Post by Steve Sinclair on Dec 22, 2018 0:04:10 GMT
The door to the locker room swings open. The roar of the crowd can be heard echoing through the hallways as The main event is going on at Death March. A dejected and sore OGDA comes walking through the doorway with his head hung low. He is dragging his OCW SuperHero Champion, also known as the Craze title behind him on the floor, the face of the title leaving marks on the ceramic tiled floor. OGDA slogs along till he reaches his locker. Someone from the staff of the OCW placed a huge FatHead type smiley face on his locker. This person clearly a super mega fan boy.
OGDA looks at the bright ass yellow smiley face looking directly at him. It’s a cold stare from OCW superhero at the Smiley Face that adorns many t shirts that are sold at the merch tables at every show every week, and online. With it being Christmas season, you know a bunch of Rainbow warriors are going to wake up on Christmas Morning and tear open a box and inside that box, is going to be one of his shirts. It goes beyond just t shirts. You can get sweatshirts, PJ’s, hats, wristbands, skull caps, notebooks for those back to school shoppers. Phone cases, a Snuggie and even a backpack. It’s his logo that Nanook had made up for him 2 years ago to sell merch. It’s been plastered on everything.
Including his locker.
OGDA reaches out and snatches it off of his locker and tosses over his shoulder and it flies through the air and lands somewhere else in the room at the base of someone else's locker, and this person will most likely step on it and not even notice it in celebration from their big win at Death March. Beer or some sort of over priced champagne will be spilled on it. It’ll end up in the trash by morning.
OGDA drops the end of the strap to the Craze title and that too now lays on the floor like a piece of garbage. He steps over the wooden bench in front of his locker and blops down on it like a sack of dead weight. OGDA runs his hands, his dirty, sore, swollen hands, the only thing he has to show for for fighting 4 men in his match here tonight along his head, digging his fingertips into the back of his mask. He slowly starts to pull his dirty, sweaty, smelly mask off. OGDA holds the mask in his right hand, while he runs his left over his bald dome. In disgust he drops the mask to the floor. Soon, both of his hands find themselves over his eyes.
There must be a break in the action or something serious has happened as the cheers have died down some, low enough that you can hear the hum from the ballasts in the lights.
A huge pop.
A huge roar of cheers.
Whoos and ahhs!
Something awesome just happened.
You can tell by the chants.
What you can’t hear is OGDA breaking down and starting to cry. A full on cry. His upper body jerking and he’s making this weird high pitched noise. His nose starts to run, all snotty and shit, he starts to mumble to himself.
Another load pop from the crowd.
This has nothing to do with OGDA punching the locker. Busting his knuckles open and causing him to bleed.
“Shit!” OGDA says as he spots the blood dripping onto the floor. And yes, OGDA has said a naughty word.
“Damn it….” He says as he flings open his locker and reaches inside for a shirt and starts to wrap it around his hand. He uses the back of his free hand to wipe his face free of tears. He tries to calm himself with a quick breathing exercise. He has to calm down and gather himself. Why he’s along right now, that will change as soon as the winner of the main event is announced. Once whoever gets their hands raised in victory, claims that match against Matt Meyhu for the OCW Championship and either Welsh or Zybala is named the new permanent General Manager of OCW, the guys will be in the locker room to get cleaned up, dressed and off to the bar to have a couple of drinks, maybe a couple of groupies and celebrate how successful this night is, for them or for the company. There is a after party scheduled. One OGDA plans on skipping.
“You okay Best?”
A hand touches him on the shoulder and this startles OGDA who quickly dries his eyes and toughens up and pretend he just wasn’t balling his eyes out. It also comes a surprise to know that he’s not alone in the locker room.
“Best?”
OGDA looks up over his shoulder. His eyes all puffy and slightly red. Joe is looking down at him, a little concerned.
OGDA just nods and reaches in and gives his bag a yank and pulls it out of the locker.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” OGDA says and then clears his throat. “I’m fine.”
Joe takes a seat next to him on the bench. He spots his hand wrapped in a blood soaked tee shirt now, the belt laying on the floor behind him, the marks on the floor that it left from being dragged. His mask at his feet.
“Yeah?”
“That’s what I said.” OGDA snaps back. Unzipping the bag and digging through it.
“Hey, look. I know tonight didn’t go as we planned.”
OGDA pulls out another shirt and holds it, staring off into his bag.
“HOF 2015 made it look pretty easy out there…”
OGDA lets out a slight laugh. “Easy?”
“Well, in getting rid everyone but you in that match. You made them work for that. You stood your ground, got some licks in. You did good. It took 4 hall of famers to beat you. That has to mean something.” Joe says as he leans to his right to look at Bester’s face, to read him better.
OGDA takes the shirt, pulls it down over his head. No shower tonight apparently.
“31 other guys didn’t win tonight….”
“Yeah, and no one else had their entire team eliminated without eliminating a single fudging person on the other team! Not one team, not one Team Leader, who was hand picked by either Zybala or Welsh has to deal with that!”
“You came close a couple of times……”
“Close only count in hand grenades and horseshoes! We eliminated no one! NO ONE!” OGDA says in disgust as he slams everything he had in his hands, as he started to empty his gym bag, in a pile on his gym bag.
“Come on down Bester. It’s not the end of the world…” Joe says, but then OGDA snaps, he stands up and as he stands up, takes a hold of Joe Jones by his throat and lifts him to his feet, slamming him up against the lockers and pins him up against them, Joe holding onto Bester’s arms, his feet dangling a couple of inches off of the floor!
“NO BIG DEAL? NO BIG DEAL JOEY? DOES IT LOOK LIKE THIS WAS NO BIG DEAL? I WAS EMBARRASSED OUT THERE!” OGDA shouts into Joe’s face. He even pulls him off of the locker and slams him back into it a couple of times.
“I WAS HUMILIATED OUT THERE! I WAS TREATED LIKE GARBAGE! THE TEAM I CONSTRUCTED! THE TEAMMATES YOU TOLD ME TO GO GET, FAILED!!!”
Joe’s face is slowly turning a light shade of red.
“You told me, Bester! We need to get these guys! We need to get these guys because their winners! Up and comers in the OCW! With these guys on your team, we won’t be stopped!”
OGDA is now up in Joe’s face.
“WE DIDN’T BEAT A SINGLE PERSON!!! NOT ONE!!!!!!”
Joe’s face is now purple. OGDA slams him into the locker one more time and finally drops him. Joe drops to the floor, catching himself on the bench and takes a huge breath in and starts to cough and spit and suck in more air. OGDA bends over, picks up a pair of sweats and slides them on over his boots and trunks. Someone’s music has just begun to play, that someone is Paul Paras.
“You paired me with the laughing stock of the OCW. I’M THE LAUGHING STOCK OF OCW NOW! The three of them couldn't beat three armless, legless, blind Vietnam Vets in three wheeled wheelchairs, with the locking brakes on! Do you know how that makes me feel? DO YOU?”
OGDA reaches down, slings his bag over his shoulder, gathers the last couple of items from the top shelve of his locker.
“No! Of course not! You don’t have a clue. You’re just worried about Mister Nanook and Mister Captain and Mister Sinclair. You don’t care about me, you never had and never will! If you did, I would have had better teammates! Team mates that aren’t worried about making movie films. Teammates that don’t get fired! Teammates, who, oh I don’t know, only talks about beating up Mister O’Conner, but can’t actually do that!”
OGDA steps over the wooden bench that is bolted down into the cement floor, steps on his OCW craze title and starts to make his way towards the door. Joe is on his knees, finally able to catch his breath.
“I’m going home Mister Jones. Maybe I’ll see you next year.” OGDA says as he exits the locker room. Joe watches him leave, he is now pissed. If his stare could throw daggers, a thousand of them would nail Bester in the back. Next to him on the floor is OGDA’s mask. Joe snatches it up off of the floor. He holds it and looks at for a second before balling it up in his fist.
Another big pop from the crowd followed by an announcement on who won Death March…
Joe gathers himself and is on his feet. He steps over the bench and bends over and picks up the Craze title belt. He looks at it, OGDA’s big foot print on the back of the face of it.
“Oh, I’ll find a team for ya Best. A team to kick your ass at Throwback.” Says Joe.
Fade out.
OGDA looks at the bright ass yellow smiley face looking directly at him. It’s a cold stare from OCW superhero at the Smiley Face that adorns many t shirts that are sold at the merch tables at every show every week, and online. With it being Christmas season, you know a bunch of Rainbow warriors are going to wake up on Christmas Morning and tear open a box and inside that box, is going to be one of his shirts. It goes beyond just t shirts. You can get sweatshirts, PJ’s, hats, wristbands, skull caps, notebooks for those back to school shoppers. Phone cases, a Snuggie and even a backpack. It’s his logo that Nanook had made up for him 2 years ago to sell merch. It’s been plastered on everything.
Including his locker.
OGDA reaches out and snatches it off of his locker and tosses over his shoulder and it flies through the air and lands somewhere else in the room at the base of someone else's locker, and this person will most likely step on it and not even notice it in celebration from their big win at Death March. Beer or some sort of over priced champagne will be spilled on it. It’ll end up in the trash by morning.
OGDA drops the end of the strap to the Craze title and that too now lays on the floor like a piece of garbage. He steps over the wooden bench in front of his locker and blops down on it like a sack of dead weight. OGDA runs his hands, his dirty, sore, swollen hands, the only thing he has to show for for fighting 4 men in his match here tonight along his head, digging his fingertips into the back of his mask. He slowly starts to pull his dirty, sweaty, smelly mask off. OGDA holds the mask in his right hand, while he runs his left over his bald dome. In disgust he drops the mask to the floor. Soon, both of his hands find themselves over his eyes.
There must be a break in the action or something serious has happened as the cheers have died down some, low enough that you can hear the hum from the ballasts in the lights.
A huge pop.
A huge roar of cheers.
Whoos and ahhs!
Something awesome just happened.
You can tell by the chants.
What you can’t hear is OGDA breaking down and starting to cry. A full on cry. His upper body jerking and he’s making this weird high pitched noise. His nose starts to run, all snotty and shit, he starts to mumble to himself.
Another load pop from the crowd.
This has nothing to do with OGDA punching the locker. Busting his knuckles open and causing him to bleed.
“Shit!” OGDA says as he spots the blood dripping onto the floor. And yes, OGDA has said a naughty word.
“Damn it….” He says as he flings open his locker and reaches inside for a shirt and starts to wrap it around his hand. He uses the back of his free hand to wipe his face free of tears. He tries to calm himself with a quick breathing exercise. He has to calm down and gather himself. Why he’s along right now, that will change as soon as the winner of the main event is announced. Once whoever gets their hands raised in victory, claims that match against Matt Meyhu for the OCW Championship and either Welsh or Zybala is named the new permanent General Manager of OCW, the guys will be in the locker room to get cleaned up, dressed and off to the bar to have a couple of drinks, maybe a couple of groupies and celebrate how successful this night is, for them or for the company. There is a after party scheduled. One OGDA plans on skipping.
“You okay Best?”
A hand touches him on the shoulder and this startles OGDA who quickly dries his eyes and toughens up and pretend he just wasn’t balling his eyes out. It also comes a surprise to know that he’s not alone in the locker room.
“Best?”
OGDA looks up over his shoulder. His eyes all puffy and slightly red. Joe is looking down at him, a little concerned.
OGDA just nods and reaches in and gives his bag a yank and pulls it out of the locker.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” OGDA says and then clears his throat. “I’m fine.”
Joe takes a seat next to him on the bench. He spots his hand wrapped in a blood soaked tee shirt now, the belt laying on the floor behind him, the marks on the floor that it left from being dragged. His mask at his feet.
“Yeah?”
“That’s what I said.” OGDA snaps back. Unzipping the bag and digging through it.
“Hey, look. I know tonight didn’t go as we planned.”
OGDA pulls out another shirt and holds it, staring off into his bag.
“HOF 2015 made it look pretty easy out there…”
OGDA lets out a slight laugh. “Easy?”
“Well, in getting rid everyone but you in that match. You made them work for that. You stood your ground, got some licks in. You did good. It took 4 hall of famers to beat you. That has to mean something.” Joe says as he leans to his right to look at Bester’s face, to read him better.
OGDA takes the shirt, pulls it down over his head. No shower tonight apparently.
“31 other guys didn’t win tonight….”
“Yeah, and no one else had their entire team eliminated without eliminating a single fudging person on the other team! Not one team, not one Team Leader, who was hand picked by either Zybala or Welsh has to deal with that!”
“You came close a couple of times……”
“Close only count in hand grenades and horseshoes! We eliminated no one! NO ONE!” OGDA says in disgust as he slams everything he had in his hands, as he started to empty his gym bag, in a pile on his gym bag.
“Come on down Bester. It’s not the end of the world…” Joe says, but then OGDA snaps, he stands up and as he stands up, takes a hold of Joe Jones by his throat and lifts him to his feet, slamming him up against the lockers and pins him up against them, Joe holding onto Bester’s arms, his feet dangling a couple of inches off of the floor!
“NO BIG DEAL? NO BIG DEAL JOEY? DOES IT LOOK LIKE THIS WAS NO BIG DEAL? I WAS EMBARRASSED OUT THERE!” OGDA shouts into Joe’s face. He even pulls him off of the locker and slams him back into it a couple of times.
“I WAS HUMILIATED OUT THERE! I WAS TREATED LIKE GARBAGE! THE TEAM I CONSTRUCTED! THE TEAMMATES YOU TOLD ME TO GO GET, FAILED!!!”
Joe’s face is slowly turning a light shade of red.
“You told me, Bester! We need to get these guys! We need to get these guys because their winners! Up and comers in the OCW! With these guys on your team, we won’t be stopped!”
OGDA is now up in Joe’s face.
“WE DIDN’T BEAT A SINGLE PERSON!!! NOT ONE!!!!!!”
Joe’s face is now purple. OGDA slams him into the locker one more time and finally drops him. Joe drops to the floor, catching himself on the bench and takes a huge breath in and starts to cough and spit and suck in more air. OGDA bends over, picks up a pair of sweats and slides them on over his boots and trunks. Someone’s music has just begun to play, that someone is Paul Paras.
“You paired me with the laughing stock of the OCW. I’M THE LAUGHING STOCK OF OCW NOW! The three of them couldn't beat three armless, legless, blind Vietnam Vets in three wheeled wheelchairs, with the locking brakes on! Do you know how that makes me feel? DO YOU?”
OGDA reaches down, slings his bag over his shoulder, gathers the last couple of items from the top shelve of his locker.
“No! Of course not! You don’t have a clue. You’re just worried about Mister Nanook and Mister Captain and Mister Sinclair. You don’t care about me, you never had and never will! If you did, I would have had better teammates! Team mates that aren’t worried about making movie films. Teammates that don’t get fired! Teammates, who, oh I don’t know, only talks about beating up Mister O’Conner, but can’t actually do that!”
OGDA steps over the wooden bench that is bolted down into the cement floor, steps on his OCW craze title and starts to make his way towards the door. Joe is on his knees, finally able to catch his breath.
“I’m going home Mister Jones. Maybe I’ll see you next year.” OGDA says as he exits the locker room. Joe watches him leave, he is now pissed. If his stare could throw daggers, a thousand of them would nail Bester in the back. Next to him on the floor is OGDA’s mask. Joe snatches it up off of the floor. He holds it and looks at for a second before balling it up in his fist.
Another big pop from the crowd followed by an announcement on who won Death March…
Joe gathers himself and is on his feet. He steps over the bench and bends over and picks up the Craze title belt. He looks at it, OGDA’s big foot print on the back of the face of it.
“Oh, I’ll find a team for ya Best. A team to kick your ass at Throwback.” Says Joe.
Fade out.