Post by Zack Fantana on Dec 15, 2016 23:00:14 GMT -5
As Zack Fantana toted his luggage up the icy steps toward Bobby Franchise's front door, he caught himself whistling the tune of the song that he had been cursing on the ride up. Bobby's house was out in the middle of nowhere so unfortunately the Christian music station was the only station the radio in Fantana's rental car would pick up. Even more unfortunate was his rendition of "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands", as his lips were so dry from the cold weather that the song sputtered haplessly out of tune. A shiver rippled down Zack's spine as he rung the doorbell, bouncing on his toes to try to keep warm. Moments passed as a million things ran through his mind - questions that even the four hour flight hadn't answered. Why exactly had Bobby Franchise invited him to stay at his estate for the week?
Despite having known one another for over three years, it's not like they'd always been close friends. In fact, it was only recently that the two had began to have deeper discussions than how to properly execute a keylock. Fantana had spent the better half of 2016 on the shelf with post-concussion syndrome. It was pivotal stretch in his career and one that left him directionless and exhausted at times. Well, who better to confide in regarding rehabilitation than a man who'd survived nearly four decades in the business? Bobby Franchise had undergone so many surgeries that wrestlers on the circuit began to refer to him as Bionic Bob, though not to his face. Never to his face.
Fantana wasn't left alone with his thoughts for much longer until the deadbolt unlocked and that familiar face poked his head out the door.
"Drop your bags at the foot of the stairs. Let me give you the lay of the land."
Never one for small talk, Bobby waved Fantana into the house. Despite his age and all of the medical procedures, Bobby Franchise was still relatively nimble on his feet. Zack kept searching for a hitch in the old man's step, but he never found one. Whether the old bear was in any pain or too proud to show it, Zack could never tell, but he figured he had an answer whenever Bobby led him to the first stop of the tour.
"The trophy room, I take it."
"Largest room in the house."
Franchise beamed with pride as Zack looked around the room in awe at the collection of artifacts from Bobby's life and career. There was no television in the room - no computer, no books. The room existed purely as a monument to Bobby's own ego and it was a sight to behold. Framed photographs and promotional banners lined the walls on his left side of the room, championship belts rested on the mantle toward the right, and some of Bobby's most beloved suits were preserved on the backs of mannequins in between.
Every tall tale that Bobby had told over the course of their friendship had suddenly come to life in that room. Zack admired an aged photograph of Bobby Franchise in the ring with an actual bear. The tattered remains of the jacket Bobby wore in the photograph were enshrined in a glass case behind it. Zack had heard that tale from Bobby a dozen times and called his bluff just as many, but now the proof stood before him.
"Photoshopped."
Bobby rolled his eyes as Zack approached a set of photographs resting on a stand next to him. His nose nearly bumped the glass in the frame as he leaned in closely to get a good look at the photograph.
"Are all these pictures of you?"
"Indeed. I've decorated this room with only my proudest moments."
Zack slowly walked along the room, scanning more pictures.
"And no pictures of your children? Grandchildren?"
Bobby tapped his finger on his ear as if to suggest he hadn't heard him. Zack knew he had; he just didn't want to entertain the question. That was fine though. Something much more interesting had come up.
"Holy shit. Is this Burning Man?"
Bobby confirmed this with a nod. The notion of Bobby ever being young amused Zack, because he always knew Bobby as the ornery old man in the loud madras suit. It was a stark contrast from the long-haired hippy wearing the hemp shirt in the photograph.
"Oh my God, that hair. What were you thinking--"
An indignant glance from Bobby chased the words back into Zack's mouth.
"Enjoyed your stay, did you?"
"I haven't told you I go back every four years? It's an eye-opening experience. Perhaps you should go sometime."
"Oh, no, I have a hemp allergy."
Fantana lifted another picture off the stand and gave it a once-over.
"That's a picture of the Temple. Have you ever tried meditating? I know you have trouble sleeping. It could do wonders for you."
"I don't believe in that shit."
"Give it a try. I've got a soundproof room upstairs."
"Yeah, yeah."
Zack moved over toward another collection of framed photos in the corner of the room. It was a picture of Benny Stevens standing with one arm around Bobby Franchise and another with his CWT PRIDE Championship. He snatched it off the table and held it up for Bobby to see.
"What the fuck is this?"
"You have no idea how much work I putting that boy on the right path. It was some of my best work."
Zack scrunched his nose skeptically.
"You'd have a photo here too... if you actually had a belt."
"Har har. That old chestnut."
Zack laid the Benny photograph on the stand face down and kept strolling about the room.
"Look, I didn't invite you in here to get finger prints all over my picture frames."
Bobby picked up the frame and rubbed the finger prints off with his pocket square.
"I brought you here to have a legitimate talk about your career. You see this room? This comes from decades of hard work and discipline. I was afforded a lot of time to achieve what I did in this business. I'm one of the lucky ones, but time catches up to us all. I've told you about my surgeries. It's not like rotating wheels on a car. It takes its toll. You've had at least three debilitating concussions in your career. That's a whole 'nother beast, kid. Different than anything I've dealt with.
With your career trajectory, your trophy room could put this to shame. But only if you learn to protect yourself. I know you're in it all for the flashbulbs, but a broken neck isn't liable to make you more photogenic. Remember that."
Fantana kept moving through the room with Bobby tailing him closely.
"You want a legacy that lasts? It's all about longevity. You may think you're on top of the mountain right now, but you need a little perspective. It's great that you're the Resilience Champion but does anybody outside that promotion even know your damn name?"
"Well, clearly I'll never reach 'Lester B. Pearson attended my birth' status."
"That's a photograph of my mother."
The pulsating vein on Bobby's forehead informed Zack it was time to step out of the trophy room for a bit.
"So... about that soundproof room..."
"This is a waste of time."
Zack interrupted his Lotus position and craned his neck to the left to get a good look at his phone.
"The old man should know I can't work in this environment. I've always found silence to be a bit unnerving. I suppose that's the performer in me. They used to tell me in wrestling camp that any reaction is a good reaction. That's become the mantra of every dickhead in the entertainment business of late, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find more comfort in a bit of anger rather than apathy. Because I can always deal with what I did to make an Amis Shelton fan cry. What I can't reconcile with is a dead crowd. I need that arena to be alive when I step into the ring. I want to feel its heartbeat.
I have no doubt that the Tsongas Center will meet those demands in Lowell, because they'll either be witnessing the Resilience Champion's continued crusade for complete supremacy here in the A.W.E. or they'll get to see a vibrant young competitor lay her reputation by the wayside."
Fantana uncrossed his legs and began to stretch them out.
"If I described Bindy Trent as green, I'm sure you'd have trouble deciphering whether I was talking about her lifestyle or her experience level. Sure, she's found some success here and there and wrestled across the globe, but she's been unable to shake the stigma that she's just not good enough, even in her own mind. Regardless, she has made it to round two of the Alpha Cup tournament. That makes her a threat that I cannot ignore. See, I'm not about to fall for the 'pin me and pay me' routine. You don't get to be a champion by naively buying into the reputations of your opponents. I can only judge things based on what I've seen with my own two eyes.
I work with what I know. And what do I know about Bindy Trent? Admittedly not much, but I do know that she is the daughter of a community college professor and a Phish roadie. Suffice to say, with that parental combination she's lived a life unburdened by great expectations. I don't think anyone really expected her to advance in the tournament, but she used that perception to her benefit. The one thing Bindy had over Benjamin Haskell was the element of surprise. I don't think anyone expected that kind of performance. The perception about her is already changing around the locker room about Bindy and why wouldn't it? By making it to round two, she has already outlasted 147-time World Champion and First Emperor of the Moon, Drew Stevenson. Are we all to pretend that it was a fluke or take that victory on the level?
The truth is that Benjamin Haskell underestimated his opponent and got burned. But the element of surprise is gone now. What else have you got, Bindy Trent? What have all those positive vibes you've sent out to the world gotten you?"
Zack began to roll up his yoga mat.
"We're about to find out."
Zack stood to his feet and kicked the mat out of the way.
"Me, I don't believe in karma. I tend to think that the modern believers in karma were just the kids that were really disappointed when they found out Santa Claus isn't real. Let's be honest. The positive vibes you put out aren't accumulating like points on your Chase Freedom card. The universe doesn't care that you're a nice person. The universe doesn't think about you at all.
That doesn't mean it's a waste of time to be positive. It's still okay to compliment Tiffany's eyeliner if it's looking particularly fierce that day. It just means you should be doing it because Tiffany really needs a win that day, not because of some deluded notion that it's earning you points on the back end of your contract with the universe.
So Bindy, you may be a better human being than me, but do you think you can be the better professional wrestler? Can you match my drive?
Perhaps you'll be the one to save Thirteen. You will make your mark on this promotion, I'm certain... But it'll have to wait. Your moment is not at Massacre #4. The world will be saved another day. For now, it rests in my hands."
Zack lifted the yoga mat and slung it over his shoulder as he whistled "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands", this time almost right on tune, on his way out of the soundproof room.
Despite having known one another for over three years, it's not like they'd always been close friends. In fact, it was only recently that the two had began to have deeper discussions than how to properly execute a keylock. Fantana had spent the better half of 2016 on the shelf with post-concussion syndrome. It was pivotal stretch in his career and one that left him directionless and exhausted at times. Well, who better to confide in regarding rehabilitation than a man who'd survived nearly four decades in the business? Bobby Franchise had undergone so many surgeries that wrestlers on the circuit began to refer to him as Bionic Bob, though not to his face. Never to his face.
Fantana wasn't left alone with his thoughts for much longer until the deadbolt unlocked and that familiar face poked his head out the door.
"Drop your bags at the foot of the stairs. Let me give you the lay of the land."
Never one for small talk, Bobby waved Fantana into the house. Despite his age and all of the medical procedures, Bobby Franchise was still relatively nimble on his feet. Zack kept searching for a hitch in the old man's step, but he never found one. Whether the old bear was in any pain or too proud to show it, Zack could never tell, but he figured he had an answer whenever Bobby led him to the first stop of the tour.
"The trophy room, I take it."
"Largest room in the house."
Franchise beamed with pride as Zack looked around the room in awe at the collection of artifacts from Bobby's life and career. There was no television in the room - no computer, no books. The room existed purely as a monument to Bobby's own ego and it was a sight to behold. Framed photographs and promotional banners lined the walls on his left side of the room, championship belts rested on the mantle toward the right, and some of Bobby's most beloved suits were preserved on the backs of mannequins in between.
Every tall tale that Bobby had told over the course of their friendship had suddenly come to life in that room. Zack admired an aged photograph of Bobby Franchise in the ring with an actual bear. The tattered remains of the jacket Bobby wore in the photograph were enshrined in a glass case behind it. Zack had heard that tale from Bobby a dozen times and called his bluff just as many, but now the proof stood before him.
"Photoshopped."
Bobby rolled his eyes as Zack approached a set of photographs resting on a stand next to him. His nose nearly bumped the glass in the frame as he leaned in closely to get a good look at the photograph.
"Are all these pictures of you?"
"Indeed. I've decorated this room with only my proudest moments."
Zack slowly walked along the room, scanning more pictures.
"And no pictures of your children? Grandchildren?"
Bobby tapped his finger on his ear as if to suggest he hadn't heard him. Zack knew he had; he just didn't want to entertain the question. That was fine though. Something much more interesting had come up.
"Holy shit. Is this Burning Man?"
Bobby confirmed this with a nod. The notion of Bobby ever being young amused Zack, because he always knew Bobby as the ornery old man in the loud madras suit. It was a stark contrast from the long-haired hippy wearing the hemp shirt in the photograph.
"Oh my God, that hair. What were you thinking--"
An indignant glance from Bobby chased the words back into Zack's mouth.
"Enjoyed your stay, did you?"
"I haven't told you I go back every four years? It's an eye-opening experience. Perhaps you should go sometime."
"Oh, no, I have a hemp allergy."
Fantana lifted another picture off the stand and gave it a once-over.
"That's a picture of the Temple. Have you ever tried meditating? I know you have trouble sleeping. It could do wonders for you."
"I don't believe in that shit."
"Give it a try. I've got a soundproof room upstairs."
"Yeah, yeah."
Zack moved over toward another collection of framed photos in the corner of the room. It was a picture of Benny Stevens standing with one arm around Bobby Franchise and another with his CWT PRIDE Championship. He snatched it off the table and held it up for Bobby to see.
"What the fuck is this?"
"You have no idea how much work I putting that boy on the right path. It was some of my best work."
Zack scrunched his nose skeptically.
"You'd have a photo here too... if you actually had a belt."
"Har har. That old chestnut."
Zack laid the Benny photograph on the stand face down and kept strolling about the room.
"Look, I didn't invite you in here to get finger prints all over my picture frames."
Bobby picked up the frame and rubbed the finger prints off with his pocket square.
"I brought you here to have a legitimate talk about your career. You see this room? This comes from decades of hard work and discipline. I was afforded a lot of time to achieve what I did in this business. I'm one of the lucky ones, but time catches up to us all. I've told you about my surgeries. It's not like rotating wheels on a car. It takes its toll. You've had at least three debilitating concussions in your career. That's a whole 'nother beast, kid. Different than anything I've dealt with.
With your career trajectory, your trophy room could put this to shame. But only if you learn to protect yourself. I know you're in it all for the flashbulbs, but a broken neck isn't liable to make you more photogenic. Remember that."
Fantana kept moving through the room with Bobby tailing him closely.
"You want a legacy that lasts? It's all about longevity. You may think you're on top of the mountain right now, but you need a little perspective. It's great that you're the Resilience Champion but does anybody outside that promotion even know your damn name?"
"Well, clearly I'll never reach 'Lester B. Pearson attended my birth' status."
"That's a photograph of my mother."
The pulsating vein on Bobby's forehead informed Zack it was time to step out of the trophy room for a bit.
"So... about that soundproof room..."
"This is a waste of time."
Zack interrupted his Lotus position and craned his neck to the left to get a good look at his phone.
"The old man should know I can't work in this environment. I've always found silence to be a bit unnerving. I suppose that's the performer in me. They used to tell me in wrestling camp that any reaction is a good reaction. That's become the mantra of every dickhead in the entertainment business of late, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't find more comfort in a bit of anger rather than apathy. Because I can always deal with what I did to make an Amis Shelton fan cry. What I can't reconcile with is a dead crowd. I need that arena to be alive when I step into the ring. I want to feel its heartbeat.
I have no doubt that the Tsongas Center will meet those demands in Lowell, because they'll either be witnessing the Resilience Champion's continued crusade for complete supremacy here in the A.W.E. or they'll get to see a vibrant young competitor lay her reputation by the wayside."
Fantana uncrossed his legs and began to stretch them out.
"If I described Bindy Trent as green, I'm sure you'd have trouble deciphering whether I was talking about her lifestyle or her experience level. Sure, she's found some success here and there and wrestled across the globe, but she's been unable to shake the stigma that she's just not good enough, even in her own mind. Regardless, she has made it to round two of the Alpha Cup tournament. That makes her a threat that I cannot ignore. See, I'm not about to fall for the 'pin me and pay me' routine. You don't get to be a champion by naively buying into the reputations of your opponents. I can only judge things based on what I've seen with my own two eyes.
I work with what I know. And what do I know about Bindy Trent? Admittedly not much, but I do know that she is the daughter of a community college professor and a Phish roadie. Suffice to say, with that parental combination she's lived a life unburdened by great expectations. I don't think anyone really expected her to advance in the tournament, but she used that perception to her benefit. The one thing Bindy had over Benjamin Haskell was the element of surprise. I don't think anyone expected that kind of performance. The perception about her is already changing around the locker room about Bindy and why wouldn't it? By making it to round two, she has already outlasted 147-time World Champion and First Emperor of the Moon, Drew Stevenson. Are we all to pretend that it was a fluke or take that victory on the level?
The truth is that Benjamin Haskell underestimated his opponent and got burned. But the element of surprise is gone now. What else have you got, Bindy Trent? What have all those positive vibes you've sent out to the world gotten you?"
Zack began to roll up his yoga mat.
"We're about to find out."
Zack stood to his feet and kicked the mat out of the way.
"Me, I don't believe in karma. I tend to think that the modern believers in karma were just the kids that were really disappointed when they found out Santa Claus isn't real. Let's be honest. The positive vibes you put out aren't accumulating like points on your Chase Freedom card. The universe doesn't care that you're a nice person. The universe doesn't think about you at all.
That doesn't mean it's a waste of time to be positive. It's still okay to compliment Tiffany's eyeliner if it's looking particularly fierce that day. It just means you should be doing it because Tiffany really needs a win that day, not because of some deluded notion that it's earning you points on the back end of your contract with the universe.
So Bindy, you may be a better human being than me, but do you think you can be the better professional wrestler? Can you match my drive?
Perhaps you'll be the one to save Thirteen. You will make your mark on this promotion, I'm certain... But it'll have to wait. Your moment is not at Massacre #4. The world will be saved another day. For now, it rests in my hands."
Zack lifted the yoga mat and slung it over his shoulder as he whistled "He's Got the Whole World in His Hands", this time almost right on tune, on his way out of the soundproof room.