The rain at the arena has finally ceased. Puddles of muddy rainwater dot the arena parking lot, but the air isn't heavy as it usually is in the south after a rain. It is clear and clean, full of promise of a sunny day tomorrow. The 1972 Duster spins into the parking lot and past a camera crew who look as if they are just wrapping up an interview... and it hits a mudpuddle, splashing them and they're equipment. SAM laughs, seeing that they had removed their slickers and coats in the ceasing of the rain. He pulls into a parking space near the front entrance and kills the engine.
As SAM walks through the parking lot, something builds inside him, not as desperate as anxiety or as weak as nervousness. Its the beginnings of excitement. He is merely steps from the spot where he will take his place among the WOW stars.
SAM steps out from behind the curtain that is already set up. The stale smell of cigarette smoke is still apparant to him... someone has been here recently. As he passes the announcer's table, he sees a cigarette butt. It is a Newport.
Wafer.
The excitement in him builds. He ascends the stairs after glancing into the ring. He passes by where a greasy spot that can only be cheap hair gel still wets the back of the seat.
Smoke Dawg.
So Wafer was not alone.
You already know this, but keep it in mind, Wafer, that you are all alone in that ring with Payne and I. I'm sure you agree that no one should interfere in this match. All other scores are settled by now from IPWF... all but one, but I'm sure it will never resurface. The score with Reverend. But its ok, I've been given bigger fish to fry.
SAM sits in one of the seats and pulls one shoulder slightly as if carrying something heavy, something around eight to ten pounds, which may be draped over his shoulder. He can almost see the match taking place now as he stares at the ring.
The one factor we've failed to dwell on in this match is the danger. The danger of being in a match with men who aren't used to defeat. The danger of being in a match labeled "brutality rules," and for the title of the same name.
Wafer, you've accomplished much in your career, and you've faced dangers untold. You've had your turn with tables, cages, and all that, just as you pointed out earlier. But it isn't often that you are put in this situation on purpose. You can go into any match, any regular match, and it end up spilling into the hardcore realm. But there is a big difference when the match starts out brutal. Its a whole new mindset. You go in knowing that you will be using weapons, that you may not stay in the ring for the majority of the match, that everyone coming at you will be using their bodies, and anything they can get their hands on or lift you over. The parameters of the match are expanded, and so the parameters of your mind must also be expanded. You have to let yourself loose, you can't conform to any style, you can't expect anything but to recieve and dish out massive amounts of pain.
Payne himself was the first hardcore icon I ever knew of. He's always been hardcore, and I'd say a good 80% of his matches have a hardcore edge thrown into them. He's more than ready for the logistics of this match. I'm sure you are ready as well, but one can only hope. This body I am in, its been in its share as well. He's even run the mill twice before. Hell, Ichabod's first title was gained through a hardcore match, against Justin Payne no less. How appropriate that my first title will come from an almost exact match up.
SAM rises from his seat, and walks with one hand up as if he is carrying the gold already. He walks back toward the ramp, looking up at the WOWtron as if at an iconic version of some ancient god.
We will go to put it all on the line this Monday. In my final words to you both, I want to wish the both of you luck. When we leave this arena Monday night, our wounds cooled by the night air, I want no regrets from any of us. I want it to be known, without a shadow of a doubt, that every single person in that arena, everyone one of the guys in the back, everyone watching, has felt the rush we feel going into this match. I don't want any of us to look back and wonder if we had done something a little different, would the outcome have been better or worse for any of us? This match will be the best for all three of us, even if none of us win, even if we fight until we all three fall unconscious after an damn hour of fighting, sweating, and pushing ourselves past the normal limits and thresholds of men of our stature. May it be said that we are all winners in this matter, as we will each finally be able to shake the demons we've lived with for over two years. A lot will be put to rest, but the three of us will move on, purified in a metaphorical fire of sorts, soldering off the ties we have with the past, the regrets and pain we've had to deal with since the days when Conner put us each in what he felt was our place. Payne, Wafer, bring all you've got into this match, bring every ounce of torment and questions, the answers will be there. Fight with every fucking molecule of what you've got. Fight until we know its settled, because if it goes the way we hope, it will be fought to the point that it can never be repeated. It has to end here, it has to come to climax. This is the final judgement, this is the moment of truth. Bring it in and lay all your cards on the table. Play every ace you have. Enough talking. Lets do this.
SAM goes out through the curtain, going to the Duster in order to get to his hotel to sleep the sleep of a satisfied man..
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