- United States Champion Jaymz Yaroslav vs. Morbius Tassius -

Dominance is Tolerated





Jaymz waited impatiently with the window of the Tahoe rolled down; his left elbow sticking out of the window as he held a cigar in that hand. He looked at his Rolex on his right wrist and noted it was ten after six, ..and the guy was ten minutes late. Screams and cheers could be heard off to his left as there was a little league baseball games going on two different fields. He sat behind them in an old gas station parking lot spending his time watching the games and watching the seconds tick off his watch – still waiting for the man. There was a team wearing green and black while the other wore blue and white.. He was getting old and his eye sight wasn’t as good as it used to be and he tried to strain and see the names of the teams on the jerseys but he couldn’t.. The blue team was up to bat, ..ball.. ball…strike…And the kid hit. It was a beautiful hit – a straight line no more than ten feet off the ground that zinged past the pitcher and into the outfield. More cheers came from the Blue and White bench as the runner on third scored and the batter got to third base as the ball came back to the pitcher from the outfield… Jaymz looked on at the game, wishing that he played – but his baseball games came to an abrupt end just before his first year in Junior High, the only year that he lived with his biological father in Texas before moving back to Oklahoma with his aunt and uncle who had raised him since he was an infant. He took his attention away from the game and looked both ways down the street, ..he still didn’t see the red Ford truck and he was growing irritated.

**********

The heat rolled off the tin top of the dugout as it was a hot day in Lubbock, Texas – but what else was new? It was June second, Nineteen-Seventy Four; and the post-season tournament had just begun. Kids ran around the ball park, kids who weren’t young enough to play the game were playing their own imaginary games of baseball between the fields, ..the kind of games where they always hit the winning run and never get tagged out. Parents sat on the bleachers eating their hot-dogs and popcorn, watching their children live out their own dreams they never accomplished as a child; cheering them on hoping that one day they would be Big Leaguers and support them in their old age. On the front field closest to the gate – and away from what trees there were in the park that provided any shade what-so-ever, was a game going on between the Twisters and the Outlaws. The kids were tired, sweat rolled down their faces and stained their jerseys. They drank water faster than the team-parent could run it over to them; but the passion was in their eyes and the determination was there to win. They each had played one game in the tournament, knocking off their opponents in dominating fashion, but this was a struggle for both teams. It was late in the third inning, the score tied at Zero. A tall gangly kid wearing the red and black of the Outlaws came up to bat, number Seventeen. The pitcher checked over the runner at first – making sure that he wasn’t gonna steal. He tossed the pitch and the kid swung, ..strike.

The next pitch was tossed, ..strike two. The coach ran out of the dugout, a heavy set man with sweat stains under each arm and a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He yelled at the ump, saying the pitch was too low and that it was a ball, not a strike. The ump only glanced at the man as he squatted back down behind the pitcher and got ready for the next pitch. The coach shook his head and went back into the dugout as the pitch went wild, ..”ball” called the ump – and the coach seemed pleased. The next pitch was a strike, and the following pitch the kid hit a pop fly to left field…Out, and that was two down. The parents of the Twisters cheered, though the outfielder did nothing more than make an easy catch he still made the play. The next batter came out of the dugout – and this kid was massive. His birth certificate had been checked before the game to make sure that he was a legal player.. Though he was eleven, he looked like he was twenty. He stood well over six foot tall and had arms bigger than some of the fathers sitting in the stands. His jaw was squared and his face already seemed old with time. The back of his jersey read “Yaroslav,” and underneath that, “00.” His coach hollered at him “James, make sure you don’t throw the bat – its an outo out this time.” James had a problem with throwing the bat, he was soo damn strong that he would toss it damn near back to the dugout without any effort, ..and he had received his warning in the first inning when he had hit the ball to the outfield.

He got to third base, but unfortunately he had nobody on base. He got up to bat and the pitcher wound up, flung the ball and James swung.. There was an “oohh” from both benches as he missed the ball, and everyone could tell he was sendin it to Arkansas if he had connected. The pitcher, who seemed a little intimidated, threw the ball again – a ball this time. The Twisters coach stormed out of the dugout again screaming but the ump paid him no attention and after a moment he settled down and went back into the dugout. The kid threw the ball again, ..another ball. This time the coach was irate, screaming that it wasn’t fair they had a freak on their team that big – and what a normal strike on the big kid was now a ball because of his height. The ump went to the coach and told him to settle down – and that he wouldn’t tolerate any negative comments towards any kid. Things settled back down and James wiped the sweat from his brow, adjusted his helmet and set to bat. The pitcher wound up and flung the ball, ..this time he connected. The crowd “oohhh’ed” again as the ball sailed and hit the fence. He ran around the bases as the outfielder chased the ball down; James crossed first base and heard the coach screaming, “three!! Three!!! Get that big fuck out!!” James wanted to ignore the comment and blur of the brown dirt went by fast as he ran. He looked up, the third base coach signaling him to keep on going and he did, he rounded third and headed home..

He saw the catcher extend his hand and knew the ball was coming; James wasn’t the fastest but he had a helluva arm full of power and it was the only thing that saved him in this sport. He slid home just as the catcher made the tag, ..safe! Home-run. The Outlaw bench cheered but he didn’t feel the same joy they had – he heard the other coach screaming that his catcher had made the tag. This time he had come out on the field and over to the ump who was screaming back at the coach. James looked back and saw the ump had ejected him for degrading the other team, ..mostly him but the coach refused to lave. His team cheered him on as he headed back to the dugout, ..but he forgot something – he forgot his bat. He turned and went back to the field, again wiping sweat from his head and still breathing heavy from the trip around the bases.. James went back to home plate and picked up his bat; and from there he thought about his decision – he quickly weighed the options and decided to go with choice “A.” He looked over at the ump who was still arguing with the coach and took a huge step toward them; they both looked at the same time James connected the bat with the coach in the side, right in the ribs. James could hear the ribs crack under his right arm.. He let out a girlish scream and the ump stood there in shock for a moment before trying to take the bat from James, but the eleven year old was too big than the ump who was under six feet tall and James tossed him to the side.

The Twister coach went down to the ground and James stomped one his face one good time; blood poured from his nose and he tried to roll out of the way as James connected with the bat again; this time in the left arm – and he could heat that bone snap too. Screams came from both benches; parents – mostly men – flew out onto the field and took the kid down. He screamed in anger, tears of hate rolled down his cheeks as the men over powered him and took the bat away. The opposing coach screamed in pain as a few people tended to him; several screaming to get an ambulance out to the fields. Kids were crying, parents were screaming and this was music to the eleven year old Jaymz’ ears.. To him, the man deserved what he got – and should never have called him a freak or any of the other names he shouted.. But he paid the price for it, and it was the last day he ever played an organized sport – and the last day he lived in the state of Texas.


**********

He played the memory over in his mind as he watched the game take place.. He missed sports and football most of all – but he knew organized sports were never going to be his thing. Anger took over in him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, ..not at that age. He didn’t know how to control it when he was younger, ..but now he did and that’s why he succeeded in the GWA at a level that many don’t achieve. More minutes rolled off the clock and he sighed; and just then he saw the dirty old red Ford truck coming down the road and pull into the gas station and up next to him. He tossed the cigar out the window and stepped from the Tahoe, going to the passenger door of Ford. The man inside was frail thin, black circles were under his eyes and he seemed to be shaking.. His eyes jumped from one thing to the next as if he was being watched. He didn’t say a word as he reached under the benchseat of the Ford and pulled out a large blue bottle with a white cap ontop. “One grand” he said as he set the bottle in the seat for Jaymz to take. Jaymz shook it and nodded as the man watched, “Their all there, two hundred of them” and he held his hand out as Jaymz pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and put it in his hand. The man smiled a nearly toothless grin and put the truck into reverse, “call me if ya need any more” he said as Jaymz closed the passenger door never saying a word. The tires spun in the loose gravel but Jaymz paid no attention as he got back in the Tahoe and shook the bottle one more time hearing the rattle inside, ..yup; he knew that sound. It was the sound of happiness, it was the sound of the pain pills that would put a smile on his face. ..But he made a mistake – a huge mistake; and he wouldn’t know it until he got home.

**********


Could things have gotten any easier for me this week? ..They guys up front put me in a match with Morbius; and is this suppose to be nothing more than a joke? ..Am I to believe that this man poses a real threat to me? I aint gonna lie, I don’t know all that much about Morbius other than he held the Global Title almost two years ago; a US Title even longer that that and an Airborne Title and the TV Title as well – and I guess that was the highlights of this mans career. Where he went, I dunno? But what has he done since he’s come back? …I guess one could argue that he was a good wrestler several years ago but what does that hold for this man now in this day and age of the GWA? ..Not a damn thing, here’s a man who blew it to some nobody last week and lost the only Title that hes held in a long, long time – the TV Title. Yeah, a belt is a belt and having gold around yer waist is nice, ..but the TV Title is all this man has held, ..and a loss to Alex Storm?? I laugh at this man, maybe two years ago I we would have come into the GWA and seen this man as a threat but its evident that he don’t have the ability that he once had, ..and looking at what he’s done in the ring here lately it might have been better that this idiot stay far, far away from the competition that calls the GWA home these days. These aren’t the old days for Morbius, these are the days of Zero Tolerance where we’ve come along and dominated and shown the world how a group should function…

We don’t shift and change, we don’t have a new list of names on our roster every week – were the same people, we just make adjustments to make ourselves better. Weve rolled through the GWA and claimed out spot; not letting a damn person – or group – come between us or bring us down from the high standards that we set for ourselves, ..and achieve them. This aint yer old GWA Morbius, but I guess you can tell that since your just a washed up-has-been wrestler who cant be here for any other reason that to collect a pay check. ..You can be here to compete for Titles like the Extreme, US or Global – cause ya aint got the fuckin skill to get ‘er done; and I’m here to show it to ya this week. You get to face off against the Zero Tolerance US Champions; the biggest sumbitch to set foot in the GWA and the most dominate wrestler that yer gonna find on this roster.. yeah, argue with that if ya want – but tell me whos beat me more than Ive beat them? ..Find me one person who can claim they hold more victories over me then I hold over them and I’ll give ‘em a little respect… A.P Feight? Naw, two and two against that man… Pain? Naw, he got over on me a few times but I still got the best of him.. what about Goth? ..Weck? ..Lady Ashe? ..Blitz Bomber? ..Chaos? ..Original Baller? Havok? Barnhart? …Staniak? ..Come on Morbius, I know that you know these people – cause you’ve lost to some of them…

But all those people, arguably the best the GWA has ever had couldn’t keep me down – yet you can? ..You bring something to the ring that can hold me to the canvas for a three count that Goth don’t have? I don’t believe it for a damn minute Morbius – what you need to do is just take a step back and call it quits, take your paycheck and go home.. Cause who really wants to watch me slaughter you in the ring? ..Look what you’ve done to me Morbius; last week I was the headliner – the one bringing in the money and puttin asses in the seats, ..and this week? Hell man; you’ve brought me down to lower card level.. The part of the show where people go and get something to eat and take a piss break, ..and why is that Morbius? Cause everyone fuckin knows that you don’t stand a chance! They’ll see is hook up in the ring, roll their eyes and hope that it’s a quick ending cause it damn sure aint gonna be exciting… But the management tried to make it a little more thrilling by adding in the barbed wire; and I cant wait to stain the canvas with yer blood. It may not be exciting, but it aint my job to make my matches exciting… I come to the ring with one thing on my mind, …winning. I don’t care if it takes one minute or one hour cause its gonna be me coming out on the winning side. Oh yeah, people still come to watch ZT and they’ll still hope that I lose; and if you did beat me – which we all know isn’t gonna happen – then you did the job of making the match a little more thrilling…

But the chances of you collecting a pin over me is about the same as Goth’s, …slim to none. And hell, yers may even be a little lower than that. ..What do you hope to accomplish in this match? Are you like Darius and claim that “everyone’s a winner” or some shit like “You don’t need a belt to be a Champion.” ..Thats the kind of shit that Darius fed me and I laughed it off cause that’s a losers way of thinkin… If this was a timed match would you get up and say “I didn’t lose, I just ran out of time.”? ..Yeah, that’s another Darius line of thought – but since yer both pitiful fighters I figured you might think on the same line of thought. Maybe you should listen to that little friend of yers and take his advise, …you aren’t ready. Not for the rest of the GWA and damn sure not ready for me. …you don’t think that I don’t wanna see the old Morbius? ..Well I guess your fuckin wrong cause that’s the one that I wanna see; cause the Morbius that I’ve seen in the ring in the past few weeks isn’t gonna stand a fuckin chance against me… But you aint the old Morbius, and like I told you – yer past yer time. Its better that you pack yer shit up and leave before I have to put an end on your career; but at this point your career isn’t going anywhere so I may be doing you a favor. ..Its clear that you don’t know a damn thing about me Morbius, ..cause I fear nothing – not a damn thing..

And it aint people from ZT that’ll tell ya that; its all the people that Ive faced in the ring, ..and now – after all these years Im suppose to be scared of…YOU? You of all fuckin people? Tell me Morbius, what is it that Im suppose to fear? Is it your imposing size? Is it your uncanny speed in the ring? …or is it just that mean fuckin look on yer face? This is the week that you get to do a little learnin Morbius; ..cause this is my singles division now – I run this damn crowd of people, ..and they all know it. And you? Well, ..in a few short days you’ll join that crowd and see what its like to feel the Silence.