[JT Midas]

 â€œMy name is JT Midas. Y’all might be wondering what it’s like to live like me, with more drinks than I can drink, and more money than I could possibly spend. Being a member of the Players Club might seem easy, but it ain’t all fun and games. Every day, we face difficult challenges and embark on impossible adventures that threaten our very lifestyles. Somehow, however, we always live to tell the tale. This is one of those stories.”

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Part One:
A Very Players Club Thanksgiving:
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I woke up at 8:00 A.M. Thanksgiving morning, the savory smell of turkey roasting in the oven invading my nostrils. I have lived in some of the nicest condos Las Vegas has to offer, and I had never slept so comfortably in years! When Hydro offered to house Caleb and me for Turkey Day, I was a bit apprehensive. I ain’t exactly the most human being on the planet when I’m surrounded by such…diversity. I’m not racist, of course. Just, something in my head doesn’t click into place right, and I tend to get awkward. Regardless, after one night in this comfy bed, I’d have to say that Momma Porter knows how to take care of her guests!

As I crept down the stairs, I caught glimpse of Caleb and Hydro on the couch, watching some Charlie Brown special on the tube. I rounded the corner, and noticed the huge bowl of Cap’n Crunch they were sharing, as they watched intently with red eyes and stupid grins on their faces. Caleb looks over his shoulder, as he lifts the bowl of cereal up as an offering.

“I’m good, bro.” My voice is tired and hoarse. I cough, trying to clear my throat. Hydro lets out a high-pitched giggle, laughing at the pure comedy gold playing on the TV.

“Man, ‘dat Woodstock is one crazy mo’fucka’!” Hydro shovels another handful of cereal into his mouth, and I plop down on the couch next to him. “How’d ya’ sleep?”

“Good, man. Momma sure knows how to make a boy feel welcome.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Caleb smirks, as Hydro slugs him on his shoulder.

“Damn, man. She right there!” Hydro couldn’t help but chuckle, as he was up on cloud nine. He turns to me. “How’s yo’ head, bruh?”

Good question. It was no secret that Gabriel had dropped me on my head pretty hard last Sunday night. The boys were concerned that I might not be able to compete this week, but I ain’t the type to back out of a good fight, and that’s exactly what Gabriel has in store for him on Sunday. I know his buddy Despayre will be in town – one-half of the SCW Tag Team Champions – and that’s fine with me. I’ll have my boy Hydro at ringside with me, and I ain’t gotta question if Caleb’s got my back. If the concern is over my head, I’d like to think I’m more clear than ever before.

“I’m great, better than ever. Maybe not as good as you two, but I can change that.”

Hydro smiles, a big, cheesy grin. As high as he may be, Trey Porter was never one to pass on a smoke, and I could practically see the gears turning in his head as we spoke. He was ready for another session. Caleb, however, seemed a bit quieter than usual. I could tell something was on his mind, but now wasn’t the time to open up that can of worms.

“You comin’, bruh?” Hydro urges our friend on, as he sluggishly pushes himself up from the couch.

“Nah, I’m straight. You kids have fun,” Caleb shoots off after devouring another handful of cereal. “Don’t forget to wear protection.”

I shoot Hydro a confused look, and he just shrugs. We leave Caleb behind on the couch, as the two of us head upstairs for a smoke…

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Thanksgiving Day:
Thursday, November 23, 2006
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“JT, your parents are home!”

She giggled as I kissed her neck, that cute little laugh that she always did. I bit down gently, playfully, and a small gasp escaped her lips.

“That’s never stopped me before, has it?” My whisper sends chills down her spine, lips pressed so slightly against her ear. She grips the covers of my bed, biting down on her lip.

“It’s Thanksgiving. I’m sure your parents are wondering what we’ve been doing up here for the past hour.”

“What’s gotten into you, babe?” I laugh under my breath, as I kiss her neck so more. “You’ve never worried so much about my parents before today. Why start now?”

“Well…,” she begins, but her voice is shaky as she gasps, moaning just a little bit. I see her legs shifting gingerly over the covers, and her hand slowly travels over her thigh, seemingly lost in the moment. I lean over her, kissing her once just below her chin, then I travel down past her collar, and that’s all it took to break down that last wall. She finally gives in, rolling over toward me as we embrace in a passionate kiss. I pull her left leg up and over my waist, gripping firmly at her hip with my free hand.

“JT!”

We part quickly, as I notice the knock at my door. My mom had called me from outside the room, interrupting my make-out session with Jenna.

“Yeah mom, we’ll be right out!”

I shoot Jenna a glance, and she giggles again, raising an eyebrow.

“Busted!” She quickly kisses me on the cheek, before climbing down from my bed. I follow suit, making sure to taking precautionary measures to conceal my soldier, standing at full-attention.

I follow her down the stairs, taking in all of the wonderful scents of the delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Mom had outdone herself this year: trays upon trays of food lay organized neatly on the dining room table. There was a small glass dish of candied yams, huge pots of mashed potatoes – my favorite! – and several different vegetables. Next to a tray of fresh-baked rolls was, of course, our turkey, which was the biggest they had purchased in several years. I was practically salivating over this magnificent display of a traditional Thanksgiving cuisine! I couldn’t help but notice Jenna seemed a bit distant, as she took her seat at the table. She had been acting weird for the past week, but I never really thought anything of it.

I took a seat next to her, placing my right hand gently on her leg and squeezing, silently expressing my concern. She smiled softly, but didn’t break her gaze. I wasn’t quite sure how to read her when she was like this. It’s not like I had any previous experience with women, after all! Typically whenever she got quiet, I would kiss her and assure her that everything would be okay. I didn’t really have that opportunity right now, but I would definitely come back to this after dinner.

“Okay, supper is ready!” My dad licked his lips, that weird way he would whenever he was ready to eat. He always had this strange, dorky way of doing things, no matter what it happened to be. Part of it, I think, was because of those giant goggles he called eyeglasses that sat at the point of his nose at all times.

“JT?” My mother called out to me, derailing my train of thought. “Would you like to lead us in saying grace?”

I look around the table at the different faces joining us in the room. I was thankful for my loving mother, and for the lovely dinner she had prepared this evening. I was thankful for my hard-working father, who continuously would in the extra hours at work to make sure we would have the best holidays possible. I was thankful for my beautiful girlfriend, Jenna, who came into my life like a wrecking ball, breaking down the walls of the timid boy I used to be. She was a few years older than I was, which still surprised me at times, when I thought about this 18-year-old girl in a relationship with a boy not quite 16. Even when she took my virginity only a month ago, I almost found it surreal. She was the love of my life, though, and I tried not to think about it so much.

The bottom line is, I had an awful lot to be thankful for. My family had seemingly put their differences behind them, and things were starting to look up. For the first time in a long time, I think, as I bow my head for prayer…I was on cloud nine.

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Part Two:
A Brotha's Gotta Eat!
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I took a seat next to Hydro, my head fuzzy and spinning. I glance over at my friend, and he practically looks like a zombie at this point. His bloodshot eyes are basically crossed, and he has the goofiest grin on his face. He turns to me, likely feeling my stare, and starts giggling. I smile, too, and then I also laugh. I hear the shuffling off feet in the hallway, as Caleb slowly drudges his way to the dining room. His hair is slightly matted, and a bead of sweat slid down his forehead. He must have been working out in the basement, I thought to myself. Following behind him is Hydro’s little brother, Jonathan Porter. He, too, looks a bit warn out. The two of them sit across from us at the table. Caleb immediately drops both elbows on the tablecloth, leaning forward to rest his head. Always with the manners, this one.

“What up, big dawg?” Jon’s young voice belts out from across the table. “My boy Caleb tellin’ me you got blasted in the head last week. What happen, tho’?”

“Just some nobodies trying to make a statement, bro. It ain’t no thing.” I look away for a moment, and Jon smells the blood in the water.

“’Ain’t no thang?’ Come on, bruh, we family! Y’know you ain’t gotta lie to your boy, J.P. Lockdown!” Jon had this weird fascination with referring to himself in the third person, except he would use his Twitter handle rather than his real name. You probaly won’t ever get used to it. “I mean, damn…what kinda punk bitch drops a nigguh on his head?”

“I’m telling you, dude,” I assure Hydro’s little brother, “it’s cool. I got a match with the guy on Sunday, and he’s gonna learn real quick that I don’t go down as easy when I’m not caught off-guard.”

“Handle it!” Jon shouts, somewhat of an annoying catchphrase he adopted. I gotta admit, though…it can be catchy at times.

“My boy JT gon’ tear that nig’ apart!” Hydro seemingly falls back to earth, rejoining the party at the table. “And I hope that bitch Shipman gets involved ‘cuz I’ma crack his skull fo’ getting’ up in my grill last week!”

Hydro had taken it to heart, when Andrew Watts took advantage of Chris Shipman’s distraction and pinned him in his debut last week. While Caleb and I squeaked out victory over those other two bozos, Hydro was pretty down on himself. He knows things are different now, though.

“You won’t have to worry about that happening again, ‘Dro,” I place a hand on my friend’s shoulder, comforting him. “I ain’t heard a peep from Watts, Kaelin, or Stephens since last week. They probably had a little pow-wow backstage and admitted they were biting off more than they could chew, after all the nonsense they were shooting off about. You, Caleb, and I ain’t the kind of people you go to war with!”

“Handle it!”

“Nah, regardless of your loss last week, we all put the SCW locker room on watch. They saw how seamless Caleb and I work as a team. Nobody wants a part of us anymore. They know the Players Club is the real deal. Even Giani don’t want any of us, bro. He talks a tough game, hiding out and spitting all these nasty slurs at us. For somebody claiming to be so confident in his game, he sure comes across as an insecure, homophobic jackass, and sooner than later we’re gonna put him and the rest of Power Couple in their place!”

“Handle it!”

Hydro nods, and I notice a proud grin on his face. Although it could definitely be attributed to the fact that he was stupid high at the time, as was I, I knew that Hydro looked up to Caleb and me. We picked him up while he was a rookie, took him under our wings, and taught him the ways of the player. We taught him to drink, showed him how to get the girls, and taught him everything we know about the business. The fact is, this rookie took the “legendary” Andrew Watts to the limit last week, and he can’t deny that.

“Look guys, here’s the deal.” Hydro stares intently, hanging on every word in his stoned stupor, as Jon leans back in his chair, either bored or amused. Caleb’s chin rests in his hands, not caring too much about what I have to say. “We knew what were getting into when we signed up for this. We made it pretty clear when and where our party was going to start, and it happened two weeks ago at High Stakes, at the expense of Chris Shipman and the Seven Deadly Sins. We caught everybody’s attention with one risky move, and so far it has paid off. We shook the Sins so hard that they are starting to get desperate, and desperation is a stinky cologne. I know they must think they got even, but there ain’t no such thing as getting even with us, because as long as we’re having fun, we’re always the winners.”

Hydro’s eyes grow wide, and he nods intently. Jon can’t help but smirk at how stupid his older brother looks right now, and I grin, too. Momma Porter approaches the table with a delicious turkey. As much as I admire Momma Porter, I can't help but shift in my chair a little bit. I'm not racist by any means, but I always get a little awkward when I'm in the presence of such...diversity.

“Any of you strapping young boys wanna carve this bird for Momma Porter?”

“Bl…bla…” I stammer out, already feeling that nervousness taking control as I wipe the sweat from my brow. Momma Porter looks at me anxiously, as if I’m about to reveal the cure for cancer (which is obviously Bruce Evan’s manly tears). “I…I, uh…I’m not bla-…” Hydro interrupts me by punching me hard in my right arm. “I hated the Confederacy, too!”

Jon’s eyes get wide, as he nervously shakes his head at me. I warned these guys, but they just don’t listen.

“Caleb? Would you please cut this dang bird for Momma Porter?” She turns her attention to Caleb, who doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Pass.”

Hydro reaches out and grabs the knife. “Don’t worry, Momma. I got ‘dis.”

I smile a stupid, cheesy grin, as Momma shoots me a death stare on her way out of the dining. I breathe a heavy sigh of relief, and drool uncontrollably (kidding) as she brings out a gigantic pot of mashed potatoes. Hydro is just about finished with the turkey, as Momma Porter asks the big question.

“JT? Would you be a dear and say grace?”

I feel a lump in my throat, but I have to make up for my earlier transgressions against Momma Porter. I did not want to offend the mother of one of my closest friends, of course.

“Y-yes, ma’am!” I clear my throat, and bow my head, a million different thoughts racing through my head at once.

“F-Four score and seven years ago,” I begin nervously, “our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

Jon coughs out loud, perhaps a cue telling me to shut the fuck up. I’ve come too far to quit now, though, and so I go on.

“Now we are engaged in a great war against the Seven Deadly Sins, testing whether that faction, or any faction so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield this Sunday at Climax Control 100. We have come to dedicate a portion of that arena as a final resting place for those who will give their lives, that their faction might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.”

I open an eye, surveying the scene. Feeling confident, I break out in full preacher mode, giving my most passionate and emblazoned speech ever!

“’The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay My vengeance upon you.’ Now... I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, that meant your ass. You'd be dead lyin’ on the mat, looking up at the ceiling lights right now. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before I laid him out with the Fool’s Gold, or landed hard with a stunning 450-Splash. But I saw some shit last Sunday that made me think twice. See, now I'm thinkin’, maybe it means you're the evil man, Gabriel, and I'm the righteous man. And my boys Caleb Houston, and Hydro, and JP Lockdown, and the beautiful Momma Porter... they the shepherds protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish, I’m cool with it. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak, and I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo, Giani, J2H, Shipman, Gabriel. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd!”

I finally open my eyes, and realize the entire room is starting me in complete awe. Momma Porter looks like she’s about have a heart attack, while Hydro chuckles under his breath, JP’s mouth hangs wide open, and Caleb slices his dinner roll. For the first time all night, he looks up and across the table at me, a huge, sheepish grin on his face. “JT, would you please pass the butter?”

Guess who’s not coming to the 2014 Porter family Christmas dinner?
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Part Three:
Stop... PROMOTIME!
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Some people just seem to lack the creativity, the passion, to really come at an enemy with exactly what they need to hear. See, in this industry, words can be your greatest weapon, but your words can also be your worst enemy. I’ve heard a lot of words, but I haven’t really seen much action lately. In fact, until last week, when the Sins attacked Caleb and me after our match, not a damn person had so much as even thought of crossing our paths. And with good reason.

Everybody talks. Now, it’s time for you guys to shut the fuck up and listen, because y’all just can’t seem to get it through your thick heads. You guys keep calling my Players Club a gimmick, as if it’s something me and my boys pretend to be while we’re in the ring. How stupid can you guys be? You all hear the stories, or read about them on Twitter. A Few of you have been out with us, and have seen the trouble we can get ourselves into, so don’t hide behind your little cameras and talk about us like you know have some well-kept secret, because there ain’t one. The Players Club is who we are, it’s what we eat, sleep, and breathe. In fact, when we are in the ring, we’re all business…mostly. Don’t be ignorant, Gabriel. We’re not playing any tricks. It is what it is. We are what we are.

Speaking of playing tricks, how’s the magic business treating you? I mean, that is still a part of your gimmick, right? You’re rather impressive, too! I hired this stage magician to pull a rabbit out of a hat once when Caleb took one too many happy pills, but you’ve almost got that act topped. In fact, once you can manage to pull your head out of your own ass, you may just be the most clever magician of all! Or do you already liken yourself to being some kind of bad-ass sorcerer, like lord Voldymort or whatever his name is. See, I’ve seen enough of those awful Harry Potter movies to know that Lord Voldymort was a bully. He slaughtered the weak, and eventually went so far as to target a little baby boy. The differences, though, between you and Voldymort, are that I’m not a baby, and you ain’t left a scar on me, bro. “Expelleramus” that, jackass!

You really believe that your name has some kind of relevance or credibility, that by simply uttering the words “Seven Deadly Sins,” you’d strike some kind of fear into my heart. I don’t care about how many titles y’all have to your names. This ain’t about measuring dicks, Gabriel. It ain’t even about making an impact anymore. Nah, now it’s all fun and games. See, my boys and I see y’all getting twitchy in the locker rooms. When you dropped me on my head last week, I saw that nervous tick in your eye. You were wondering whether or not you had done the right thing. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how well this charade works out for everyone. You think you’re clever, Gabriel. I’ve seen it before. You think you have all the answers, but really you’re just that lazy kid who marks the letter “C” down the entire quiz because he never took the time to study. Contrary to popular belief, you see, Caleb, Hydro, and I knew exactly what we were doing when we made your boy Chris Shipman look like a little bitch two weeks ago, and I know exactly what it will take this Sunday night at Climax Control 100 to grab this pitiful fallen angel by his rusted, broken-down halo, and clip his wings, and when I’m through with you, Gabriel, I will put on my party hat, and down a few shots of Jack Daniels. Not because it’s my gimmick, not because I’m trying to play a magic trick on anyone; nah, none of it.

I’ll do it because it’s fun.

Laissez les bon temps rouler,
J.T. Midas