, in something resembling a fraction of a quarter of a smile.
"When I realized that this ridiculous random comeback run of mine wasn't just going to be a flash in the pan cameo, I made a couple of agreements with myself."
"One of them was that I wasn't going to take off the first time I experienced non-success."
"I was going to stick around long enough for my run to mean something."
Long shakes his head.
"The other is that I'm not going to let myself burn out for the sake of pride and meaningless bragging rights."
A long sigh.
"You've already heard the story about the only time I ever tapped was to a lady named Heidi Christenson back in 2001."
"You want to know what I really got out of that?"
"Two broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder."
Another sigh. Shorter.
"I'm in my mid 40s. And I plan to have a life after I retire. Injuries come easy enough in this sports to begin with. I don't need self-inflicted ones, especially not for something like pride."
Long leans forward, his lip curling back over his teeth.
"Besides, I've been so many steps ahead of Rob Riot so far, he might as well have the bragging rights - keep things interesting between us."
"I can deal with losing to Eron Hunter. Kid's the best in the company. And I don't think I can't beat him."
"Hunter set the bar. Good. Now I know how high I'm jumping."
Yet another sigh, through clenched teeth.
"And we already know I can beat Rob Riot, because I've done it twice."
"And I will make him pay."
"I'm not rushing in like a fool, but he better brag about this non-stop, so that everyone remembers as clearly as I'm going to what he did."
"And my arm will get better, and I will still be able to beat him, but I'll enjoy it even more."
"As for the Foundation..."
Long raises his left forearm. It's wrapped in something between a heavy bandage and light cast - medical tape over thick gauze.
"I don't need to be told that it was more of a hindrance than a help. And that it's not for me, and never was."
"But I don't like being told what to do... is something I wish I could say. But it seems the opposite is true."
"Maybe this is one time when I actually should listen. But I've had friends and fans alike tell me it's time to ditch them. And I'm not going to."
"Daeriq's up to something, and I'm..."
Long reaches up, pulls the eyepatch over his head, and tosses it away.
"...for better or worse, seeing it through."
He sweeps the hair back out of his face and stares at the camera with both eyes.