December 12, 2010
Valeo Manor
Tennessee

Generally, I’m a fairly sound sleeper. Last night wasn’t the case. For reasons I can’t explain, I spent most of the night, tossing and turning, waking up at random intervals, not really getting as much sleep as I would have liked. It is for that reason that I wasn’t in the greatest of moods when I woke up Sunday morning.

I couldn’t explain exactly what was on my mind, to be honest. My head seemed to be hopelessly cluttered with useless information, trivial problems, things that I shouldn’t worry about…but for some reason, they continued to fester in the back of my mind, eating away at me.

For one, there was Ashley, my niece. She had begun taking a more…shall I say “active” role in my life…and by that, I mean she felt this sudden desire to get to know me, to spend “bonding time with her uncle.” Not that it was a burden or anything…but the way I saw it…I was her uncle. I had never really “been there,” for lack of a better term. Given, she had only been a member of the Matthews family for a little over a year…but what had I done during that year? I suppose the only reason this concerned me is because I felt this need to show her what the family was truly about. Nothing against my brother’s parenting skills, but…well, he isn’t exactly the world’s greatest role model. I suppose I felt that it was my duty to teach her what being a Matthews was really about.

Jason Hawk…there was another person that had been on my mind more than I would have liked. The match we had at Legends of the Fall…well, it was disappointing, to say the least. I won, as I expected I would…but he failed to bring that Jason Hawk I wanted to fight. I suppose I shouldn’t complain. A victory over Jason Hawk…a man who earlier this year was one of the best NLWF had to offer…and I won. But therein lies the problem, I think. The fact of the matter was…I fought a Hawk that wasn’t on top of his game. Sure, I could honestly say I had beaten Jason Hawk. The records show that I had won. But I wasn’t going to pretend I had defeated some sort of legend. No, I beat someone whose career was crumbling like the walls of Jericho. I beat a guy who hadn’t been seen as a threat since before summer of 2010. Where was the prestige in that? But, I got exactly what I had set out to do. As depressing as his performance was, I had beaten him, fair and square, in front of millions of people. I had redeemed my fluke victory over him, just as I wanted…and just as he had challenged me to beat him where people could see and remember the match, I succeeded there as well. Perhaps one day, I can fight the Jason Hawk that used to be worth something, who could actually win a match without someone else’s help…but until then, the wrongs were righted, so to speak. My issue with Jason was over, and my Legends of the Fall loss redeemed.

Finally, there was Kendrick Dylan…back when I was starting my wrestling career, Kendrick quickly became a friend of mine. It was strange, really. We were paired together, almost randomly. We both started out in the same place, Salvation City Championship Wrestling. Salvation was…I suppose I shared the same view as my brother on it. I had all the respect in the world for Brenton Cyrus, for the things he had done…but I failed to see him as a “god,” exactly. Well…perhaps he was a “wrestling god,” but that sounds ridiculous, like something Ryan Apollos would get excited about.

In any case…my service to Salvation stemmed solely from our shared desire to destroy Chuck Matthews. At the time, that was the thing I wanted most. I wanted to watch my brother suffer. I was stupid, really, and I can thank my niece for making me realize that.

When I had been released from the hospital, I spent a number of years, traveling the globe. The dark years of my life, as I called them. I felt like I was running. Constantly running from this evil place where my brother, who once was closer to me than my own twin, had become my greatest enemy. Some sick world where my family, where my life as I had known it had been turned around and mercilessly dumped on its head. I sought answers to questions that could never be answered, I spent years, drifting, living a nomadic lifestyle, always moving from place to place, never staying in the same country for too long. And at the end of the day, it was always the same disappointment. At the end of the week, the same sense of helplessness. And when I finally arrived back in the United States, I came upon that horrible realization that, just as I had made a loop around the globe, so I had made a circle in my soul-searching. It was the middle of 2009, and still, I learned right away that my entire journey had been…for nothing…Seven long years, and I returned to find, to my dismay, that I despite my best efforts, I was right back in the same pit I hoped to leave behind seven years ago. My life was an endless circle of confusion, unanswered questions, wondering where that turning point was, wondering when everything changed.

Then I met Sal Ramis. The snake in the grass. It was chance that I ran into him. He was preaching on the streets, and I couldn’t help but stop and listen to what he had to say. And in some ways, he was saying exactly the things I wanted to hear. My mind at the time…well, I could still fight, I could still defend myself, but the thought of calling myself “the Definition of Discipline” is laughable. I was completely lost, and I wouldn’t have been able to determine friend from foe even if it was stamped across their forehead. I suppose that’s why I fell victim to Ramis’s words. He became a mentor of sorts. He helped me realize where my life was headed, and he offered a solution, offered a way to make things right. Or so I thought. Instead, Ramis lured me into Salvation, demanded that I bow down to Brenton Cyrus, and in return, they would ensure that my greatest problem would be taken care of. Unfortunately, that “problem” as he referred to it, was my own brother. Sal convinced me, sowed me that everything wrong in my life could be traced back to one man…and I was foolish enough to buy into it.

Truth was, my greatest problem was not my brother, but myself. I was blaming myself for things that I could never have prevented. I blamed myself for the deaths of my brothers…and while it is true that that blame could be placed on the shoulders of young Charlie…what would be the gain in making him suffer? Looking back at it now…was it so easy to condemn his actions? He was no longer welcome at home, Uncle Frank had made that perfectly clear. Thinking of it now…if there truly was one person to attribute the fall of the Matthews family. Frank Valeo was the man to point fingers at. Ramis did not agree. Sal poisoned my head with thoughts of vengeance. He clouded my judgment, managed to keep me from thinking things out. I became blind with rage, with hate. I wanted the head of Chuck Matthews, and there was nothing that could stop me.

Well…nothing except the man himself. Despite Salvation’s best efforts, my brother continued to fight…continued to win. Corey Casey failed repeatedly to take him out…and though, at the time, it frustrated me, to watch as Corey failed at something I myself was so sure I could have accomplished…looking at it now, I’m amazed…and pleased that he was able to carry on for so long. Looking at it now, I’m happy that I still have my brother around.

Kendrick and I fought as a team for a short time. We were paired up almost randomly, an ad hoc team just to fill a card. But we worked well together. The Reflection of Perfection, Kendrick Dylan, teaming up with the brother of Chuck Matthews. That was how people knew me, and it disgusted me. I didn’t have any fancy nickname or lame gimmick or anything like that. No real name of my own. I was Chris Matthews, and that was it. Unfortunately, the people wouldn’t have it. They needed something to remember me by, and my brother was the lucky winner. So that was me. Chuck’s older brother.

Eventually, the two of us were sent to ASWA, where my wrestling career truly began. Ramis recommended I go there, since ASWA was directly linked to NLWF, and talent was known to go back and forth between the two. At the time, ASWA served as a sort of developmental place. Somewhere for rookies to go to get a leg up before being thrown to the sharks. Somewhere for people to go when they made their returns, a way to get rid of any ring rust. For Kendrick and I, it was a way to step foot into NLWF, a way to get our names known, and with time, be taken in as one of the new guys.

We debuted against The Syndicate. Dustin Ford and Julian Singleton…those two would end up becoming a thorn in our sides for a long time to come. The four of us battled for some time. Stupid really, as Kendrick and I won every time. Apparently the fans never got sick of watching them lose. Go figure. In any case…Kendrick and I were a dominant team, remaining undefeated until O’Day and Mason won their elimination tag match…and sent us packing out of ASWA. Or at least, that was the plan, except that Apollos is the world’s shittiest owner in history, and refused to release us from our contracts.

Kendrick and I had remained friends, even after ASWA tanked. It seemed that no matter what happened, we could still remain friends. We never let our professional life get in the way of our friendship backstage. When Kendrick won the Ironman title, and I failed to take the ASWA Championship, there were no hard feelings. When I got the bump up to the NLWF roster while he stayed behind in ASWA, there was no jealousy. When I got the call to compete in Rookie 2 Legend, even then, we were friends. We even had a brief reunion in CZW, a reunion that was tainted, as Aaron refused to allow us to be a team unless we used a name he deemed “marketable.” So there we were, the Wingmen…Jesus fucking Christ, O’Shea is an idiot.

And yet, for some reason, our friendship has been a bit rocky lately, and I can’t for the life of me understand why that is. I figured today would be the ideal day to correct it, and see what was up.

Jessica greets me with a warm “Morning Chris” as I walk into the kitchen. Jessica normally wakes up earlier than I do, which is…strange, since she was always a late sleeper when we were younger. I suppose college life forced her to wake up at earlier hours. Who knows? Since moving in, though, she insisted that she make breakfast every morning. As she put it, it was “her way to thank me for letting her stay.” I had pointed out countless times that the house was our childhood home, and that she had just as much right to live there as I did…but there was no use arguing. Jessica loved to cook, and despite any argument that I could put forth, she simply refused to let up. So I had learned to accept that she was going to be cooking in the mornings, and I would have breakfast waiting when I woke up.

“You look dead.”

“Rough night.”

“Nightmares?”

I look at her. She’s piling eggs and bacon onto a plate.

“No.”

She sets the plate in front of me, along with a cup of coffee.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

I stare at the plate for a minute, as she busies herself around the kitchen. It was interesting to watch her work. She seemed happy. She was already two months pregnant, but you couldn’t really tell by looking at her. I had read once that a woman’s hair becomes shinier, and more vibrant around the two month mark. Not that I could tell. Jessica had dyed her hair so often over the years, I don’t think even she knew what her natural hair color was anymore. She was a fascinating individual, my sister. She had grown a lot over the years. I remember, as a girl…she was so simple. She wanted to be a veterinarian, heal the animals. Now, there was an intricate web of thoughts, memories, ambitions, all interweaved and tangled inside her head. I had often wanted to ask her about what had happened through the seven years…shit, I hadn’t even told the family what had happened to me over the years…not the whole story, at least.

I knew what Chuck had done. He went into wrestling. He made a name for himself. Became an icon, a celebrity. Lived the good life, and found something he was truly talented in. It made sense. The youngest of six kids…we all competed. That’s the thing about siblings. It’s an endless competition, for attention, for praise, for adoration. Competition with peers, with the parents, the community. You’re always looking for that niche. Nobody wanted to be “just another Matthews kid.” James was the rich one. He was a success story waiting to unfold. He was charismatic, a bright young man, graduated from University of Virginia with a degree in Business. He had the car, the money…he was always that kid in school that people hung out with because of all the cool stuff he had. Paul was the athlete. Captain of the football team, star quarterback in high school, and a second-string at Tennessee. He was set to be a starter the next year…but was killed before he got the chance. Wherever Paul went, girls would follow, clinging to him, wanting to be his friend, just as James did. I was the smart one. Straight A student, a 35 on my ACT…but I was a bit of a screw-up. Which, I suppose, is why I decided to join the military. A way to fix my life. Jacob, despite being my twin, was drastically different. He was a bit of an idiot…but he was the popular kid at school. The party animal. I suppose we were both a couple of fuck-ups back then. He was the drinker, the stoner, and he was a bit of a clutz…whereas I was the pissed-off loner brother. Smart, but quiet. Jessica was the sweetheart. Always the first to have something nice to say, always the one to cater to someone if they were hurt or in need of help…and then there was Charlie. I guess he was a mix of all of us, and at the same time, not like any of us. He spent his entire life living in someone’s shadow, no matter what he did. He would bring home A’s on his report cards, he would score extremely high on tests…but the attention was always directed to me, since I had just gotten accepted into college, or had scored top marks on a big exam. He would find an animal in the wild, some injured raccoon or something, bring it home, and nurse it to health…but all the praise went to Jessica, who had volunteered at a retirement home. He would join the basketball team…Chuck had some strange talent in the sport, despite his small size. He was extremely quick on his feet…but all the praise went to Paul, who had just scored his 16th touchdown pass of the season. Whatever Charlie did, someone else did better. I suppose that’s why he went on to do what he did. Some way to make up for his crimes, to succeed where everyone else should have. Wrestling, succeeding in athletics as Paul did. Matthews Enterprises, becoming the businessman James would have tried to be. He was the smartest man in wrestling, one of the most brilliant minds…his way of trying to break out of my shadow.

In becoming this sort of “modern day renaissance man,” Charlie had done what none of the Matthews children could have ever hoped to accomplish. He rose to a level of success we never could have reached. Before? Yeah, people knew the family. We were a rich family. Power through currency, as much as I hate to say it. Tennessee natives knew who we were. They had heard of the Matthews family…but Charlie had reached a level of renown on a worldwide scale. People of our hometown knew us, people of Knoxville, of Tennessee…they knew us, knew who we were as individuals. Chris, the child prodigy. Paul, the all-star athlete. Jacob, the party animal. By rising to the level he did, Charlie had shown himself to people who had never heard of our family. Suddenly, it wasn’t “Chuck Matthews, the youngest child.” it was Chuck Matthews, with nobody ever realizing where he had come from. He had finally found his little niche.

Regardless of the past, the future was pretty clear. Just as he had long lived in my shadow, now it was my turn to live in his. I’m fighting through FTW, and whether I like it or not, it’s always in people’s heads. “That’s Chuck’s brother.” Whether that information affects their opinion of me or not, I don’t know. But what I do know, is that people seem to underestimate what I can do…which only makes things that much sweeter when I do them.

“So what’s on the agenda today?”

“Not a whole lot…”

“Not doing anything with uh…I forgot his name. Your wrestling friend.”

It feels like someone punched me in the gut. I had completely forgotten. Today was Kendrick’s birthday.

“Fuck.”

“You forgot?”

“Yeah…”

“Chris!”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind!”

Jessica shakes her head.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Call him up?”

“That’s a start. Come on, I thought you two were best friends, how could you forget?”

I shake my head.

“Toss me the phone.”

Jessica grabs the wireless phone from the cradle, tossing it to me. I quickly punch in Kendrick’s number. It rings a few times, and Jessica leans against the counter, rolling her eyes.

“I can’t believe you forgot…”

“Shhh!”

“Hello?”

Kendrick’s voice comes through the earpiece.

“Kendrick, buddy. What’s up?”

“Who is this?”

“Chris.”

“Matthews?”

“The one and only.”

“Isn’t there a Chris Matthews who-”

“You know what I mean.”

Kendrick laughs.

“How’s it going?”

“Calling to wish my pal a happy birthday. Twenty-three, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How does it feel?”

“Is there a point to all this?”

He sounds offended.

“Whoa, what? I’m just calling to-”

“Look, not that I don’t care, but I can’t say I believe you entirely here. Are you really calling for my birthday?”

“Actually, I was going to invite you to lunch or something. Let me take you somewhere for your birthday. You and me.”

“Why?”

“Just like old times, ain’t it? Remember, we used to head out to some shitty diner or something, grab a burger or whatever after a show. What, you don’t want to hang out with your buddy Chris anymore?”

Kendrick sighs.

“Where do you want to go?”

“You name the place, and we’ll go.”

“Uh…fine. I’m assuming you’re not in Russia then?”

“Just got in two nights ago.”

“You’re in luck. I happen to be in town. We’ll meet up wherever.”

“You’re in Knoxville?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Business.”

I decide not to investigate it further. Kendrick seems irritated. Perhaps whatever reason he had for being in Tennessee was the issue. There would be plenty of time to chat later.

“Tell you what. Swing by the house, and we’ll make our plan from there.”

“Sure.”

He hangs up before I have a chance to say goodbye. I stare at the phone for a moment.

“Did he even say goodbye?”

“Nope.”

“Does this happen often?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmm.”

I stare at her. She’s giving me that suspicious look that says “You should really be more aware.” Great.

“Morning Matthews family!”

Chuck comes walking into the kitchen, a wide smile spread across his face. I can’t help but smirk as he moves to his seat at the table, pulling a plate of toast near him.

“What are you so giddy about?”

It’s clear by Jessica’s tone that she’s mocking that phrase that Chuck has used on her so many times before. Chuck gives her a sarcastic smile.

“Well, sister dearest, I just got off the phone with my contractor.”

“Oh yeah?”

After Chuck’s house was burned down, he paid a considerable amount of money to have it rebuilt and refurnished. They had predicted it would be done sometime in January, which would explain why he was so excited to have the house finished so early.

“It’s all ready, furniture and all. All I need to do is get my shit from here to Chicago, and I’ll be rockin and rollin.”

“Awesome!”

“When are you planning on leaving?”

“Sometime this week, God willing.”

“Need any help packing up?”

“I’ll be okay, I think. But thanks.”

“Alright. If you need anything, let me know.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were eager to get me out of here!”

Jessica and I laugh. All joking aside, we didn’t mind Chuck living here…well, I didn’t at least. He had his weird quirks, as do we all…but at the end of the day, he was our younger brother, and we were there to help him whenever he needed it. Still though…I think in some ways, the news of his house being finished was a relief to all of us. Jessica was becoming increasingly frustrated with Charlie’s antics. She saw him as a bad influence on Zack, and I’m sure the thought of him leaving the house was welcome news to her. Me? I couldn’t care either way. I mean, sure, there were things that he did that got on my nerves…but there were things Jessica did as well, just as there were things Zack did. Chuck was a city boy. He simply wasn’t meant to live in a small town area like we did. Once he was home in Illinois, he’d be happier. Lately, he had been extremely edgy. He was very tense, and seemed more stressed out with each passing day. I assumed it was the Expo. The Matthews Enterprises Expo would take place this week, and Charlie had put a tremendous amount of time and money into making sure it would be exactly what he wanted it to be. It certainly looked like a spectacle. A week of the corporation showcasing its projects and developments. Some events looked fairly interesting. Others seemed a bit lackluster. Overall, I imagined it would be a good time for all. I was excited.

[This city drains me]
[Or maybe it’s the smell of gasoline]
[The millions pain me]
It’s easier to talk-]

“That’s how you know you got yourself a good theme song, Chris. You decide to use it as your ringtone.”

Chuck laughs as he walks out of the room. I frown, picking up my phone.

“Hello?”

“Chris Matthews?”

“Speaking?”

“Oh, yeah, where are my manners? Rick Christian, Wrestler, Critic, and Reviewer of all things grand and entertaining. How are you?”

“Not too shabby, how about yourself?”

“Doing good, thanks.”

There’s a brief pause. I can head scuffling of papers in the background.

“Alright, Chris, I’m gonna cut the crap here. Johnny and I have had a long chat, and we decided the best move for the New One World Nation is to find ourselves…new talent, so to speak.”

“You want a new member in One World Nation.”

“Oh no, no, no, you misunderstand. We aren’t looking for new members. We’re looking for a…uh…”

Rick clears his throat.

“An Official Representative of the One World Nation.”

“What the fuck does that-”

“As the Official Representative of the One World Nation, you priority will be to ensure that the One World Nation way is established and practiced in FTW Wrestling to the highest degree possible. The Official Representative will also act as the new face of the One World Nation, and will be responsible for any press conferences, news meetings, board meetings, locker room meetings, and any other boring meetings that we don’t feel like going to.”

Rick takes a deep breath, and continues talking.

“In return, the Official Representative will receive the full support of the One World Nation in all affairs, regardless of situation, until such a time when the services of the Official Representative are no longer necessary.”

“Rick-”

“I would like to warn you, however, that nothing is set in stone yet. However, you, Mr. Matthews, are on our shortlist. Play your cards right and keep doing what you’re doing, and this prestigious title could very well be yours!”

“Rick-”

“Anyway, thought I’d call just to fill you in on that tiny tidbit of information. Have yourself a nice day, Chris. Call me back if you have any questions.”

“Wait-”

It was too late. He had already hung up. “Call me back if you have any questions.” Leave it to Rick Christian to tell you to call if you had questions, but fail to leave a number at which I could reach him. So here I was…still wondering what this “official representative” thing was. Probably some crazy idea concocted in the bizarre minds of Rick Christian and Johnny Electric. It was an interesting team, those two. Johnny, the electric, charismatic young man out of LA, and Rick Christian…more of a businessman than a wrestler. The man rarely shut his mouth, but still, it was sometimes hard to determine what he was saying. He had ideas, that much was obvious. He had Talkativity, which was…amusing, to say the least. I really wasn’t sure what to make of them.

“Who was that?”

I turn to see Jessica standing there.

“Rick Christian.”

“Oh yeah? What did he want?”

“Nothing. Some idea of his.”

“Hmm.”

For the first time, I notice that she stands, leaning in the doorway, her hand resting on her stomach, gently rubbing lazy circles around her belly.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

“How’s the baby?”

“Pretty good.”

I stare at her for a moment. That was another thing that was still a bit surreal to me. My little sister was pregnant. I was going to be an uncle…again. For some reason, that still hadn’t lost its appeal. I enjoyed being Uncle Chris. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, it made me feel older. Perhaps it was the knowledge that I was the oldest remaining Matthews. To have nieces and nephews meant there were only two people left that could be making them, and both were younger than me. I guess the thought of my younger sister and brother, who were three and four years younger than me, respectively, were having kids…made me stop and wonder if life was really as great as I thought it was.

And yet, as I watching Jessica standing in the doorway, staring at her exposed belly, rubbing it, cooing softly to the baby that was slowly growing within….I realized that was exactly it.

Life didn’t get much better than this.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So…A Tables, Ladders, and Chairs match, for the FTW and NLWF Tag team titles.

You know…it’s interesting. There are some people who refuse to take me seriously as a threat, because I haven’t really done anything worthy of note in my career. There are others who give me some level of respect, simply because my last name is Matthews. And while I want to say that’s dumb…I suppose there’s a level of truth to that.

I’d e lying if I said I had the accolades to back it up. But I think that over recent weeks, I’ve proven that I’m not some flash in the pan. I’m no Chad Mason, here to win a couple matches, then leave when the going gets really tough. I’m no Damon Synn, running scared when competition rears its head. I’m here for the long haul. And in Matthews fashion, I will succeed.

Ashley Matthews, Chuck Matthews…and now Chris Matthews. What do we all have in common?

Success. Plain and simple. There are people who have said they respect me, because they respect my last name. Like I said…there’s some truth there. Matthews, quite honestly, is a name that demands respect. It’s a name that’s already given NLWF two of it’s premier talent, and I’m looking to become the three peat. Who’s here to stop me?

Death Angel? No offense Death-Angel, but I don’t see why I should consider you detrimental to my goals. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve proven yourself a mainstay, and a dominant competitor…but when push comes to shove, I think I’m capable of holding my own against you. Shit, I’ll take it a step further. I think I could beat you, fair and square. But that is a battle for another day, I’m sure. Nothing against you, of course…but…well, you tell me. Why should I see you as a threat to me? What, because you were overfed as a kid, and you’ve been turned into this freak of nature? Come on, do I really seem like the kind of guy that’s afraid of someone who’s bigger than me?

The other problem, of course, is the fact that, as he was kind enough to point out himself, his tag team record is…depressing, to put it bluntly. Death, let’s come to grips with reality here. You really aren’t that great of a teammate. It seems to me that in every endeavor of yours to make yourself a new team of sorts, you fail. The Uprising…remember that? Or the Angels of the Apocalypse? Let’s not forget Death-Slayers. I mean, let’s be real here for a second. You simply aren’t a tag team competitor. There’s nothing wrong with it. Some people are simply singles competitors, never really meant to be on a team. I guess you fall under that category.

Brandon Macdonald. I’ve never really given an in-depth opinion of you. I believe in the past, I’ve said I don’t really like you all that much, and left it at that. And you know…I’m going to keep it that way. I’ll say the same thing. Brandon Macdonald…I’m not all that big a fan of yours, and I have my reasons for that, I’m sure you’ll understand. The key thing to remember is, regardless of how the match turns out…if it should end with you and I as tag team champions, all issues are temporarily dissolved. I plan to win, and when I win, I don’t plan on losing anytime soon. If that means having to get along with someone that I’m not particularly thrilled to be around? So be it.

See, that’s what you may or may not realize about me, and about the way I’m looking at this match. The rest of you all walk in with the hopes of winning the belts for a team. You have your good pal there that you want to be champions with. Johnny and Rick? You two are supposed to be such great friends. You think for a second I’ll consider you two threats if one of those titles gets pulled down? When that first title comes down, it’s game over for One World Nation, because we know better than to think that one will turn on the other for personal glory.

The same I suppose can’t be said about Jason Hawk. On his new team with Marcus Allen Jr. So…Jason claims to be on good terms with Mr. Allen, and whether that’s true or not, I don’t know…nor do I care.

The fact is, Jason doesn’t exactly have a great track history when it comes to being part of a team. In fact…despite a couple of tag title reigns here and there, Jason really isn’t all that much of a team player. In fact…it seems to me that whenever the time comes to rely on somebody for help, Jason is always conveniently busy.

Or is there another reason why all your friendships and relationships have been blown to shit over the ages?

Jason Hawk has the biggest ego in wrestling today. It’s not even disputed anymore. The only person who cares more about Jason Hawk is…

Oops, my mistake. There isn’t anyone.

So let me ask you Jason…first off, what’s your motivation here? You want to win another tag belt so you can lower the prestige of another chunk of gold? You want a teammate that can carry your dead weight through matches so you can be lazy? This isn’t Corey Casey and Jason Hawk vs. Death-Angel and Brenton Cyrus. You have no teammate to rely on to do all the work for you. Or did you expect Marcus to single-handedly take out at least four other people so you can climb the ladder and soak up all the glory for yourself?

Let’s face it. To put Jason on a team is almost as bad as joining a team with Death-Angel. The difference is at least Death-Angel will make an effort to help his teammates succeed. For Jason, if it ain’t stamped with his name all over it, it’s not important.

And who does that leave us with? Myself…and the New One World Nation.

So rumors have been flying that you two are looking for some sort of “representative.” That’s cool, I suppose. And what exactly are you trying to accomplish in doing that? Some guy for you to throw yourselves behind in hopes that people will take you more seriously? I mean…maybe I’m just getting entirely the wrong idea here. Maybe this isn’t as strange as it sounds. But from what I’ve heard…it’s not looking like your best idea in the world, Rick.

Regardless of this whole “official representative” business, you two are still in this match, and as such, you are still threats to my goal this week, to win the tag team championships. And as such, you will be dealt with accordingly. Get in my way, and I won’t hesitate to beat you two down. I really don’t care if that causes you to retract this offer of yours.

Finally, there’s that final opponent. Not a man…but a thing. The stipulation. Tables, Ladders, and Chairs.

Three weapons known to cause immense damage to anyone unfortunate enough to get in the way. The belts hanging high above the ring…and all I need to do is grab them. Shit, I don’t even need to fight. All I have to do is climb and grab the titles, and I can walk out with gold around my waist, and not a scratch on me.

Wait, this sounds familiar…

Oh! This is Legends of the Fall 2009 all over again. How did that go? Quick history lesson for you. I spent the match sitting at the announcers table, watching as everybody completely forgot I was there, fighting each other, taking each other out…and then going in when everyone was down and out, and nearly winning the fucking thing myself. Do you remember that Jason? I sure as hell do, and if it weren’t for The Notorious K.I.D getting involved, I think I would’ve walked out of that arena as the No Limit champion.

But…I lost. Fine. My first match, cut me a fucking break. The idea though…is that you all seem to make that same mistake, over and over and over again, and what you fail to realize is that every time you do it, it only helps me that much more. You all constantly pass me off as no threat. You all repeatedly underestimate me. And while before, it made me sick to my stomach…now, I’ve learned to accept it somewhat. I mean, the way I see it? It’s your own grave you’re digging. You choose to pass me off as no threat, don’t be surprised when I come out of nowhere and knock you off your pedestal. This week, it’s tables, ladders, and chairs. It’s people climbing up in their attempt to grab the belts, try and grab some gold…

Sounds like a lot of opportunity to knock people off their perches.

And that leaves myself and my mystery partner…

What interests me about a match like this is the fact that there’s always speculation. People wondering, who is Chris’s mystery partner?

All week long, you’ve waited to see who it was….

And you’re going to keep waiting.

Here’s the real scenario. The truth is, I had two slots for this tag match, but I’m only one man. Allow me to try and explain this clearer. I received my sealed spot in the TLC match due to the rematch clause for the tag titles. See, at Revolution 40, that’s exactly what I was awarded as the price for having to shut down NLWF myself. Brenton Cyrus and Chuck Matthews, still entitled to a rematch, handed the matches over to me. And this week, I put them to use.

Which brings me back to the mystery partner. Truth is, I didn’t really have an idea of who I wanted as a mystery partner until just recently. And so long as I didn’t know, nobody else knew either. Obviously, that’s different now. And while I might know who my partner will be…none of you do…nor will you, until you see him staring across the ring at you.

But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Like I pointed out, the match isn’t about team, it’s about climbing the ladder and grabbing the titles. You think I’m going to let some friendship, or some team with someone get in the way? I mean, some of you might say it’s an asshole move. But think of like this…the reason my partner has a match at all is because I had two people give me their rematches, and since it’s a tag match, I can only use one of them.

Listen to my theme song, and there’s a particular line I’d like to point out.

“I live to function, on my own is all I know. No friends to mention. No distractions, nowhere to go.”

It’s who I am. Sure, I may have a partner for the match…but I would be disappointed in you if you expected me to treat him as such. If he gets in my way, I’ll beat him, just as I’ll beat Jason, or Death-Angel, or Johnny Electric, or the president of the United States, if he chooses to insert himself into the match. I live to function. I go to the ring this week for one reason and one reason only. And that reason, plain and simply, is to win. To reach up, grab the tag belts, and go home with gold around my waist. On my own. With our without my tag team partner’s help. I’ll go in, and I’ll do the only thing I know how to do. I fight, I survive. I destroy. I win.

No distractions.

Nowhere to go but up.