My time in St. Louis helped me to realize what needs to be done. This Mister Nice Guy needs to disappear. I am tired of getting raped at every corner I turn. Whether it be schedule mix ups, or young punks named Kevin Carter who want to take away what is mine, or someone like Jordan Williams who takes advantage of a slight lapse in judgment… it comes down to me looking like a fucking fool, and that stops right here… right now.
The past two years, I have made it my mission to watch other people’s backs. I have been looking out for the best interests of everyone around me, but who has had my back? Nobody is exactly right. I have been nearly stripped of my SCW title, had schedules mixed up on me twice, dropped on my head, smacked with a chair and pinned in a match that, in all rights should have been a disqualification, banned from competing in a match I was rightfully admitted into, framed for a beat down on somebody while having my locker room trashed, and verbally smashed by people who only wish they were good enough to come near either of my titles. I had taken the majority of it in stride, but I am tired of looking like an idiot.
I am not the champion of my region, AND of the world, because I am this spineless, dishonorable piece of shit that everyone is making me out to be. Call me lucky all you want, but it wasn’t by luck that I won and defended my NWA World Heavyweight title. It wasn’t by some coincidence that I have held onto the SCW Heavyweight title for over five months. I have earned every single one of my accomplishments, and I’ll be damned if I stand idly by and allow it to happen. If Sean Jackson is good enough to beat me, then he is going to get me at my best. He gets to meet the real Spike Staggs, the monster that has been dwelling inside of me, begging to be let out, even just for a few moments. The insatiable bloodlust from within me will get a small taste, Mr. Jackson. That is a promise…
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Today, the sun has prevailed on this beautiful day in St. Louis, Missouri. The birds are chirping, basking in the warm reverie of Spring time. A gentle breeze wisps by as the families flock to the world famous zoo in Forest Park. The joyful squeals of children echo throughout the parking lot. Off to the right, a little league team plays baseball on the small diamond as their parents competitively cheer them on. Just behind them, children fly brightly colored kites with their friends and family. All in all, it is a perfect day to be outside. Just about fifty feet away, Spike is seen sitting on a concrete wall, enjoying the shade and the crisp breeze that comes along with it. He has his feet propped up as he lies across the upward slope of the wall. His eyes dance across the scene unfolding before him, wandering over to his 14 year old son, Tim, and his 5 year old daughter Eden. He watches as his ginger son chases his daughter around the green field before him. She is carrying a Frisbee, but rather than throw it, she simply runs from her big brother, squealing in delight. Spike slowly lifts his sunglasses off of his face and tucks them into his shirt pocket. He dangles his black boots off of the side of the wall as he sits up. He soaks in the joy of his children that he has missed so much with being on the road. He watches as Vixen comes into the fold, playfully shouting with them as she chases them around in a circle. Eden turns around and hands her the Frisbee and runs far into the distance, shouting for Vixen to throw it. Spike’s lip curls up into a smile as he leans his head back to observe it.
Spike: Sometimes, you just have to take a step back to really enjoy what you find most important to you. My family has always been, and will always be, number one to me. I am fortunate enough that my children have grown up in this business, and they understand. I miss the opportunity to tuck them in at night. I miss the opportunity to hear their laughs. The last four weeks have been hell for me in that respect. Finally, I have the opportunity to truly unwind and spend time with those most important to me.
Spike eyeballs Vixen and the kids to make sure they aren’t looking right at him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. He breaths it in deeply, enjoying the bittersweet tingle in his lungs. He holds it there for a moment before slowly exhaling. He leans back slightly, holding the cigarette between his fingers as he leans off of the wall. He drops down to the ground, leaning against the six foot wall. He takes in another puff before turning to face the camera.
Spike: I have been criticized for allowing my children into the spotlight. I have been told I use them as a storyline. Sue me if I have pride in my creations. I love them more than life itself. I might have had my issues in the past, but my children make me a better person. It is because of them that I feel like I have a reason to be an upstanding person. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to convey to them how to be strong, integral, and independent. For them, I feel like I must undergo another metamorphosis.
Spike takes another long drag from the cigarette, flicking the ash off of the end before exhaling a big cloud that gleams silver in the sunlight that pokes through the budding leaves of the trees surrounding him. He kneels down as the camera follows him. He takes in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the fresh cut grass around him.
Spike: No more Mister Nice Guy from here on out. Being naïve has never been my forte. I was much better off when I only trusted people as far as I could throw them. If I haven’t spent a great deal of time around someone, the chances are, I will take my eyes off of them.
Spike kicks his feet out, trying his best to conceal the cigarette from his children who run in his direction. They swerve, shouting to get his attention. “Dad! DAD!” He smiles and waves at them as Vixen winks in his direction. Spike chuckles a bit as they circle around the tree and back onto the field. He slowly brings the cigarette back to his lips, taking in another puff before he continues talking through the exhaled cloud.
Spike: Right now, I don’t trust my opponent Sean Jackson. Out of any opponent I have faced in recent years, he is the one I will have my eyes wide open for. Does he have talent? Yeah, he does. Does he have intelligence? Minimal, but yes. Does he lack common sense? Hell yeah he does. I understand trash talking your opponent as much as the next guy, but damn son…
Spike takes the last long drag from the cigarette, putting it out in the nearby grass. He savors the last bit of smoke, holding it in a few extra seconds before slowly releasing it. He slides the butt into his pocket as his eyes wander back to the camera.
Spike: Let me speak to you directly, Sean. I’m not good at talking about someone because I like saying things directly to them. Since it is in your best interest to stay hundreds of miles away until we meet up in ACW, I have to settle for talking to a camera, visualizing you are right in front of me… You are poking a sleeping lion, and you think it is funny. I know your type, Sean, and you want to get a rise out of me. Everyone likes to get a rise out of good old Spike Staggs. I have to ask you something, kind sir...
Spike leans forward; his eyes wide open as he pauses for emphasis. His joyful expression melts from his face as it is replaced by a very stern, serious look. He takes in a deep breath, doing his best to stifle his anger.
Spike: Is it funny? Do people think it is humorous to piss me off? There seems to be a lot of that going on around me, and since you are the mind master, please answer this for me… Are you a masochist, son? I can understand the first few people thinking they are tough shit, so stuck in their own little world that they don’t pay attention to the asshole before them getting their ass handed to them. I get that, but what I don’t get is why every stupid fucker lines up to throw shots at me like I were some outcast in high school that the populars like teasing, only to get their heads bashed in ever… fucking… time!
Spike shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head in a mimicked confusion. He rolls his eyes, sighing as he leans back against the wall. He takes a moment to adjust his demeanor, refocusing on the matter at hand.
Spike: I find it pretty funny that you think I am like the suits that run this company, Sean. I find it fucking funny, as a matter of fact. You come around, making accusations, telling me that I am this, and that I am that, right after accusing me of doing the same fucking thing. Let me tell you something, Sean…
Spike slowly stands up and the camera follows him. He stares deeply into the camera, showing off the intensity of his eyes. His nostrils flair up as he tenses his body. He takes in a few forced breaths before continuing.
Spike: You don’t know a fucking thing about me. At least I admitted I don’t know you. I know your type, but I don’t know you. See, you act like you know my whole life story, which if you looked hard enough, you could find it in paperback now. You think you can get inside of my head by comparing me to Brad fucking Batee. You think you can get to me by talking about my girlfriend? You want to go on down the line and insult every fucking person I ever came in contact with? Go right ahead, Sean. Beat around the bush some more. Tell me I am worthless. Tell me I rely on suits to win matches. Bring up the fact that I *air quotes* LOST to Spectre. Ignore the facts, man. Prove your own fucking ignorance without me having to say one word.
Spike stretches his arms out to the side, popping them loudly before doing the same with his neck. He begins walking forward toward the blacktop walking path, stepping into the sun. He walks as we follow him along the way.
Spike: The truth of the matter, Sean, is that I abided by the rules through my entire match against Spectre. I played it clean, because ‘thems’ the rules. If I wanted to play dirty, I am no stranger to extreme, hardcore, backyard, underground, bar room brawl-style fighting. I would have knocked Spectre out in three hits and put him through a flaming table if it were allowed. The fact stands that they were not. Spectre bashed me with a chair when I wasn’t looking. He should have been disqualified for doing that, and I would have walked away with my title. Instead of whining and complaining about it, as I am sure someone like you would do, I spun him around and I knocked his ass out…
ONE! *clap*
TWO! *clap*
THHHREEEEE!
With one final clap, Spike continues walking again. He has an almost wicked smile on his face now as he continues on. A child runs a few feet in front of him with a dog on a leash. Spike pauses just long enough to let them get some distance before starting back at his original pace. He looks over to his side at the camera as he moves along.
Spike: Batee can take credit for restarting the match, and claim that he is the sole reason I am still the champion, but the fact of the matter I that he helped me save face. Instead of walking out with a win by disqualification, I walked out with a pinfall victory. If you think that I don’t pay attention to what is going on around me, then you are the fool, Sean. You and Batee might think I am his champion, but I am the World’s champion. I am not owned by anybody. Of course, you will find that out come next Sunday.
Spike comes along to a bench now to bask in the sunlight. He has the perfect view of his children and girlfriend now, watching as they frolic around together. The joy of watching them mixed with the anger boiling within him is shown as a purely stone-like expression. He studies the scenario a bit more, stroking his chin lightly in his silence. He straightens out his black jeans, removing the annoying ruffle as he speaks again.
Spike: And then you want to talk about blindsiding a champion who had no idea he was supposed to defend his title. You have the nerve to call me out for the way things went down with Spectre and I, yet you went way below the belt by doing what you did to him. He came out to promote the match he and I were about to have, and you put a knife in his back. If you are trying to lecture me on honor, then anything you have to say on the subject is falling on deaf ears. Pot calling the kettle black?
Spike shakes his head, baffled by the claims of his opponent. He offers a soft chuckle at the ridiculousness as he lifts up his shirt just a little bit. He shows off the NWA World Heavyweight Championship belt, giving Sean one last look at it before their meeting as a silent warning that it will never happen. He brings his shirt down with a cocky, devious smile on his face.
Spike: Each second that passes makes me want to kick your ass that much more. Hearing the hypocrisy that comes spewing out of your mouth makes my blood boil. At no point have I ever agreed to get help from Batee. As a matter of fact, I don’t want it. I don’t need it. See, the reason I asked you to meet me in the real world is because you are so delusional, dumb, naïve… I haven’t figured out which of those yet… and you jump to all of these conclusions about me. When I asked you to join us in the real world, it was a legitimate request.
A gust of wind sends leaves blowing past him on the bench. Another crowd of children, carrying balloons and stuffed animals from the zoo, walk by, chattering with each other as they move along. Next, a bicyclist rides by on the path, but Spike hardly pays them any mind as he is focused on the task at hand.
Spike: Your head is so far up your ass. Am I repeating myself? Yes I am, but that is because you just… don’t… get it! I am the best in the world, and you couldn’t hold a candle to me. I find it heartwarming that you believe you are. It almost makes me sad that I have to crush your dreams, but I am not done realizing mine. You are right about one thing, though. I knew I could beat Jack Kraven. I was even more sure that I could beat Chris Xtreme. The difference is that I could, and I did. Call me a cocky prick, but there is no way in hell I will ever let you beat me.
Spike gets intense as he goes along with his rant, poking his finger into his chest as he speaks. He is leaned forward on the bench, his eyes and nostrils are nearly the size of saucers as he pauses. He takes in a long, deep breath as he tries to calm himself down a bit. He closes his eyes and moves his lips as if he were counting to himself before slowly opening them to speak once more.
Spike: I called myself your nightmare, because I am the one who will shatter your preconceived notions of this sport. I will take you to your limits, and I will make you feel pains that you never though possible. I am making it my mission to make you regret coming up against me, and I will make you wish you never tried getting inside of my head.
Spike knocks on the side of his head for emphasis. He straightens his back out, popping it as he leans back on the wooden bench casually. He places his hands on his knees as his eyes darken. He relaxes his posture a bit before flicking his tongue across his lips, getting a sick joy out of the demented things he is beginning to imagine for Sean Jackson.
Spike: Now… as for your claims about my girlfriend…
Spike’s eyes wander over to Vixen who is still running with the kids. As if she knew he was thinking of her, she looks back to him and gives him a heartwarming smile. He forces one of his own in return, but as soon as she looks away, it turns even darker than before. Spike lets out a bellowing laugh and then quickly covers his mouth to stifle it.
Spike: I’m sorry. Is it unprofessional for me to laugh? Better yet, am I going to be in the dog house for laughing, or even better, what I am about to say? You must think you are carrying some big balls, don’t you Andy Kaufman? As if it is supposed to impress anybody that you beat on a woman who is half your size? Trained military or not, it is still sad my friend.
Spike nods his head along with his statement. His skin crawls in utter delight as the demented thoughts continue to pile upon each other. He flashes his pearly white teeth at the camera as his eyebrows jolt up in ecstasy. He knows he shouldn’t feel this joy building up in him, but the wait is simply killing him. However, he controls it as his eyes continue to dance over Vixen as she tumbles onto the ground with Eden. They laugh as Spike turns back to the camera.
Spike: Vixen is pretty headstrong about things, I will give her that. However, where I come from, you don’t hit a lady. It is disgusting, and it proves just how much of a man you really are. If it were strictly business, unfortunately the lines are rather fine in this line of work, but you enjoyed it… You must be awfully proud of yourself for it, aren’t you? You busted her open. You made her bleed and the thought of it makes my blood boil. I didn’t say a thing because it was Vixen’s decision to get involved with BACW, and I have to respect her decision. See, it is one thing to get through the match and win because that is what you were booked to do. To take things as far as you did speaks volumes about your character. Where I come from, people would line up to take turns kicking you in the balls, because you don’t deserve to have them.
Spike pulls on the crotch of his pants to emphasize his point. He gives them a couple jiggles before letting go and leaning forward. He scoffs at the thought of Sean Jackson being a member of the male gender, leaning back on the bench as he runs his hands over his head, sliding them back over his messy black spiked hair.
Spike: You brutally attacked her she had to get stitches all over her body. You thoroughly enjoyed it, and it makes me fucking sick to my stomach with just how despicable you are, Sean. And the icing on the cake is that you are bragging about it! You really, truly do make me sick. I will take pleasure in manhandling you to the point that you beg me to stop. I want to hear you plead with me, Jackson. The thought of doing so makes me feel all tingly inside. And that is all because you are a creep. You are despicable, and I will make sure someone like you doesn’t get to represent this company as their World Heavyweight Champion. I will ruin you, and as long as I am the champion, I will make sure you never lay a finger on MY championship. Not to mention that I have been waiting for the time when I could get a match against you to treat you the way you treated Vixen.
Spike watches as his children come running in his direction from across the long field. They shout out for him in excitement as Spike gives one final thought on the matter.
Spike: This match is more personal than any match I have competed in recently. I am dying to get in the ring with you. I am itching to kick your ass all over that ring. I long to watch the crimson regrets pouring out of your body. I yearn to hear your screams of pain. But most of all, I am looking forward to putting you exactly where you belong… back in the shark tank after I pin your shoulders to the mat for the three count. If I have it my way, you will be on the verge of a career-ending injury. But I won’t destroy you, because I want to see if you learned your lesson. I will see you on Sunday, Mister Jackson…
Just as Spike says this, his daughter comes crashing into him, nearly knocking the breath out of him with her velocity. His mood changes like the flick of a switch as he begins laughing with her. Vixen comes up to them, her chest heaving as she smiles. She sits down on the bench next to him as his son reaches the bench. Eden begins incoherently chattering on about something as the scene fades… TO BLACK!
***********************************************************************
Whether she likes it or not, I will avenge her. I will avenge my own honor by proving to the world that I am not a champion because of luck. I get to kill two birds with one stone. I am counting down the days, Mr. Jackson. The opportunity to achieve your greatest dreams is ticking away. Your days of hopes and dreams are numbered. If you don’t believe me, let’s consult the angels, shall we? Let us see what the cards have to say about you and your chances of winning this match…
Interesting. What have we here, but the “Freedom” card. The angels never have a negative message to convey to the reader of the cards. They have put it in a delicate manner. You are free, Sean. You are not to be saddled with the weight of being a World Champion. You are free to do whatever you please, whenever you please without failing anyone. You feel trapped by life conditions. By drawing this card, the angels ask you to realize that you are your only jail keeper to surface in your own life. Everything that you do in your life involves choice. You are free to choose and choose again. Ask God and the angels for guidance in your choices, and they will show you alternatives.
The angel cards are always peaceful and positive, and they never put things in a negative manner. Unfortunately, I am not quite as positive. This card means you WILL fail. It means that you better start making a back up plan for what you are going to do after I humiliate you. It says that you fucked up royally by pissing me off, and you better pray to God that I can stop myself from putting you on the shelf, son.
In other words, you don’t stand a chance… If you want to live under the delusion that you do, then by all means, please continue. It only means that when your dreams come crashing down on top of you, shattering into a million pieces, that you will feel the crushing blow of it that much harder.
I look forward to meeting up with you in the ring, Sean. I have been waiting for a very… very long time. Good luck, because you are damn sure going to need it…
