Post by: Thatcher Rex on December 14, 2012, 09:17:17 PM
The rain. It fell in sheets, the roar of heavy drops the only sound that reached my ears. The torrent had been going on for some time, driving most sane people to seek shelter.
I’m not most people.
Ever since I was a child, I loved the rain. In my mind’s eye, I could see that little boy running down the sidewalk, leaping into ankle-deep puddles with absolute glee. These days, puddle-jumping was no longer an activity I participated in… but I still enjoyed standing outside while water poured from the heavens. My clothes and hair are soaked, but I don’t mind. There was something refreshing about it, almost cleansing. Were I to discuss it with one, a pyschologist would tell me it was my predilection for weathering hardships, for meeting them head on. And there might be more truth in that psycho-babble than not. I do seem to charge straight into impossible situations, don’t I? Charging headfirst into danger and what most would assume was certain defeat.
Even I don’t quite know why I do it. Perhaps it’s the thrill of hearing my name chanted by the masses. Perhaps it’s the adrenaline surge that courses throughout my body before I go head to head with some other superstar. Whatever the reason, I keep on doing it. There were times when I had cause; battling against the likes of Kris Keebler and Michael Thunder, standing against the unjust Laura Lyne, and clashing with the vile Mike Powers.
Las Vegas is a new place for me. Who do I fight, and who do I side with? It’s still far too soon to know. I walked in with the intent to wrestle, to resume the legacy of Thatcher Rex. But here, I have to build anew… and there is no building unless a foundation is laid and, before that is to take place, scouting of the terrain. Who can I trust? For now, nobody. As far as I’m concerned, each and every member of the roster has a knife clutched in their hand, ready to slide it deep into my back should the moment present itself.
Oh sure, there have been friendly interactions on Twitter, but as the masses should know in this day and age, you can’t make a judgment on a person’s character solely by online interaction. I’m here to be the best. Every other person in that locker room is here to do the same, and many would prefer to take a less-than-honorable approach to it. Backstage politics as opposed to duking it out in the squared circle, hiding behind lawyers instead of facing others like a man.
To those who would do such a thing, to the cowards who play by that set of rules… your time is at an end.
The Tyrant King has arrived.
* * *
Debuts rarely turned out well for me, and my first appearance in Sin City Wrestling had been no different. Though I had not fallen victim to the three-count, I had not won; I’d been outside the ring when Derek Thorne claimed victory over Void. Despite my loss, I believe congratulations are in order. Thorne, you were able to stand proud and tall after your first match in SCW, and that is something to be proud of. I look forward to seeing what else you can do as time goes on.
And goes on, it does. For now I have a new opponent, in the form of…
Hope Heelcum.
Wow.
No other word comes quite so close to conveying my feelings on this issue.
Now, I’ve seen crossdressers in this business before; most notably, Nathan McFarlane, who is quite a decent fellow. But this Hope character… he’s a horse of a different color. He goes out of his way to make others feel uncomfortable; even his name is suggestive. Why he does this, I do not know. Perhaps it is to gain an advantage. Maybe it’s to throw his opponents off their game.
Sorry, son. I don’t get thrown off. You have your tricks and your gimmicks, your attitude and your methods. You undoubtedly expect me to fall victim to psychological warfare. But whenever faced with difficult decisions, there is one tenet to which I have kept:
Never back down.
These three words form the core lesson my father imparted unto me when he was still alive. He not preached, but practiced the philosophy in his every day life. No matter the odds, thick or thin, flush or bust, you never back down. Stick to your guns, stand tall, and greet the hostility of the world with your head held high.
And throughout my life, I have kept to this philosophy. Not once have I backed away in subservience. Never has Thatcher Rex refused to take a stand; in point of fact, it’s that for which I am so well known. Some would say it’s the constant spotlight on me, that I’ve become the type of man who goes in to set a record. Those who say such things are not without a measure of credibility; most of my career has consisted of one record or the other, from being the only undefeated roster member of PCW to holding the EPW Television Title longer than any other singles belt of the company, to being the second-longest reigning North American Champion in CWC. But it’s not for the belt that the cheers are intended. Neither accomplishments nor victories have spread my name to the four corners of the Earth.
It’s the sheer attitude.
People of the world want a hero to save them. They cry out for one each and every day, a man whose heart is unwavering, whose courage is unmatched, to swoop in and fight the otherwise-insurmountable villains of their lives. They wish to have a warrior who has no compunctions about sacrificing his well-being on their behalf, a man who would risk everything for the sole purpose of halting the progress of an evil man. They have found that man in the Tyrant King.
You’re not a villainous mastermind, Hope. You’re not an evil genius, a cruel dictator, or even an arrogant prick that needs his mouth shut.
You’re a goofball.
A buffoon.
A pitiful clown, you dress up with the goal to put on a show. Frankly, you’re an insult to the business. But a villain is a villain, after all. Not everyone can be a Ra’s al Guhl or Lex Luthor; some have to play the role of the Mad Hatter. Some have to play the role of the punching bag.
And buddy, that is exactly the role you’re going to play.
I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay on the roster for this long without being put into traction, but your time ends now. There are those on the roster that I could conceivably call friend, those who would stand by my side, and I, theirs. People like Giani Di Luca and Odette Ryder. But you, Hope… not you. You don’t hold a candle to those good people. You’re the bottom rung on the ladder to success, and come Sunday, you’ll be passed up.
Left in the dust.
Forgotten.
I have yet to hear from you, Hope. No words have been spoken from your camp, and I expect to never hear from you again after this match. I don’t know why the powers-that-be have placed be against an individual such as you, but I can only assume that it’s a squash match, made to bolster confidence since my last match in SCW did not end in victory. Well, deliberate setup or not, you’ll be getting the best of the Tyrant King.