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Post by Steve Sinclair on Jul 1, 2017 14:01:22 GMT
Saturday, July 1st. 2017 8:05 AM San Francisco Saturday morning and one Bester Freund steps out of his home in San Francisco holding in his hand is one of his protein shakes. As the wooden screen door slams shut behind him, the old rusted spring forcing the door shut. Bester takes a healthy swig of his healthy drink after which he looks at his glass water bottle and licks his lips savoring the taste of his kale concoction. Bester nods and polishes off his morning drink. Jumping up on the table next to the front door is his beloved kitty cat, Spartacus who has been free to roam for months since his release from the evil Detective Adams’ grip. The orange striped tiger kitty headbutts his master’s leg as Bester finishes his drink. Without looking Bester lowers his hand and rubs “Sparky” behind his ear before turning towards his precious kitty and kneeling down and allowing Sparky to headbutt him. “I love you too Sparky. Are you my best buddy? Yes you are.” Bester sets his empty container down and uses both of his hands to gently scratch Spartacus behind both ears. Spartacus loves this, he slowly closes his eyes, purrs real loud and just enjoys how Bester’s huge fingers can get right in those spots that send him to kitty heaven. “Okay buddy.” Bester says as he runs his one hand over Sparky’s head and pats him a couple of times. “I have to get going, or rather we have to get going. Let’s get going.” Bester stands up and reaches for his trusty leather jacket that he has had for his whole life. It was once his father's jacket when he was in a motorcycle riding club. You can just erase those images of this big bad biker guy with real bad amutuer hour tats, a long unkempt beard who drank, smoked and chased any and all females especially the ones of loose morals. The type of biker who got into bar fights every night, drove at high speeds, sometimes drunk, with no helmets and a six shooter hanging from his hip and a nearly naked female of the night clutching to him as she pressed her breasts into his back while hoping that she doesn’t die and the words that her mother warned her about rang loudly in her mind. No, this was a group of guys who liked to get together on the weekends and ride their new Honda motorcycles…..and do fun stuff like cruise down to the beach and get ice cream and talk about the headaches of a long work week in the office. Bester’s dad had a CL350, red with gold pinstripes. The “club”, a term that they used jokingly, was about 15 - 20 middle aged balding men with high cholesterol and fatty liver disease. The club was a way for them to feel younger and better about themselves. Tragically Bester’s father was killed on his bike when a lady who wasn’t paying attention ran a red light striking Bester’s father on his bike, killing him. Bester wore his dad’s jacket at the funeral when he was 9 years old, or rather the jacket wore him and hasn’t stopped wearing it to this day. He will let everything go in his life but that jacket. Scuff marks, the road rash from the accident haven’t aged well over the years and people just see it as a old beat up jacket that has been “ridden hard and put away wet.” If they only knew the true story of that jacket, a story Bester shares with no one. Speaking of Hondas….. No? Not the greatest of segways? Well then I am sorry. With Spartacus in tow, Bester quickly jogs down the steps leading up to his home, his newly purchased home that his manager Nanook found on the market being the real estate mogul? More like hobbyist that he found that he believed was “Under the market” and convinced Bester to buy this place and sell his place back in Flagstaff as this would be a “good investment.” for him. Bester, a simple man knew this. He wasn’t spending time back home, his childhood home in Flagstaff anymore ever since he signed his deal with “Entertainment Billionaire” Miles Blake and he was spending much of what was left of his NFL money on upkeep of a house he wasn’t using. Added in the fact that he had a apartment in San Fran which was costing him a small fortune, it was cheaper to buy this house that Nanny found on the market than keep his house and his tiny little apartment, especially with the Ghost Ship fresh on his mind, not that Bester was staying in a converted warehouse but still, it was a big city built apartment complex. Bester worried that it would just burst into flames every night and it kept him awake. Bester got into the habit of falling asleep with a fire extinguisher, or two and a small air tank next to the bed just in case the building spontaneously combusted into a raging fireball. A small tiny cottage looked real good to him. A Franklin Lloyd Wright inspired number, this 2 bedroom 1 bath with off street parking “gimmick” as Nanook called it, looked real good to Bester so he took his manager’s advice and got himself a bridge loan to buy this home while he sells his other in Flagstaff. Sitting in the driveway just big enough for his car is Bester’s 1979 Honda cvcc civic wagon. This little four banger white on white number has been Bester’s ride for years, ever since high school. Bester has since spent his time when he could afford it, lovingly restoring the car to a daily driver status. It’s no show winner but it looks good. Two years ago Bester had a fresh paint job done on it and cleaned up some of the rust in the rear quarters. Next to his kitty, this is his pride and joy. Bester opens the driver side door and Sparky hops right on in the car taking his seat on the passenger side. Bester climbs in his ride and out of habit pushes in the clutch while holding the brakes and pulling the car out of gear and giving the shift handle a little wiggle to make sure it’s in neutral. Bester slides the key, still the original into the ignition and before he fires up the “huge” 1488cc motor he pulls his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. Stuck to the dash is a cell phone holder and Bester wedges his phone into it. He them fumbles around for the charging cord that is pulled into the cigarette lighter socket, back when cars had ashtrays and lighters as factory installed equipment, and plugs his phone in. “Time to get to work buddy.” Bester says to his kitty as his phone wakes up. After a quick swipe and punching his pin, Bester opens up his Uber app. “Oh! Almost forgot!” Bester then reaches into the glovebox and pulls out his Uber placard and sticks on the windshield where Uber has instructed him too. By now his phone and more importantly Uber is ready for him. With just a swipe of his finger, he has just “punched in” and is ready to spend his day driving all sorts of people around the lovely city of San Francisco. But this wasn’t why he was in the bay area to begin with……. |
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Post by Steve Sinclair on Aug 5, 2017 14:41:16 GMT
Spartacus is curled up in the passenger's seat as Bester is making his way into downtown San Fran and he hopes that rush hour is over with. The one thing that hasn’t agreed with Bester since moving to San Fran has been the traffic. He heard of the murderous traffic of LA and experienced it once while going through the build up to the NFL draft after his senior year in college and decided to declare himself for the draft. While he ended up not getting drafted he still gotta do much of draft stuff. He even had his own pro day. He was after all an All American outside linebacker and led the nation in tackles and set a school record for career sacks in his last year of collegiate play. His coach thought he would get drafted, many of the scouts had him on their draft board and his agent, Sam Scully was convinced that Bester would go in the 3rd round to the New York Giants. It is a mystery what happened that weekend but as the picks went by, as the hours past, and faces came down off of the board and the rounds became fewer and fewer Bester never heard his name called.
When the last round started, Sam Scully who was just getting his feet wet in the agent game, who Bester was one of his first signees, worked the phone like a mad men. The other handful of guys who took a leap of faith and signed on Sam, all got drafted. This was Sam’s first draft running his own agency after working under the powerful and well known Drew Rosenhaus for years learning the business, Sam stepped out on his own after getting approved by the NFL and he was damned that he wasn’t going to get all of his guys drafted first time out. But at this point, As Bester sat in the skybox in New York in his suit that Sam bought for him trying real hard not to wrinkle it, Bester knew that this was it, the final round and not everyone was going to get drafted. As Sam worked the phones, Bester sat quietly with his hands folded in his lap and watched as names were called, one by one hoping that one of them would be his. As it got down to the final five picks, Sam returned from the hallway just out of the skybox with 2 beers. He handed Bester one has he sat down next to him and placed his feet up on the ledge next to the window of the skybox.
“Best!” Sam said. “I’ve got some good news and some bad news.” Sam said as he handed Bester a beer. The only time in his life up to that point he has ever drank a beer. Bester couldn’t look at Sam, he was fighting back the tears because this talk could only mean one thing. He wasn’t getting drafted.
“It looks like these final teams, they don’t want you. I don’t understand why? You can play right now in the league. You were a leader on your team for 4 years. I don’t get it.”
Bester did. He understood why. He had to overcome the same delima in high school, and at college. He “Didn’t fit the mold of a football player” as he was told many times.
“Anyways.” Sams says after he took a sip of his Budweiser. Bester even sucked up the courage to try and take a sip, which he did and almost wanted to spit it out as soon as he did.
“You won’t get drafted and if these last couple of teams keep their word and don’t change their mind at the last second, lots of things are going on in the background right now, you’ll be a free agent and I got you a deal.”
Bester looks at Sams. “Yeah?” Bester sounding a little confused. He didn’t know he was a free agent and then could just sign with any team he wanted. He didn’t know that was a option.
“It’s not a lot of money but I got you a deal with the Cardinals if you don’t get drafted.” Sam said with a smile on his face.
Bester smiles and nods. “Nice. Thank you Mr. Scully. I really wanted to play for the Cards.”
Sams pats Bester on the shoulder. “I know buddy. I know.”
The last and final pick of draft than just happened. Bester closed his eyes and prayed, prayed with all his might to this invisible person that no one has ever seen but somehow controls everything in the world, that they would not say his name. Bester at this moment in time wished to not be drafted and wanted to go home and play for the team he grew up cheering for.
A couple of second later, after some thank yous and hand shakes, Bester was…..not drafted. HIs phone rang and the GM of the Cards was on the other end congratulating him for signing with the Cardinals and that he will see him at camp in two weeks.
It was still a long ways off from actually playing in the NFL, in a game that mattered, not one of these preseason BS games, a game that counted but Bester at least was on a roster and as Bester saw it, the Practice squad was a roster of sorts.
The rest of that beer that Bester drank that night. It didn’t taste that bad.
The traffic as Bester quickly discovered has not died down and it was in gridlock. Bumper to bumper and some of the people around Betser in his tiny like Honda were losing their minds. Banging on their steering wheels, throwing their hands up and yelling at the person in front of them for not going, not that they could. Betser watched the guy two cars over from him act like he had to get to a fire or something, like he was a fireman who was trying to get to the fire station to answer the fire whistle. There was no way that this tubby, half bald, eye glass wearing gentlemen who spoke in tongues with the sheer amount of profanity coming out of his mouth was a fireman, but he was in a real hurry to get wherever he was going that was for sure. Bester hoped his heart didn’t explode from being way over excited.
Bester glanced down at his cell phone and he started to worry when he was going to pick up Grandma Sophie. She has to get to her doctor’s appointment and didn’t drive anymore and her grandson Daniel didn’t come home last night from the show after he promised to take her to her appointment first thing in the morning. This was a event that happened more times than she cared and she was thankful for Uber and more thankful for Bester. One time Grandma Sophie asked Bester if he could pick up her grandson’s messy room as it looked like a bomb went off in it. Bester laughed of course and thought Grandma Sophie was joking as she chuckled too. Except she wasn’t.
Bester sent a text to Grandma Sophie telling her that he was stuck in traffic and would be there as soon as he could. He would not let her down. When that would be would be anyone’s guess as the traffic has come to a complete stop at this point. Bester pulled the gear selector into neutral and pulled up on the parking brake handle and folded his hands in his lap.
“I don’t know Sparky. We might be late. I’d hate for Grandma Sophie to be late for her doctor’s appointment.”
Bester then looked over to the raging middle aged man two cars over. A nuclear meltdown was starting over there. They guy actually ripped the radio out of dash and was beating the dash and steering wheel with it. A lady actually got out of her car and was facebook live streaming it. She was going to get so many hits. Bester started to just look around. Normally he is zipping down this part of the highway at 70 miles per hour just to keep from getting ran over. He never really got to look around and see what is in this part and that is when he spotted a billboard that was being covered. His eyed fixed in on the billboard and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Entertainment Billionaire Miles Blake and that smug smile of his looking back down at him. It was one of the handful of billboards he placed in around San Fran promoting his latest venture in the sports entertainment world. Of course it was short lived and closed abruptly leaving Bester without employment. It has only been a month since it’s demise but Bester missed it awful. It was more than just the people he worked with, It’s that Miles believed in him and the money wasn’t that bad either, Miles payed him more than what the hicks in Knoxville were paying him, there was this feeling of belonging there. Miles, unlike other promoters excepted Bester for who he was, what he was and told him to be himself. “You show those fans out there who you are here.” Miles tapping Bester on his chest over his heart as the two of them peeked out from behind the curtain at one of the very early shows in 2016 at maybe, 500 people who paid to check out the action and more importantly to watch the great Peter Van Parker, a cult like west coast hero on the indy scene who worked for many companies at the time and for Miles to land someone of PVP’s caliber was a huge deal not only to the early stages of the company but to fans of pro wrestling who only got to see PVP on youtube and choppy live streams on Periscope, to have him at this unknown show of this unknown company to them, was huge. The foundation of a loyal fan base was laid that night. They knew that Miles would get the top names, the up and coming names, the legends to show up at his shows, and he did till he was forced out of the sport. That’s a story for another day.
“You show these people who you are, the real you, not some gimmicky character that has no story, no depth to him what so ever and they will embrace you. I don’t what you to try and be that version of Bester they tried, they forced on you in Tennessee. I want you to be you. You do that, and the rest of it will take care of itself. You win them over, and I’ll get guys and gals in here to face you.”
A horn honked from behind and Bester snaps out of the stare down he is having with Mile’s 12 foot tall face on a billboard that was slowly being covered up by a ad for Walmart. A new store is coming! That was nice and all but Bester will surely miss Miles. He was the first guy other than Sam Scully to believe in him for being himself. The traffic has started moving all around him and the people behind him, they wanted to get going too. Bester releases the parking brake, pushes in the clutch, finds first gear and lets the clutch out.
“We’re coming Grandma Sophie! We’re coming!” Bester says with much excitement just happy that the traffic is finally moving…….
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