[Chris Crimson]

 







“You can tell the greatness of a man by what makes him angry.”
-Abraham Lincoln




Much how the Earth’s own moon controls the waves of the ocean, I considered myself to have the same presence; the gravitational pull, the control, the significance of having importance.  Not everyone looks up at the moon when it is full, basking in the night sky among the stars.  My analogy, which could easily sail over the heads of many, could only be defined as being bigger than everyone else – the one thing in the sky that mattered.  Control was always key; it was essential – too important for anyone to truly fathom, to comprehend.  Some days when I looked up into the night sky, full moon or not, it reminded me of the desire that I had to show everyone that I was the brightest object in the sky.  The light in the darkness, exceptional, unparalleled to others and untouchable by the common individual.


As I compared myself to my lifelong friend in the heavens, my own digits danced along the surface of my favorite tool of all.  Creating art inside the squared circle was simple work; too easy, as most that yielded above average skills could do so.  Therefore, inspiration came from other avenues, whether it be looking into the dark skies above the Atlantic Ocean, or possibly seeking any other new opportunity.  Tunes that ravished my soul, energizing me to be at my best; seek the quality that everyone is accustomed to – it was never an easy task.  However, I was always silent, subtle, and deadly.  I was the hunter of hunters, the apex predator – the last of a breed.


The journey to become unequaled and recognized was just that, a journey, and sometimes it seemed futile.  As if I was looking up a wall that I had climbed for years, and what seemed forever could ultimately be so.  There was no end in sight, even as my thoughts wandered my own consciousness to explore new ideas, new ways to get a message across – to become unforgettable.  My favorite instrument helped me achieve this, to a certain extent of course, but my skills in creating music were very meager compared to my ability to combine words of malicious intent.  Initially, you would think I was a loner by how I acted, but naturally, I was a people person.  Nevertheless, those who watched me would never know.  They would never figure it out.


So there I was, miles away and destined to meet a man in a desolate region; a location I had never been to before.  My fingers pranced down the keys ever so softly, creating a dreary reluctance that my mind had become familiar to.  Just a man – nothing more, nothing less – yet to some I had become an entity myself, a shadow – a shade.  Alienation was the first step to brilliance, and even if I never saw my name in lights or anywhere of irrelevant importance, I knew my name would never be forgotten in time.  Never forgotten by those who met me face to face.  The squared circle was a ruthless one, unlike my dear wooden instrument, which would forgive if I made a mistake.  Luckily, for me, I rarely made mistakes, and if I did, well – they looked purposeful.


Waves crashing upon the shoreline was a sound I had become accustomed to, and rightfully so, you never forget home.  It was a far distance to travel to meet a man who seemed to lack respect for others – for what was right.  Integrity was a dying trait, a word that had become buried by the men and women who wanted to rip my rightful spot away from me.  It fueled me, day by day, and even grueling men who would shout and threaten looked foolish compared to Your Favorite Shade of Red.  The grin on my face spoke volumes; told the tale because I was indeed in control, as usual.  My gravitational pull was futile to escape from, impossible really, because it was unmatched.  Maybe I did have more in common with the pie in the sky after all.


Yet I sat here, pondering the thoughts of how to address a foe, an enemy.  Melodramatic sequences flourished in my abode as I excelled in my favorite hobby, my one true escape from the world of gritty wrestling.  My emerald green eyes sought my faithful cloak and hat, sitting upon its rest near my very own door.  Ah – it was something to resurrect memories for sure, yet I knew my alter attire would be dawned again, one day, once more – when the time was right.  The debonair smile sold my inner peace to my peers, whether it was here where I was most comfortable, or out there amongst the warriors of the ring.  Thoughts of wrestling a stout opponent in the desert ignited a passion that I lusted for.  Competition was humid by nature, hard to breathe when you were not subjected to it before, but I had been here numerous times.


As I continued to play, my very own dreadful gaze wandered – searching – seeking the next move on the checkered board of strategy upon my wooden instrument.  Playing myself in such a trivial game was dramatic enough, but it was an old habit I did to free my mind of the inevitable task – finding a weakness in my foe.  The bewildered look would catch any off guard, as rightfully so, as I shot my glare towards the device that had been setup the entire time.  As if I was caught off guard initially, my smile cemented – I played games of trickery well.  With fingers continuing to prance along black and white keys with swift fluidity, it had come to me just in time.  The words I had been searching for all along.


“Oh, why – hello!  It is I, Your Favorite Shade of Red again.” Chris Crimson shot a daunting look after the wrestler had seemingly just noticed his new audience abound.


“Don’t let the fear you have resonate, because I can hear the whispers of your inadequacy.  It chimes so true; righteous in fact, just like everyone else.  Such a flame in the dark, secluded by what is and what could be – all alone.  I just happen to be that brief stir of wind that always wins, always finds a way – extinguishing the flame.” Once again, Your Favorite Shade of Red held true with his debonair, yet somewhat tawdry grin that had slithered across his face since the beginning.  The wrestler’s voice invoked attention, nonetheless.


“You must mistake me for a simple man, TJ Codiar.  A simple opponent – just another wrestling match for you, another attempt at whatever you are attempting to chase or achieve.”  Crimson paused with a slight thought, his fingers racing upon the keys of his instrument with speed and accuracy, “Whether it be glory, a fictitious status within a promotion, or even everyone’s delight – a championship belt.  Whatever your intentions, I can assure you they must chime well within your own heart – your desire for them must be what drives you to thrive in this industry.  To you, I am just a man of flesh and bone.  I am in your squared circle, an intruder, and there is only one way out.  You beat me – one, two, three or you make me tap.”  As if Chris could implore any other option, but there was only one true result he wanted to indulge in.  One outcome he searched for, while the wrestler remained and calm to the sounds of his own music.


“How is it they say?  Tap or snap?”  What was once wry, turned devilish – the grin of a man shining with confidence.  The wrestler followed up his grimy exposure with a quick, but meaningful chuckle at his own expression.


“I like the sound of that, TJ.  I like the sound of your every intention to bring me down, to beat me, and to ultimately give it your all.  Because this is what I live off of – the energy of others to win, to succeed.  I am the proverbial brick wall in your way, TJ Codiar.  Yet whatever I really say holds no weight for you, and you know why?  You just do not know who I am, but maybe you should.  Maybe, just maybe, you should learn to pay attention.”  Your Favorite Shade of Red tilted his head to the side, as if he was initiating another thought process, “Don’t confuse my words with what you may want to hear, either, Codair.  What you want to hear is that I am here to beat you, to embarrass you, to break you – inside the wrestling ring of course, but my message is not that easy.  It isn’t written in crayon, like yours.” Yet another chuckle hurled forth from Chris Crimson seemed to almost ignite a tiny smile, as if you knew the wrestler had that one up his sleeve all along.  The music continued to play at the disposal of the careful and diligent hands of Your Favorite Shade of Red.


“Consider me an artist, TJ.  I have a skill, and that skill is beyond most, whether or not they want to acknowledge it or not.  I do not make any lists, any statistics or favorites.  I am who I am – Your Favorite Shade of Red, in truest form, TJ.  I don’t need a history lesson to know you were actively seeking to play in the big leagues with yours truly – something you wouldn’t be able to handle – but let’s cut to the chase, because I can already assume that I have lost you.  Intelligence doesn’t seem to be your forte.”  With a glance down towards the checkered game board that had been laid out, it was as if Chris Crimson was attempting to reach a certain point, or make something very clear.  Nevertheless, the grappler remained as usual while sitting on that bench in his loft.


“This is the life I chose, TJ Codiar.  Is it what you decided to choose as well?  I don’t believe you did, because some men and women were born for this – to thrive in this.  Do you really thrive?  Do you want what I want?  You know what I see when I look at you?  Trick question, I don’t even look at you, because you’re too far down on the food chain to be seen.  Save yourself the raging banter about how you will break this, or how you will break that.  The only thing you’ll be breaking come Sunday are the hopes of all the Chris Crimson doubters as they watch me defeat a man that takes the low road to town every trip he takes.  You’re so far below the subpar standard these days that it’s hardly believable that I was once again wasted on the card to wrestle someone like you.”  As if Crimson had abysmal disappointment, the wrestler almost scoffed, yet kept his cool all the while rolling his eyes towards his viewers.  You could sense frustration of the sorts, but it was obviously fueling his desire to achieve what he wanted most.


“Alas, I don’t call the shots, TJ.  I merely play the game, and maybe dues must be paid, still.  Unfortunately, that will always exist, and I will have to fight my way to where I want to be.  Like all things in life, it’s rather inevitable to get by without earning your spot, or is it?  So many others seem to do it in our business, yet here I am, proving myself on a constant basis.  And while we both wrestle a similar style, Codair, we are nothing alike inside that squared circle.”  The wry grin recovered, etching itself across the face of the intimidating wrestler as his fingers dashed across the keys rapidly, creating tones in sequence that would be of an amateur.


“Nobody is impressed with what you’ve done, or what you may accomplish, TJ.  Nobody needs to know, just as much as they don’t need to know about my past.  It’s gone and over with, and on the horizon is Climax Control; Sunday Night – the night you learn who Your Favorite Shade of Red is.  It is a great opportunity for you to come up short, just shy of everyone’s weird prognosis that you could even come close to defeating me.”  Crimson vocalized this with great expression, as both eyes of the wrestler narrowed towards the audience, “It not even close, or remotely fathomable, Codiar – so save yourself a few of those rants you go on, because hitting rewind and play is getting a little old.”  Another roll of the eyes by Your Favorite Shade of Red truly gave birth to what seemed to be an aggressive attitude stirring up.


“So besides the fact that you’ve worn out the wheels on your own wagon, it’s fairly obvious you’re the next tiny hurdle for yours truly – whatever may come next.  You see, I don’t need to look ahead, so to speak, because I simply live week by week.  My focus dwells on you and you only, Codiar.  Beating you is the only option, and even if you are a low tier player, I don’t mind easily taking out the trash to prove a point to “management”, concerning whatever false opportunities they would like to churn up.  Because I don’t play for fairy tale endings, and I definitely don’t want any freebies – I earn my shots, and I earn my keep.  So whatever accusation of being a contender you may think you are, let me reassure you – you don’t fit the bill.”  With a brief pause of his hands, the music ceased quickly as the wrestler remain still, yet eyes focused on his audience.  The eyebrow of Your Favorite Shade of Red cocked ever so slightly up, his left one that is, to signify an arousing question on the horizon.


“But are you what I would consider “light duty”, TJ?”  The eyebrow of Crimson lowered, as eyes focused on the keys of his dear instrument in front of him, “Not necessarily, because everyone gets the same treatment from me, and that is honestly what most people deserve."  With those words muttered, Chris Crimson raised his glare back up to his audience fittingly in time, “Most people deserve nothing, much like you, TJ.  You are just another person in the business, Codiar – another prick thinking he can bully those who are superior, but your tactics don’t stick here.  Your methods aren’t good enough this week, because Chris Crimson plays for keeps, buddy.  That means when you lose to me, you never forget, and you go back to your rightful spot at the bottom.”  The last word of that statement seemed to almost echo throughout whatever corridor Crimson sat in, holding true significance that the wrestler indeed was very vicious and aggressive.


“Since you’ll be picking up the pieces to your self-esteem after you loss – what if I move forward, Codiar?  You might think I have a genuine interest in what some of these idiots have to offer, but you couldn’t be further from the truth, because opportunities are a dime a dozen in this business – you should know that by now.  Don’t try to turn this into me disrespecting Sin City Wrestling, because my fate ultimately relies on who pulls the triggers in the back.  You could somehow refer to me as a franchise player, TJ.  Someone that could do what many cannot, especially you – to carry a company on its shoulders.  I have that ability, Codair.  You, sir – you do not, and it is painfully obvious.”  With a silly grin on his face after the last sentenced being pronounced, Chris Crimson’s hands began to go back to work by dashing to the left and to the right.  Beautiful notes accompanied a very serious look from Your Favorite Shade of Red.


“Because the lesser evil is right in front of you, staring you in the face and you probably don’t realize it.  Hell – it would be rather easy for me to dig up your own past, to dig up the relics of your memories with just a few words, but I play a much deadlier game, TJ.  I am like Houdini, because what you see is certainly, what you never seem to get.” This expression seemed to blossom on the wrestlers face, inducing self-praise while Crimson cocked a funny grin for a moment, “Cornered I have been, but I always seem to escape just in time for it to mean the most.  I hope that made you smile but the reality is this: nobody will be smiling Sunday.  I barely smile, and it is only when I am beating those who deserve to be beaten, TJ.  That is one check mark you prove to hold significant to.  You deserve to lose.  You deserve to get served, and while that rhyme was clever – make no mistake about it – I am not playing games with you and everyone you are associated with.”  Dreadful tones rang over the large instrument, as Crimson focused his gaze upon his audience once more with a now expressionless face.


“That’s where this leads, Codiar, because it’s rather easy to judge a man on the individuals he affiliates with.  Where do we really start, because I could talk all day about how you are associated with losers.  Do yourself a favor and read between the lines, asshole – don’t think I haven’t beaten your friends, because I have.  Don’t think those who haven’t been beaten won’t be, because they will.  It is JUST a matter of time and their time is just around the corner.  Time runs out, and so does bullshit – because the real deal remains forever, and you’re looking at it.”  Both eyebrows of the wrestler raised with expression, as if everyone knew what he had spoken of already.  As if Chris Crimson had proven it before, but was definitely willing to prove it again.


“Nobody sitting ringside in the entire world could save you from my grasp on Sunday, Codair.  Not even all those yes men you seem to have befriended.  Oh, but Your Favorite Shade of Red pays good attention to social media – very much so.  I see everything, and I have already spotted your own weakness.  I mean, besides the fact that you’re already not that great, you decide to be friends with others who are at that level.  Is it because you feel better in a herd of mediocrity, Codair?  Are you that type of a big bad wrestler?  You’re barely a man, because real men walk their own path – you’ve just been following others, and it will be my upmost pleasure to put you down in front of everyone.”


“And don’t believe all the naysayers either, Codair.  I am ten times as good as any credit they would like to cough up, but that is where the line is truly drawn to begin with.  The line is drawn on integrity, and since you have shown zero in the past – we can go ahead and chalk you up as just another wannabe.  Just a fake, a phony, just like all your friends, but the best part is that you are a much easier target.”  Strong emphasis on the last statement seemed to carry over quite well, “This predator likes the bigger prey, Codair.  I have made it a point to go after the large prey; the ones that matter – but some people need to be put in their spot to begin with – even if they are a small fish.  You fit that bill, and I certainly will be making you into the biggest example one could be.”  The Cheshire grin found its way back onto the face of Your Favorite Shade of Red.


“Now – whether or not that impresses someone else, or someone in the back, I could care less.  As I said, no accolade is large enough for me, and as far as I am concerned, the so-called champions of Sin City Wrestling prove to be elegant on paper and rather disappointing in person.  Nevertheless, you’ve got your shot, TJ.  Your one opportunity at the real champion of this business, but I don’t have a title around my waist.  Not like I would need one either, but take a second and think of what it would be like if I did.  Gosh – that sounds like the word reigning, right.  I thought so.”  The wrestler, who remain calm, gave a stern, yet very daring glance but you got the impression his intentions were dwindling down slowly.  A slow wane it was, spiraling out of sight and out of mind.


“So while companies far and wide may or may not have been asking you for your so-called talents, once upon a time, of course – I was beating everyone there was to beat.  I wasn’t begging for a spot, because people make that spot appear for me.  Your Favorite Shade of Red is the hottest wrestling property today, and me just saying that surpasses any irrelevant accomplishment you have garnered for yourself – it is sad but true.  I can go anywhere, and I can wrestle anyone, but here you are, TJ.  Another basic player pitting his luck against the real deal, but I will be a sport about it.  I’ll make it look good, and you won’t be embarrassed any more than you already are when you watch this.  I suppose I caught you by surprise.  Maybe you didn’t expect this, and yet you thirsted for something a little easier to swallow.”


“Oh, did I go there?  I think I did, TJ.  Didn’t you get the memo, phony?  I am the hardest drink of them all, and you won’t get back up from taking a shot of this.  Maybe you should stick to abusing substances, which I have heard is rather easy to do without any genuine skill – you will be perfect!  The rumor is you’re accustomed to that, or at least you’ve confessed to it, so why not go back to doing it.  Just imagine sitting at home instead of wrestling someone like me.  Seems much easier.  Imagine that for a second, because I’ll sit here and wait.”


Chris Crimson abruptly terminated his intention to create stirring and insightful music, almost as if it were simply protest – the wrestler had an expressionless look on his face.  With a few quick looks down to his own wrist, as if he were eyeing his wristwatch itself, you got the impression Crimson was playing games indeed.  Nevertheless, the wrestler sat for a moment before his voice returned.


“Right, as if I would give you the time of day.  Time is up, old man – figuratively, and literally.  I am beyond tired of painting a picture for you, so let’s break it down real easy.”  The instrument remained quiet, as Chris Crimson seemed to explore the silence with his own words, not accompanied by his own creations.


“There will always be room for you in a promotion when I am around, TJ.  Just like how everyone else seems to coexist with Your Favorite Shade of Red – below me.  So huff and puff my friend – well, you aren’t my friend, but go ahead with your usual story.  I am sure you will be raging out once again, so much I may fall asleep if I ever decide to tune in to whatever you decide to throw together.  But what matters most is the squared circle, Codair, because as good as I talk the talk – I surely do something even better – I walk the walk.”  As if a smile would like to spawn on the face of Your Favorite Shade of Red, the grappler held it back with ease.  A very serious demeanor seemed to overhaul the entire scenery as Crimson had a stern look on his face.


“So it’s your move, TJ.  The ball is in your court, and I don’t think you dare drive to the rim while I am standing in front of you.  You are just too short to contend with me – again, both figuratively and literally – but do you understand what I am trying to profess to you?  Its game over, whether you concoct the best available for someone of your status, it pales in comparison to the pure gold I amount to in and outside of the ring.”  The wrestler eyed the checkered board upon his instrument, as if he were closing in on an opportunity, “So from time to time the knight may have to beat a pawn, eventually he will see the end of the board, and nobody will be left.  You’re the chosen pawn this week, so let us play, but please remember:  I said it before, and I will say it again – I play for keeps.  Good luck, TJ – you need it.”  With a slight tilt of his head towards his audience, Chris Crimson simply notified the ending of his special message with a resonating grin.