Post by Joshua Taro Freedom on Dec 22, 2006 22:06:10 GMT
I wasn’t interested at all as yet another person congratulated me on a well-earned victory. It hadn’t stopped or lessened in its annoyance over time. I was sure they weren’t rushing against the curve. It took the entire trip home. But as I exited the elevator, faked a goodbye to whoever it was kissing my arse it hit me, “They aren’t afraid.”
Not much has ever left me shocked, silenced and motionless all in the same time. This had. This had kept me standing just feet from the elevator for over twenty minutes. “They aren’t afraid of me?” Less then a week ago an entire women’s right group wanted me axed. They still did. Yet the general public people who lived near me. Felt I was approachable. Someone they could just stroll up to and talk to. “How the hell did that happen?” I finally said shaking myself back into action.
Realisations affect everyone differently. In a few hours I would be explaining that to an overly friendly cellmate. I’d been hated, unapproachable to fans since my debut. Yet the past few months’ small things had happened to decrease that. Even in the aftermath of the Stardust chair shot. Women who clearly had some fear for me, had enough confidence to try and pie face me. And though the fear overcame them once I had caught them. Until that, my presence wasn’t enough to stop them. Two years ago grown men, fighters would lower their heads. Other wrestlers wouldn’t talk to me on the off chance I was in a bad mood. How did I become approachable?
This weird feeling kept at me. I was so bothered by it, I came in and went straight back out again. I went into New York. Went looking for the fear. I had seen it in the women’s eyes once they knew I had them. But as I strolled the city on foot I saw nothing. No fear in anyone’s eyes. People, who knew me waved. Screamed my name and waved. It had to be a nightmare, I had to be asleep somewhere. The plane, I had to be asleep on the plane dreaming. This was too horrible to be real. People still feared my wrath. I was Joshua Taro Freedom. I beat on chicks in the ring. I’ve ripped grown men to pieces. I wasn’t someone you just walked up to and…
“Freedom, can I get a picture?” I almost cried out in horror. A college girl! Wearing my T-Shirt! Was asking for my picture? Two weeks ago I smashed a women in the head. Yet this girl was glowing with joy. About meeting me? Was she insane? Her friend came over. She too had a 4CW T-shirt on. Her’s was one of Stardust’s. Adding to my already huge disbelief. I asked myself. If this girl is a Stardust fan, how the hell is she happy to see me? They each gave me those flirty eyes look. “What?” I said not really asking her to repeat the request. I was questioning the entire situation. I had to be dreaming, had to be asleep on that plane causing worry because I was tossing and turning. This couldn’t be real. People feared and hated me, that’s the truth this was a nightmare. Before I could answer the second request for a picture. The girl wearing one of my T-shirt had her arms around me. Smiling proud her friend clicked away. Without so much as second passing by, they switched position and a repeat of photoflash occurred. “O whoa.” My fan said.
Looking back the police description of celeb rage seemed to fit. I didn’t really think of my self as a celeb. But agreeing to it meant I only had to write a check and it would all get wash away. When asked what happened I honestly couldn’t remember. The girls had said I suddenly changed from a nice guy, into some sort of monster. I shock my head. I had not been nice to those two girls. When did I become a nice guy? I hated most people. They annoyed me just being around never mind in conversation. “Nice?” I had asked at this point into my interview, or confession depending on your viewpoint. The officer went on to tell me how I grabbed the camera off the girls and began stomping on it. My language was said to be obscene, which depending what state you where in, could span from damn, to holy motherfucker. But In New York it was more likely closer to the latter. In a rare moment for New York a patrol cop saw the incident and came over and arrested me with no resistance. That didn’t explain the cut on my head, but I may have hit it getting into the car the foot patrol called for. More likely I copped for a clubbing.
Now lying in my cell talking to my friendly cellmate. I still couldn’t get the nice out of my head. I was clearly not doing something on TV I had been. Either I had stopped doing something or someone was doing something to ease my threat level. “When have I ever been nice?” I said aloud forgetting my cellmate for a moment. “I could give you the opp…” “Shut it” I replied before any more sexually advances came my way.
Thankfully the guy was removed. He was either released or sent to proper jail. I remember hearing which one it was, just couldn’t remember which. I oddly hoped it was proper prison. He didn’t seem the type I wanted roaming the city. I thought that took me back alittle as it showed I cared about the place. This entire nice feeling was too much. I needed switch tracks. Get my thoughts onto something else. “What though?” I asked myself and then I remembered Reincarnation. Chux and I would be teaming up once more. Lord Skywolf and new World Champion Main Event Mike Nichols would be our victims. I thought Victims because both Chux and I had reasons to be rage full. Chux had lost his World Title. I had reasons to claim foul also. I had beaten Nichols at the top of that very show. I should have then been ahead of him on the contenders list. I remember watching as he came out for the match. I was annoyed and angry that I had yet again been over looked. Adding Wolfie to the mix of this match did nothing but infuriate me further.
My main problem was Wolfie. Why was I yet again being forced to wrestle him? In any walk of life or competition if someone lost three times, they wouldn’t get a fourth shot. Most jobs in life give you one. If you’re extremely lucky you’ll get two. Yet Lord Skywolf, this aging shadow of a legend was getting a fourth chance. I felt Tyler Smith was some how purposely trying to have Wolfie beat me. Like getting a victory over me would mean Wolfie was still competitive. Maybe Wolfie had something on Tyler; maybe Tyler just didn’t like me. Something was there, because no other personal feud had gone on this long. The company generally step in to end personal feuds. It wasn’t even a personally feud to me. I wanted away from Wolfie. I wanted to move on. I wanted new opponents, new matches. I didn’t like caring, a man I didn’t respect anymore. “He should be riding my coattails.” I said aloud. No one was around, though I could hear the drunks in the drunk tank across the way.
Whatever the reason, I hoped beating both Wolfie and Nichols within the same match would resolve both of my problems. I hoped it would draw a final line across Skywolf’s attempts at relighting his career. And would simultaneously leap frog me into a World Title match, that I have more then already earned. Time would tell. For know I had nothing to do but sleep, and await my release sometime in the morning.
Not much has ever left me shocked, silenced and motionless all in the same time. This had. This had kept me standing just feet from the elevator for over twenty minutes. “They aren’t afraid of me?” Less then a week ago an entire women’s right group wanted me axed. They still did. Yet the general public people who lived near me. Felt I was approachable. Someone they could just stroll up to and talk to. “How the hell did that happen?” I finally said shaking myself back into action.
Realisations affect everyone differently. In a few hours I would be explaining that to an overly friendly cellmate. I’d been hated, unapproachable to fans since my debut. Yet the past few months’ small things had happened to decrease that. Even in the aftermath of the Stardust chair shot. Women who clearly had some fear for me, had enough confidence to try and pie face me. And though the fear overcame them once I had caught them. Until that, my presence wasn’t enough to stop them. Two years ago grown men, fighters would lower their heads. Other wrestlers wouldn’t talk to me on the off chance I was in a bad mood. How did I become approachable?
This weird feeling kept at me. I was so bothered by it, I came in and went straight back out again. I went into New York. Went looking for the fear. I had seen it in the women’s eyes once they knew I had them. But as I strolled the city on foot I saw nothing. No fear in anyone’s eyes. People, who knew me waved. Screamed my name and waved. It had to be a nightmare, I had to be asleep somewhere. The plane, I had to be asleep on the plane dreaming. This was too horrible to be real. People still feared my wrath. I was Joshua Taro Freedom. I beat on chicks in the ring. I’ve ripped grown men to pieces. I wasn’t someone you just walked up to and…
“Freedom, can I get a picture?” I almost cried out in horror. A college girl! Wearing my T-Shirt! Was asking for my picture? Two weeks ago I smashed a women in the head. Yet this girl was glowing with joy. About meeting me? Was she insane? Her friend came over. She too had a 4CW T-shirt on. Her’s was one of Stardust’s. Adding to my already huge disbelief. I asked myself. If this girl is a Stardust fan, how the hell is she happy to see me? They each gave me those flirty eyes look. “What?” I said not really asking her to repeat the request. I was questioning the entire situation. I had to be dreaming, had to be asleep on that plane causing worry because I was tossing and turning. This couldn’t be real. People feared and hated me, that’s the truth this was a nightmare. Before I could answer the second request for a picture. The girl wearing one of my T-shirt had her arms around me. Smiling proud her friend clicked away. Without so much as second passing by, they switched position and a repeat of photoflash occurred. “O whoa.” My fan said.
Looking back the police description of celeb rage seemed to fit. I didn’t really think of my self as a celeb. But agreeing to it meant I only had to write a check and it would all get wash away. When asked what happened I honestly couldn’t remember. The girls had said I suddenly changed from a nice guy, into some sort of monster. I shock my head. I had not been nice to those two girls. When did I become a nice guy? I hated most people. They annoyed me just being around never mind in conversation. “Nice?” I had asked at this point into my interview, or confession depending on your viewpoint. The officer went on to tell me how I grabbed the camera off the girls and began stomping on it. My language was said to be obscene, which depending what state you where in, could span from damn, to holy motherfucker. But In New York it was more likely closer to the latter. In a rare moment for New York a patrol cop saw the incident and came over and arrested me with no resistance. That didn’t explain the cut on my head, but I may have hit it getting into the car the foot patrol called for. More likely I copped for a clubbing.
Now lying in my cell talking to my friendly cellmate. I still couldn’t get the nice out of my head. I was clearly not doing something on TV I had been. Either I had stopped doing something or someone was doing something to ease my threat level. “When have I ever been nice?” I said aloud forgetting my cellmate for a moment. “I could give you the opp…” “Shut it” I replied before any more sexually advances came my way.
Thankfully the guy was removed. He was either released or sent to proper jail. I remember hearing which one it was, just couldn’t remember which. I oddly hoped it was proper prison. He didn’t seem the type I wanted roaming the city. I thought that took me back alittle as it showed I cared about the place. This entire nice feeling was too much. I needed switch tracks. Get my thoughts onto something else. “What though?” I asked myself and then I remembered Reincarnation. Chux and I would be teaming up once more. Lord Skywolf and new World Champion Main Event Mike Nichols would be our victims. I thought Victims because both Chux and I had reasons to be rage full. Chux had lost his World Title. I had reasons to claim foul also. I had beaten Nichols at the top of that very show. I should have then been ahead of him on the contenders list. I remember watching as he came out for the match. I was annoyed and angry that I had yet again been over looked. Adding Wolfie to the mix of this match did nothing but infuriate me further.
My main problem was Wolfie. Why was I yet again being forced to wrestle him? In any walk of life or competition if someone lost three times, they wouldn’t get a fourth shot. Most jobs in life give you one. If you’re extremely lucky you’ll get two. Yet Lord Skywolf, this aging shadow of a legend was getting a fourth chance. I felt Tyler Smith was some how purposely trying to have Wolfie beat me. Like getting a victory over me would mean Wolfie was still competitive. Maybe Wolfie had something on Tyler; maybe Tyler just didn’t like me. Something was there, because no other personal feud had gone on this long. The company generally step in to end personal feuds. It wasn’t even a personally feud to me. I wanted away from Wolfie. I wanted to move on. I wanted new opponents, new matches. I didn’t like caring, a man I didn’t respect anymore. “He should be riding my coattails.” I said aloud. No one was around, though I could hear the drunks in the drunk tank across the way.
Whatever the reason, I hoped beating both Wolfie and Nichols within the same match would resolve both of my problems. I hoped it would draw a final line across Skywolf’s attempts at relighting his career. And would simultaneously leap frog me into a World Title match, that I have more then already earned. Time would tell. For know I had nothing to do but sleep, and await my release sometime in the morning.