Never Meet Your Heroes [CROSS NYE SPECIAL #1]
Dec 28, 2022 19:24:38 GMT -5
bloodiedfox, mosler, and 1 more like this
Post by Cross Recoba on Dec 28, 2022 19:24:38 GMT -5
The Montanan crowd let out a roar of approval as Mike Prendergast backed away from the now kneeling body of Ed Brodie, he hit the ropes and launched himself forward with a Buisaku Knee that dropped his opponent to the mat. As the match-official started the count, each eye inside the Armory Hall was focused on whether or not Brodie would kick out of the vicious launched strike to the temple.
The exception to this was Cross Recoba. He’d made his mind up long before but the knee was the nail in the coffin - too similar to what Tap Out has already.
He’d taken the trip on the word of several talent scouts and highlight reels. They’d told him the Knee was his big move but highlight reels biggest strength was their ability to mask what connected one clip to the next. Prendergast wouldn’t be a bad signing for the Network but with limited space came far higher criteria to make the cut.
The cold weather had at least given him an excuse to dress-down and remain somewhat anonymous. A deerstalker and quilted plaid coat didn’t look out of place somewhere like Missoula and so far, touch wood, he’d remained unnoticed by the crowd.
As he’d arrived a fan had pointed to his friend that Recoba was in attendance but his friend’s response almost earned him a smooth C-Note.
“Dressed like that? That guy WANTS you to think he’s Cross Recoba!”
He made his way through the crowd to a side-room inside the Hall as the crowd inside saw nothing wrong with cheering along to an anthem that had stopped being relevant when the wrestler using it was still being weaned by his mother.
Then again, he thought, Randy Angel was guilty of that and he’d managed to get himself a shot at the X*Crown title the same night as Cross had. Thumbing the C-note he’d hung onto earlier in the night, The XHF Box Office Smash debated contacting Lit’s agent to play live at J-ROK’s event. For that money they’d probably include a support band.
Placing his cellphone on the table, Cross sighed. No sound-stage, no boom mics and not even Jack the Page to film this.
“You’ll be pleased to see, Zoran, that there’s little in the way of gimmickry in tonight’s message. No documentary to precede a Lego Death Match, no smash cuts to disguise the shallowness of someone’s thoughts. Just me, the man you so dearly chose to call out at a time when neither of us is particularly blessed with time…”
Somewhere, Syberus was tucking into a 'cheeky' Nando's and laughing at the rustic setting. Then again, The Great Syberus still goes around telling people about an underground band called The Artic Monkeys.
“Maybe this is a fitting setting given that the odds on a Recoba win are long enough to make a Puerto Rican child dream and an Australian man pause from pinball and buddying up to Elon Musk on Twitter. I could have recorded this from the XHF Vault but I’ll be honest, I don’t think I could stomach the level of Narm and mawkishness that’d be required to go ahead with that. After all, when you look at it, I’ve waited thirty-four months for this to become a reality and when you wait that long, why let an aesthetic define you?”
After all, Cross could have found himself here in Montana and far too close to Chris Card’s homebase. Why not hold it in the place Cross called home? Even better, why not give yourself a double-shot? Recoba pondered the scenario and thought that Kingsley Solomon and Wesley Crane would approve of the way it tipped the odds towards the owner of Tap Out Wrestling.
“Since I arrived on the Network you’ve always been in the midst of one scheme or another to keep yourself near the X*Crown and, until recently, I applauded it - welcomed it almost because I saw a man who appealed to my nature. That you’d outthink your opponent in the ring was one thing but we both know that the hard yards were done well before that bell rung. That we looked down on the generic promotional work, the insults where you could leave an ‘Insert Name Here’ blank and fill in as required. That, when it came down to it, we cheated not to win but to remind people that we did it because we could and not because we had to.”
Cross removed the Deerhunter and shook out his hair. He caught sight of the stubble on his face and laughed internally at the advisor who’d told him that Tap Out Wrestling wouldn’t be anything more than a hands-off venture.
“Maybe we’re still the same but lately, Zoran, when I’ve gone back over your time here - I’m starting to see the cracks.”
With the music long faded, the inane chatter that permeated the room had died down beyond a murmur to an inaudible peace.
“You must know yourself that your time as a force inside that ring is coming to an end and maybe that’s age, I’m sure when I reach your vintage I’ll feel the same but maybe it’s something else. What really drives you to want to win inside that ring, Kommisar? We both know that your pride is available at a price…”
Coming soon to J-ROK: Purchase your own Zoran appearance, yours for only fourteen easy payments.
“So keen to mold Oliver in your own image that you know that if he finds out you’re not invincible, no longer the best on the Network, maybe he’ll rebel and start asking when he can get his own Mickey’s Mousetail Arts gloves like his hero Marty.”
A Zoran might not for be for Christmas but is he for life?
“You know the biggest tell about your longevity inside that ring? I’ll put it into terms that you’ll appreciate because we both know the glue factory’s held more than its fair share of Kentucky Derby winners…”
The Tap Out Owner rapped his knuckles on the table, Michael Cimino’s six years of being in the ground precluded his directorial return.
“You’re relying too much on the people around you, constantly bringing in names to obscure any fans or your opponents from looking too closely at the hard facts that stand before them. You’ve had so many guests appear in your promotional tapes that all we need now is Seven Bundy…”
Hi, Oliver.
“...And Ted McGinley to appear and we’d know you were toast. Would the Final Boss at his best even dream of appearing in that maudling and ultimately ridiculous match at Oh Violent Night? Would he rely on giving the viewers cheap thrills like a Mr Blobby cameo?”
The idea sent a visible shiver down the spine of Cross. Hellish.
“Would the man that could turn Of Mice and Men into a way to mentally psych-out his opponents be reduced to nothing but inanity if he had a choice? The pandering to a child, the birthday appearance? You were once the Robert De Niro of wrestlers, the thinking man’s fighter but now you’re the Robert De Niro of wrestlers, whatever keeps away the fact the shine has gone.”
A message tone played and Cross swiped away the email, he hated pushy follow-ups.
“Are you going to take me for an idiot inside that ring? One more stabbing, what’s the difference? It did for so many before me but now all it reminds me of is that your sharpness away from the blade has dulled. With that face, the scars and wounds from so many ridiculous match stipulations you’re verging on becoming the Freddy Krueger of the Network. Once so feared but now likely to be the Halloween costume of choice for the third-grader's.”
Parent approved.
One, two, Zoran’s coming for you. Three, Four, he’s challenged some more. Five, six, he’s lost all his tricks. Seven, Eight, a Zoran plushy is great.
“Mostly though, Zoran, I feel cheated out of the match I wanted in the pandemic. What I face on New Year’s Eve is still scary but only in the knowledge that if I don’t do it now, what does that say about me? I can’t afford to lose, not in Vegas when just a few short days after our match I’ve got a Syberus to put away and not when Tap Out’s tenth show gets underway just days after that.”
Zoran’ll be there, he’ll make a point of it if he wins. What can you say to a friend of your boss? The thought sobered Cross.
“Didn’t you once say that only losers lose? Look forward to seeing your next Japanese commercial”
Cross placed the brown bottle of Japanese Ale on the table in front of the camera.
Lose like the Saishū Bosu, drink Hitachino Nest Red Rice Ale.
The exception to this was Cross Recoba. He’d made his mind up long before but the knee was the nail in the coffin - too similar to what Tap Out has already.
He’d taken the trip on the word of several talent scouts and highlight reels. They’d told him the Knee was his big move but highlight reels biggest strength was their ability to mask what connected one clip to the next. Prendergast wouldn’t be a bad signing for the Network but with limited space came far higher criteria to make the cut.
The cold weather had at least given him an excuse to dress-down and remain somewhat anonymous. A deerstalker and quilted plaid coat didn’t look out of place somewhere like Missoula and so far, touch wood, he’d remained unnoticed by the crowd.
As he’d arrived a fan had pointed to his friend that Recoba was in attendance but his friend’s response almost earned him a smooth C-Note.
“Dressed like that? That guy WANTS you to think he’s Cross Recoba!”
He made his way through the crowd to a side-room inside the Hall as the crowd inside saw nothing wrong with cheering along to an anthem that had stopped being relevant when the wrestler using it was still being weaned by his mother.
Then again, he thought, Randy Angel was guilty of that and he’d managed to get himself a shot at the X*Crown title the same night as Cross had. Thumbing the C-note he’d hung onto earlier in the night, The XHF Box Office Smash debated contacting Lit’s agent to play live at J-ROK’s event. For that money they’d probably include a support band.
Placing his cellphone on the table, Cross sighed. No sound-stage, no boom mics and not even Jack the Page to film this.
“You’ll be pleased to see, Zoran, that there’s little in the way of gimmickry in tonight’s message. No documentary to precede a Lego Death Match, no smash cuts to disguise the shallowness of someone’s thoughts. Just me, the man you so dearly chose to call out at a time when neither of us is particularly blessed with time…”
Somewhere, Syberus was tucking into a 'cheeky' Nando's and laughing at the rustic setting. Then again, The Great Syberus still goes around telling people about an underground band called The Artic Monkeys.
“Maybe this is a fitting setting given that the odds on a Recoba win are long enough to make a Puerto Rican child dream and an Australian man pause from pinball and buddying up to Elon Musk on Twitter. I could have recorded this from the XHF Vault but I’ll be honest, I don’t think I could stomach the level of Narm and mawkishness that’d be required to go ahead with that. After all, when you look at it, I’ve waited thirty-four months for this to become a reality and when you wait that long, why let an aesthetic define you?”
After all, Cross could have found himself here in Montana and far too close to Chris Card’s homebase. Why not hold it in the place Cross called home? Even better, why not give yourself a double-shot? Recoba pondered the scenario and thought that Kingsley Solomon and Wesley Crane would approve of the way it tipped the odds towards the owner of Tap Out Wrestling.
“Since I arrived on the Network you’ve always been in the midst of one scheme or another to keep yourself near the X*Crown and, until recently, I applauded it - welcomed it almost because I saw a man who appealed to my nature. That you’d outthink your opponent in the ring was one thing but we both know that the hard yards were done well before that bell rung. That we looked down on the generic promotional work, the insults where you could leave an ‘Insert Name Here’ blank and fill in as required. That, when it came down to it, we cheated not to win but to remind people that we did it because we could and not because we had to.”
Cross removed the Deerhunter and shook out his hair. He caught sight of the stubble on his face and laughed internally at the advisor who’d told him that Tap Out Wrestling wouldn’t be anything more than a hands-off venture.
“Maybe we’re still the same but lately, Zoran, when I’ve gone back over your time here - I’m starting to see the cracks.”
With the music long faded, the inane chatter that permeated the room had died down beyond a murmur to an inaudible peace.
“You must know yourself that your time as a force inside that ring is coming to an end and maybe that’s age, I’m sure when I reach your vintage I’ll feel the same but maybe it’s something else. What really drives you to want to win inside that ring, Kommisar? We both know that your pride is available at a price…”
Coming soon to J-ROK: Purchase your own Zoran appearance, yours for only fourteen easy payments.
“So keen to mold Oliver in your own image that you know that if he finds out you’re not invincible, no longer the best on the Network, maybe he’ll rebel and start asking when he can get his own Mickey’s Mousetail Arts gloves like his hero Marty.”
A Zoran might not for be for Christmas but is he for life?
“You know the biggest tell about your longevity inside that ring? I’ll put it into terms that you’ll appreciate because we both know the glue factory’s held more than its fair share of Kentucky Derby winners…”
The Tap Out Owner rapped his knuckles on the table, Michael Cimino’s six years of being in the ground precluded his directorial return.
“You’re relying too much on the people around you, constantly bringing in names to obscure any fans or your opponents from looking too closely at the hard facts that stand before them. You’ve had so many guests appear in your promotional tapes that all we need now is Seven Bundy…”
Hi, Oliver.
“...And Ted McGinley to appear and we’d know you were toast. Would the Final Boss at his best even dream of appearing in that maudling and ultimately ridiculous match at Oh Violent Night? Would he rely on giving the viewers cheap thrills like a Mr Blobby cameo?”
The idea sent a visible shiver down the spine of Cross. Hellish.
“Would the man that could turn Of Mice and Men into a way to mentally psych-out his opponents be reduced to nothing but inanity if he had a choice? The pandering to a child, the birthday appearance? You were once the Robert De Niro of wrestlers, the thinking man’s fighter but now you’re the Robert De Niro of wrestlers, whatever keeps away the fact the shine has gone.”
A message tone played and Cross swiped away the email, he hated pushy follow-ups.
“Are you going to take me for an idiot inside that ring? One more stabbing, what’s the difference? It did for so many before me but now all it reminds me of is that your sharpness away from the blade has dulled. With that face, the scars and wounds from so many ridiculous match stipulations you’re verging on becoming the Freddy Krueger of the Network. Once so feared but now likely to be the Halloween costume of choice for the third-grader's.”
Parent approved.
One, two, Zoran’s coming for you. Three, Four, he’s challenged some more. Five, six, he’s lost all his tricks. Seven, Eight, a Zoran plushy is great.
“Mostly though, Zoran, I feel cheated out of the match I wanted in the pandemic. What I face on New Year’s Eve is still scary but only in the knowledge that if I don’t do it now, what does that say about me? I can’t afford to lose, not in Vegas when just a few short days after our match I’ve got a Syberus to put away and not when Tap Out’s tenth show gets underway just days after that.”
Zoran’ll be there, he’ll make a point of it if he wins. What can you say to a friend of your boss? The thought sobered Cross.
“Didn’t you once say that only losers lose? Look forward to seeing your next Japanese commercial”
Cross placed the brown bottle of Japanese Ale on the table in front of the camera.
Lose like the Saishū Bosu, drink Hitachino Nest Red Rice Ale.
