Post by Meatball-kun on May 11, 2014 7:39:48 GMT -6
Chicago, Illinois
May 7, 2014
Matthews Residence
Chuck jolts upright in his bed, breathing hard. He looks around. Nothing. Darkness. Only the sound of his own breathing, and a contented sigh from the woman next to him. Chuck looks down at Sofia. She lies on her back, the familiar hump of the baby poking up from the sheets. Chuck glances at the clock next to his bed. It's three in the morning. Chuck rubs his eyes and blinks a few times. He groans, and punches his pillow before sliding his feet off the bed. It was happening again. He wasn't sleeping. A few years back, it plagued him. A constant inability to sleep. He would go through his day on a couple hours of sleep, wanting nothing more than to go home and collapse in his bed...and when he finally had the chance, he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, watching the hours pass as he tried to nod off.
Chuck leans over his bathroom sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot again. There were dark circles under his eyes again. He opens the medicine cabinet, popping a couple sleeping pills. He hadn't taken them in quite some time. He had hoped he wouldn't need them. Ever since he had married Sofia, he'd taken them less and less. It seemed that whatever had been causing his chronic insomnia was finally fading...
...but lately, it had reared it's ugly head once more. Chuck closes the mirror, looking again at his reflection. He splashes water in his face, rubbing his shabby chin as he does so. He'd been growing out his beard again, though he couldn't really explain what had compelled him to do so. Chuck reaches for the towel, but feels it slip through his fingers to the floor beneath the sink. Chuck bends down to pick it up, and-
?: "Smooth move, Charlie."
Chuck jumps at the sound of the voice, and cracks the back of his head against the sink.
Chuck Matthews: "Motherfucker!"
He immediately clasps his hand over his mouth, and looks into the bedroom. Sofia stirs for a moment, raising her hand off her stomach for just a moment before letting it flop lazily over the edge of the bed. Chuck spins and glares at the speaker, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. It's a man, with brown hair hanging in his face in scraggly strands. He's built fairly well, and wears a tight fitting black t-shirt over bulging muscles. He follows Chuck's eyes to the bedroom.
Paul Matthews: "Lovely lady you got there, Charlie."
Chuck frowns.
Chuck Matthews: "Yes. She is. Stay away from her."
He narrows his eyes at Paul, who smiles knowingly.
Paul Matthews: "You were never really the marriage type."
Chuck Matthews: "People change."
Paul Matthews: "Says the guy who always says he doesn't."
Chuck sneers at Paul. Paul slowly stands, walking slowly out of the room, towards Sofia.
Chuck Matthews: "Don't..."
Paul Matthews: "You've got a beautiful baby boy in there, Charlie. You'll be pleased to know he'll be nothing like his old man."
Chuck opens his mouth, but Paul looks at him with a frown.
Paul Matthews: "You know damn well how I know."
Chuck's disgusted look returns. Paul smiles gently at Sofia. Chuck feels his fists clench.
Paul Matthews: "You're not ready."
Chuck Matthews: "Not ready-"
Paul Matthews: "To be a father."
Chuck says nothing. Paul runs his hand across Sofia's belly...runs his hand over the nephew he'll never meet. Chuck almost feels pity for a moment. His brother had been dead for nearly ten years...yet, here he was, walking around Chuck's bedroom, looking at his unborn nephew. Ironic, really...a man who had seen the end of his life, and a boy who was yet to see the beginning of his...and the only thing that separated the two was a layer of living, breathing flesh...Sofia had become a barrier between life and death...and yet, there she was, sleeping away, completely oblivious to the scene that was playing out. Of course, Chuck wasn't sure what Sofia would witness if she did wake up. Chuck had never revealed this to anyone. The fact that Chuck regularly saw and spoke to a vision of his long-deceased brother was his best-kept secret. Chuck himself often questioned whether it was truly happening. Perhaps he was going insane...he shakes the thought out of his head.
Chuck Matthews: "You have no business here."
Paul laughs.
Paul Matthews: "Charlie...as much as I enjoy watching you fuck up, I have a million better things to do with my time. You know better than anyone that I always have business with you."
Chuck Matthews: "So get on with it."
Paul speaks through gritted teeth.
Paul Matthews: "You really should watch that temper of yours, Charlie."
He puts an unnecessary emphasis on Chuck's name, as though the word was something filthy that Paul was disgusted to say. He looks at Chuck. Paul slowly walks back towards Chuck, passing by the window as he does. As the moonlight shines across his face, he distorts. His lower jaw falls away, revealing broken, bloody teeth. His skin rots away, exposing the bone in his left cheek. Clumps of hair vanish. A stain of blood soaks through his shirt where his kidney should be. Chuck turns away from him, avoiding the view. When Paul steps out of the light, he returns to his normal, healthy state. Paul smiles.
Paul Matthews: "Don't get squeamish on me, Charlie."
Paul looks back at Sofia. Chuck forces himself to look at Paul.
Chuck Matthews: "You keep away from her."
Paul turns his attention to Chuck, a look of surprise dancing across his face. He nods.
Paul Matthews: "Ooh, I think I'm hitting a nerve here!"
Paul takes a few steps, then stops, a foot away from Chuck. He smiles at his younger brother, standing shirtless, wearing only a pair of lounge pants. Paul's eyes rest on the long scar running across Chuck's side. He gently puts his fingers to it, tracing the scar across Chuck's midsection. Chuck keels over instantly, a stinging pain piercing his side. He drops to his knees, gagging from the pain. Paul kneels next to Chuck.
Paul Matthews: "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Charlie. And I want you to listen, very closely."
Paul removes his hand from Chuck's side, and Chuck immediately clutches it, the pain slowly subsiding.
Paul Matthews: "You're a smart kid. You always have been. But there are some situations even you can't see coming."
Chuck looks into Paul's eyes. Paul rests his hand on Chuck's shoulder.
Paul Matthews: "Someday, Charlie...your luck is going to catch up with you. You're going to meet an obstacle you can't overcome. And all the brains in the world won't be able to help you."
He smiles.
Paul Matthews: "Just be sure you're ready when that day comes."
Chuck shakes his head in pain. He takes one last glance at Paul, who stands, and gives Chuck a knowing wink. Slowly, he begins to disintegrate, breaking down into a fine sand and vanishing...as though a sudden gust of wind has blown him apart.
The doorbell rings. Sofia jumps, her eyes just opening slightly. She turns instinctively towards her husband, only to find he isn't next to her in bed. Chuck quickly stands. She looks over at him, and a comforted smile spreads across her face as their eyes meet.
Sofia Sinclair: "Charlie..."
Chuck forces a smile. Just after hearing his brother use the name, it was strange to suddenly be comforted by the same title. He nods at Sofia.
Sofia Sinclair: "Is...someone at the door?"
She seems distant. Lost. Chuck smiles. She was still half-asleep. He kisses her cheek.
Chuck Matthews: "Yeah. I'll check it out."
Sofia Sinclair: "Just be....careful."
She lets out a sigh, and rolls back over, asleep once more. Chuck doesn't bother with a shirt, instead slipping out of the room. Across the hallway, Jessica pokes her head out of her bedroom door.
Jessica Casey: "It's three o'clock..."
Chuck nods. He agreed. Who could possibly be ringing the doorbell at this hour? He turns to his sister, who slips out of her own room. She clings tight to a robe that she wears around her shoulders. It's clear that she's just grabbed it for warmth. Chuck himself notices the strange chill on the upper level of the house. Cautiously, the Matthews siblings make their way down the stairs. Chuck glances out the front window as he moves, hoping to catch a glimpse of who it may be. There's a jeep parked in the driveway which Chuck doesn't recognize.
Jessica Casey: "Who is it?"
Chuck shrugs.
Chuck Matthews: "I'm not sure..."
He pauses at the front door. Chuck wasn't sure what was stopping him. He could handle whatever was waiting on the other side...and if he couldn't, Jessica was right there to call the police if Chuck was overpowered. As though reading his mind, Jessica pulls her cell phone from the pocket of her robe, ready to dial 911 if the situation got hairy. Chuck yanks open the door. Jessica gasps, and even Chuck takes a small step back as they see who waits on the other side: A young man, with brown hair, cropped short on top of his head. He's built fairly well, and wears a tight fitting black t-shirt over bulging muscles. Despite the different hairstyle, there was no mistaking: Paul and Chris were twins.
Jessica Casey: "Chris!"
She nearly screams the name, but catches herself just in time, and speaks in a hushed excitement. She runs to the oldest Matthews child, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Chris grunts, and motions his shoulder, which Chuck notices for the first time is heavily bandaged.
Christopher Matthews: "Sorry to come so late."
Chris apparently realizes the late hour as well, as he too speaks in a hushed whisper. Chuck struggles to find the words. For the first time in a while, he's speechless, opening and closing his mouth as he tries and fails to find the words...any words...to say.
Chuck Matthews: "Why...how....come on in."
He finally stammers out an invitation. Chris grins and nods. He extends his uninjured arm to Chuck, pulling him into a one-armed hug.
Christopher Matthews: "Good to see you, little C."
Chuck hugs his brother tighter. His face burns. Why did his face burn? Jessica seems giddy with excitement. Her reaction seemed to explain it the best: Christopher Matthews had come home.
Chuck Matthews: "I have wrestled two matches in EXODUS.
I've lost a match to Steve Lenton.
I've won a match against Nate Soto and Nathaniel Dixon.
And now, I'm in the main event.
I'll let that sink in for a second. I'll give you all a moment to mull over that, see if you can figure out what that means, allow you a few minutes to turn off your sets, exit your browser, mute the radio, however it is you're hearing me talk, and give you an opportunity to figure out my speech before I give it. Go ahead. Think it through. No point in you being here if you already know what I'm going to say, right? I'll wait.
..........Time's up. Now then, those of you still with me...let's chat.
So here I am, headlining a show. It's taken me all of what, three weeks to earn this spot? Why is that important?
That's the wrong question.
IS it important?
Now we're getting somewhere. Now before I get people all over my ass about respecting the main event, knowing the prestige that comes with being trusted to headline a show...I'd like to make it known that in no way do I think this is no big deal. I've been doing this a long time. I've main evented plenty of shows in my career. I've won a lot of big matches. I'm no stranger to the big boss coming up to me and saying 'Hey. Chuck. We need a guy who can draw fans. We need a guy who can get people interested in this show. Can you do it?' And when that happens, I smile and nod and say 'Point me to the ring.' That's what I do. First and foremost, I am a wrestler. I'm a competitor, and as such, these are the sorts of things we live for. Nobody WANTS to be sitting at the bottom. Nobody wants to be the dude riling up the fans, getting them warmed up for the big finale. We all want to be the guy that people come to see. We want to be that dude in the main event, closing the show, giving the fans what they came to see: A great bout.
But to think that it's the ONLY thing...to think that the only match that matters is the uppercard...to think that the main event is the biggest match of the night? You can't be so naive. Main events...they're like championships. Mini championships, tiny accomplishments, little nods that say 'Hey, you're doing good, keep it up.' Yeah, you like them. Yeah, they're nice little things to have...but at the end of the day? What do they mean? What purpose do they serve?
Well now...hold on there, Chuck. You can't say things like that. Do you mean to imply that championships don't hold any weight? Do you realize that this match is the first step towards WINNING a championship here in EXODUS?
Yes, inquisitive viewer, I'm very well aware. And my statement stands. Championships have their place. Just like matches. Just like wrestlers themselves. There's a point in your career where you're starting at the bottom of the food chain. You have to fight and claw your way up, get the powers that be to notice you, and pray that they like what they see and give you that little nod...give you that opportunity to carry the show. And it's the same with titles. You fight nail and tooth, praying for that opportunity, dying to get that one little window...that tiniest crack in the door to succeed in the business. And when that time comes, you either kick that son of a bitch wide open...or you fall on your ass.
But if you make it...if you succeed...suddenly, none of that really matters. Suddenly, you're not clawing. You're not fighting. You've done it. You've succeeded. You've reached the top of the mountain...now what?
Now, you make statements. Now, you have that luxury to stand, as I stand, and preach to the world all the little ideas that race through your head. There are people out there who will look at where I am...a main event shot, three matches in. An opportunity to steal a shot against the world champion...a ladder to climb towards being the face of EXODUS...and they might say that I've moved too quickly. I've climbed too fast. I've had this meteoric rise, and my momentum will run out just as quickly as it began.
Now let me tell you why that's bullshit.
The fact of the matter? I haven't climbed. I haven't fought. To tell you the truth, I haven't done anything different here in EXODUS than I have throughout my entire career. I mean, really, I'm just a big ol' one-trick pony. I've been doing the same shit for YEARS, and nobody's ever seen what's behind the magic curtain. I've come to the EXODUS ring, and I've done exactly the same thing I've done in a No Limits ring. In an Insurgency ring. In an Underworld ring.
Yes, as a matter of fact, I DID mention Underworld. Yes, I DO know that only three or four of my fans will understand that. That one's for you.
But I'm getting off topic. The point I'm getting at is that no, I have not had to climb here in EXODUS. To climb would imply that there was ever a chance of failure. To climb would imply that there was ever a point that the fans, the management, the locker room, ever looked at me and thought in their minds "Well, MAYBE he could be the guy..."
Fact of the matter is, they never had the choice.
That's where my power lies. I don't pretend to have any say in the goings-on in EXODUS. Truth be told, I couldn't care less if I did. No...my strength comes in my ability. My strength comes in my drawing power. Who understands this business better than I do? Who has seen the wrestling industry from every angle? I've been a wrestler. I've been a commentator. I've been a ringside worker. I've been an owner. Fuck, the only thing I HAVEN'T done is hawk popcorn in the stands...but shit, give me a bag of kernels and I'll do that too.
Now I'd like you all to ask yourselves the same question I ask you every week:
What makes me the smartest man in wrestling?
It seems that there's this general consensus that if you want to find the greatest mind in the business, you need to find Chuck Matthews. That's not ego. Shit, that's not even proven fact. That's just popular belief. Everywhere I go, that name follows me. When people see me compete, when they hear my name, the first thing that comes to mind is: 'Watch and learn, guys. That right there is the smartest guy to step into a ring.'
You know what makes me dangerous? I sit here every week and I tell you to question that. I ask you to think about why you all believe that I'm as brilliant as they say. I don't disagree with you...God knows I've planned and plotted my way out of some pretty sticky situations...and, to this day, there's nobody that's managed to outsmart me. I want you to ask yourselves why...and, someday, you may just figure out the answer.
But until then? I just do my thing. I stand here and give the same tired old speech, ask the same tired old questions and pray that this time will be different. Pray that maybe THIS time, someone out there will have had that "eureka" moment. This time, it all comes together. This time, they've cracked the code. They've solved the riddle. They've understood the secret to Chuck's success.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
And maybe that's it. Maybe I'm NOT as smart as you think I am. Maybe my naysayers...and Lord knows I've had naysayers...who have tried to rally the masses, who have tried to scream to the world "LOOK AT HIM, HE'S NOT GENIUS, HE'S INSANE." Whose words have fallen on deaf ears...what if they had figured it out? What if they had it right all along?
Maybe Chuck's NOT a genius. Maybe he's NOT the smartest man in wrestling.
Maybe he's just the craziest.
Why is it that nobody actually believes that? I mean, shit, the evidence is all there, isn't it? I do things...insane things. I regularly engage in the behavior of an escaped asylum inmate. But every time, I escape repercussion. Every time, I weasel my way out. I find some loop to expose. I find some weakness in the wall to break down. I stand here, and I talk, and my words infect your minds. You listen. You agree. You see my words and you see the truth that lies within them.
And you decide that I can't be insane. No way. No how. Because everything I say...as convoluted as it may seem...as of-the-wall fucking whacked-out as it might get...it makes sense. It's snakes and poison and demons and snails that somehow come together to create a choir of angels whispering sweet nothings in your ear. It twists and turns and worms its way into the deepest recesses of your mind and festers like an oozy scab, and you call me a genius for it. Because you can't accept that you've taken the ramblings of a madman as law. You can't justify it. You can't believe that there's a lunatic preaching, week after week, and for some inexplicable reason, you find yourselves nodding slowly, turning to the guy next to you, speaking in hushed whispers, "You know...he has a point."
You NEED me to be the smartest man in wrestling, because otherwise, you're just as fucking crazy as I am.
And that's what makes me a genius. There's a fine line between genius and insanity, isn't there? Do you know what that difference is?
Perception.
And perception, as they say...is reality."
May 7, 2014
Matthews Residence
Chuck jolts upright in his bed, breathing hard. He looks around. Nothing. Darkness. Only the sound of his own breathing, and a contented sigh from the woman next to him. Chuck looks down at Sofia. She lies on her back, the familiar hump of the baby poking up from the sheets. Chuck glances at the clock next to his bed. It's three in the morning. Chuck rubs his eyes and blinks a few times. He groans, and punches his pillow before sliding his feet off the bed. It was happening again. He wasn't sleeping. A few years back, it plagued him. A constant inability to sleep. He would go through his day on a couple hours of sleep, wanting nothing more than to go home and collapse in his bed...and when he finally had the chance, he would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, watching the hours pass as he tried to nod off.
Chuck leans over his bathroom sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot again. There were dark circles under his eyes again. He opens the medicine cabinet, popping a couple sleeping pills. He hadn't taken them in quite some time. He had hoped he wouldn't need them. Ever since he had married Sofia, he'd taken them less and less. It seemed that whatever had been causing his chronic insomnia was finally fading...
...but lately, it had reared it's ugly head once more. Chuck closes the mirror, looking again at his reflection. He splashes water in his face, rubbing his shabby chin as he does so. He'd been growing out his beard again, though he couldn't really explain what had compelled him to do so. Chuck reaches for the towel, but feels it slip through his fingers to the floor beneath the sink. Chuck bends down to pick it up, and-
?: "Smooth move, Charlie."
Chuck jumps at the sound of the voice, and cracks the back of his head against the sink.
Chuck Matthews: "Motherfucker!"
He immediately clasps his hand over his mouth, and looks into the bedroom. Sofia stirs for a moment, raising her hand off her stomach for just a moment before letting it flop lazily over the edge of the bed. Chuck spins and glares at the speaker, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. It's a man, with brown hair hanging in his face in scraggly strands. He's built fairly well, and wears a tight fitting black t-shirt over bulging muscles. He follows Chuck's eyes to the bedroom.
Paul Matthews: "Lovely lady you got there, Charlie."
Chuck frowns.
Chuck Matthews: "Yes. She is. Stay away from her."
He narrows his eyes at Paul, who smiles knowingly.
Paul Matthews: "You were never really the marriage type."
Chuck Matthews: "People change."
Paul Matthews: "Says the guy who always says he doesn't."
Chuck sneers at Paul. Paul slowly stands, walking slowly out of the room, towards Sofia.
Chuck Matthews: "Don't..."
Paul Matthews: "You've got a beautiful baby boy in there, Charlie. You'll be pleased to know he'll be nothing like his old man."
Chuck opens his mouth, but Paul looks at him with a frown.
Paul Matthews: "You know damn well how I know."
Chuck's disgusted look returns. Paul smiles gently at Sofia. Chuck feels his fists clench.
Paul Matthews: "You're not ready."
Chuck Matthews: "Not ready-"
Paul Matthews: "To be a father."
Chuck says nothing. Paul runs his hand across Sofia's belly...runs his hand over the nephew he'll never meet. Chuck almost feels pity for a moment. His brother had been dead for nearly ten years...yet, here he was, walking around Chuck's bedroom, looking at his unborn nephew. Ironic, really...a man who had seen the end of his life, and a boy who was yet to see the beginning of his...and the only thing that separated the two was a layer of living, breathing flesh...Sofia had become a barrier between life and death...and yet, there she was, sleeping away, completely oblivious to the scene that was playing out. Of course, Chuck wasn't sure what Sofia would witness if she did wake up. Chuck had never revealed this to anyone. The fact that Chuck regularly saw and spoke to a vision of his long-deceased brother was his best-kept secret. Chuck himself often questioned whether it was truly happening. Perhaps he was going insane...he shakes the thought out of his head.
Chuck Matthews: "You have no business here."
Paul laughs.
Paul Matthews: "Charlie...as much as I enjoy watching you fuck up, I have a million better things to do with my time. You know better than anyone that I always have business with you."
Chuck Matthews: "So get on with it."
Paul speaks through gritted teeth.
Paul Matthews: "You really should watch that temper of yours, Charlie."
He puts an unnecessary emphasis on Chuck's name, as though the word was something filthy that Paul was disgusted to say. He looks at Chuck. Paul slowly walks back towards Chuck, passing by the window as he does. As the moonlight shines across his face, he distorts. His lower jaw falls away, revealing broken, bloody teeth. His skin rots away, exposing the bone in his left cheek. Clumps of hair vanish. A stain of blood soaks through his shirt where his kidney should be. Chuck turns away from him, avoiding the view. When Paul steps out of the light, he returns to his normal, healthy state. Paul smiles.
Paul Matthews: "Don't get squeamish on me, Charlie."
Paul looks back at Sofia. Chuck forces himself to look at Paul.
Chuck Matthews: "You keep away from her."
Paul turns his attention to Chuck, a look of surprise dancing across his face. He nods.
Paul Matthews: "Ooh, I think I'm hitting a nerve here!"
Paul takes a few steps, then stops, a foot away from Chuck. He smiles at his younger brother, standing shirtless, wearing only a pair of lounge pants. Paul's eyes rest on the long scar running across Chuck's side. He gently puts his fingers to it, tracing the scar across Chuck's midsection. Chuck keels over instantly, a stinging pain piercing his side. He drops to his knees, gagging from the pain. Paul kneels next to Chuck.
Paul Matthews: "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, Charlie. And I want you to listen, very closely."
Paul removes his hand from Chuck's side, and Chuck immediately clutches it, the pain slowly subsiding.
Paul Matthews: "You're a smart kid. You always have been. But there are some situations even you can't see coming."
Chuck looks into Paul's eyes. Paul rests his hand on Chuck's shoulder.
Paul Matthews: "Someday, Charlie...your luck is going to catch up with you. You're going to meet an obstacle you can't overcome. And all the brains in the world won't be able to help you."
He smiles.
Paul Matthews: "Just be sure you're ready when that day comes."
Chuck shakes his head in pain. He takes one last glance at Paul, who stands, and gives Chuck a knowing wink. Slowly, he begins to disintegrate, breaking down into a fine sand and vanishing...as though a sudden gust of wind has blown him apart.
The doorbell rings. Sofia jumps, her eyes just opening slightly. She turns instinctively towards her husband, only to find he isn't next to her in bed. Chuck quickly stands. She looks over at him, and a comforted smile spreads across her face as their eyes meet.
Sofia Sinclair: "Charlie..."
Chuck forces a smile. Just after hearing his brother use the name, it was strange to suddenly be comforted by the same title. He nods at Sofia.
Sofia Sinclair: "Is...someone at the door?"
She seems distant. Lost. Chuck smiles. She was still half-asleep. He kisses her cheek.
Chuck Matthews: "Yeah. I'll check it out."
Sofia Sinclair: "Just be....careful."
She lets out a sigh, and rolls back over, asleep once more. Chuck doesn't bother with a shirt, instead slipping out of the room. Across the hallway, Jessica pokes her head out of her bedroom door.
Jessica Casey: "It's three o'clock..."
Chuck nods. He agreed. Who could possibly be ringing the doorbell at this hour? He turns to his sister, who slips out of her own room. She clings tight to a robe that she wears around her shoulders. It's clear that she's just grabbed it for warmth. Chuck himself notices the strange chill on the upper level of the house. Cautiously, the Matthews siblings make their way down the stairs. Chuck glances out the front window as he moves, hoping to catch a glimpse of who it may be. There's a jeep parked in the driveway which Chuck doesn't recognize.
Jessica Casey: "Who is it?"
Chuck shrugs.
Chuck Matthews: "I'm not sure..."
He pauses at the front door. Chuck wasn't sure what was stopping him. He could handle whatever was waiting on the other side...and if he couldn't, Jessica was right there to call the police if Chuck was overpowered. As though reading his mind, Jessica pulls her cell phone from the pocket of her robe, ready to dial 911 if the situation got hairy. Chuck yanks open the door. Jessica gasps, and even Chuck takes a small step back as they see who waits on the other side: A young man, with brown hair, cropped short on top of his head. He's built fairly well, and wears a tight fitting black t-shirt over bulging muscles. Despite the different hairstyle, there was no mistaking: Paul and Chris were twins.
Jessica Casey: "Chris!"
She nearly screams the name, but catches herself just in time, and speaks in a hushed excitement. She runs to the oldest Matthews child, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. Chris grunts, and motions his shoulder, which Chuck notices for the first time is heavily bandaged.
Christopher Matthews: "Sorry to come so late."
Chris apparently realizes the late hour as well, as he too speaks in a hushed whisper. Chuck struggles to find the words. For the first time in a while, he's speechless, opening and closing his mouth as he tries and fails to find the words...any words...to say.
Chuck Matthews: "Why...how....come on in."
He finally stammers out an invitation. Chris grins and nods. He extends his uninjured arm to Chuck, pulling him into a one-armed hug.
Christopher Matthews: "Good to see you, little C."
Chuck hugs his brother tighter. His face burns. Why did his face burn? Jessica seems giddy with excitement. Her reaction seemed to explain it the best: Christopher Matthews had come home.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chuck Matthews: "I have wrestled two matches in EXODUS.
I've lost a match to Steve Lenton.
I've won a match against Nate Soto and Nathaniel Dixon.
And now, I'm in the main event.
I'll let that sink in for a second. I'll give you all a moment to mull over that, see if you can figure out what that means, allow you a few minutes to turn off your sets, exit your browser, mute the radio, however it is you're hearing me talk, and give you an opportunity to figure out my speech before I give it. Go ahead. Think it through. No point in you being here if you already know what I'm going to say, right? I'll wait.
..........Time's up. Now then, those of you still with me...let's chat.
So here I am, headlining a show. It's taken me all of what, three weeks to earn this spot? Why is that important?
That's the wrong question.
IS it important?
Now we're getting somewhere. Now before I get people all over my ass about respecting the main event, knowing the prestige that comes with being trusted to headline a show...I'd like to make it known that in no way do I think this is no big deal. I've been doing this a long time. I've main evented plenty of shows in my career. I've won a lot of big matches. I'm no stranger to the big boss coming up to me and saying 'Hey. Chuck. We need a guy who can draw fans. We need a guy who can get people interested in this show. Can you do it?' And when that happens, I smile and nod and say 'Point me to the ring.' That's what I do. First and foremost, I am a wrestler. I'm a competitor, and as such, these are the sorts of things we live for. Nobody WANTS to be sitting at the bottom. Nobody wants to be the dude riling up the fans, getting them warmed up for the big finale. We all want to be the guy that people come to see. We want to be that dude in the main event, closing the show, giving the fans what they came to see: A great bout.
But to think that it's the ONLY thing...to think that the only match that matters is the uppercard...to think that the main event is the biggest match of the night? You can't be so naive. Main events...they're like championships. Mini championships, tiny accomplishments, little nods that say 'Hey, you're doing good, keep it up.' Yeah, you like them. Yeah, they're nice little things to have...but at the end of the day? What do they mean? What purpose do they serve?
Well now...hold on there, Chuck. You can't say things like that. Do you mean to imply that championships don't hold any weight? Do you realize that this match is the first step towards WINNING a championship here in EXODUS?
Yes, inquisitive viewer, I'm very well aware. And my statement stands. Championships have their place. Just like matches. Just like wrestlers themselves. There's a point in your career where you're starting at the bottom of the food chain. You have to fight and claw your way up, get the powers that be to notice you, and pray that they like what they see and give you that little nod...give you that opportunity to carry the show. And it's the same with titles. You fight nail and tooth, praying for that opportunity, dying to get that one little window...that tiniest crack in the door to succeed in the business. And when that time comes, you either kick that son of a bitch wide open...or you fall on your ass.
But if you make it...if you succeed...suddenly, none of that really matters. Suddenly, you're not clawing. You're not fighting. You've done it. You've succeeded. You've reached the top of the mountain...now what?
Now, you make statements. Now, you have that luxury to stand, as I stand, and preach to the world all the little ideas that race through your head. There are people out there who will look at where I am...a main event shot, three matches in. An opportunity to steal a shot against the world champion...a ladder to climb towards being the face of EXODUS...and they might say that I've moved too quickly. I've climbed too fast. I've had this meteoric rise, and my momentum will run out just as quickly as it began.
Now let me tell you why that's bullshit.
The fact of the matter? I haven't climbed. I haven't fought. To tell you the truth, I haven't done anything different here in EXODUS than I have throughout my entire career. I mean, really, I'm just a big ol' one-trick pony. I've been doing the same shit for YEARS, and nobody's ever seen what's behind the magic curtain. I've come to the EXODUS ring, and I've done exactly the same thing I've done in a No Limits ring. In an Insurgency ring. In an Underworld ring.
Yes, as a matter of fact, I DID mention Underworld. Yes, I DO know that only three or four of my fans will understand that. That one's for you.
But I'm getting off topic. The point I'm getting at is that no, I have not had to climb here in EXODUS. To climb would imply that there was ever a chance of failure. To climb would imply that there was ever a point that the fans, the management, the locker room, ever looked at me and thought in their minds "Well, MAYBE he could be the guy..."
Fact of the matter is, they never had the choice.
That's where my power lies. I don't pretend to have any say in the goings-on in EXODUS. Truth be told, I couldn't care less if I did. No...my strength comes in my ability. My strength comes in my drawing power. Who understands this business better than I do? Who has seen the wrestling industry from every angle? I've been a wrestler. I've been a commentator. I've been a ringside worker. I've been an owner. Fuck, the only thing I HAVEN'T done is hawk popcorn in the stands...but shit, give me a bag of kernels and I'll do that too.
Now I'd like you all to ask yourselves the same question I ask you every week:
What makes me the smartest man in wrestling?
It seems that there's this general consensus that if you want to find the greatest mind in the business, you need to find Chuck Matthews. That's not ego. Shit, that's not even proven fact. That's just popular belief. Everywhere I go, that name follows me. When people see me compete, when they hear my name, the first thing that comes to mind is: 'Watch and learn, guys. That right there is the smartest guy to step into a ring.'
You know what makes me dangerous? I sit here every week and I tell you to question that. I ask you to think about why you all believe that I'm as brilliant as they say. I don't disagree with you...God knows I've planned and plotted my way out of some pretty sticky situations...and, to this day, there's nobody that's managed to outsmart me. I want you to ask yourselves why...and, someday, you may just figure out the answer.
But until then? I just do my thing. I stand here and give the same tired old speech, ask the same tired old questions and pray that this time will be different. Pray that maybe THIS time, someone out there will have had that "eureka" moment. This time, it all comes together. This time, they've cracked the code. They've solved the riddle. They've understood the secret to Chuck's success.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
And maybe that's it. Maybe I'm NOT as smart as you think I am. Maybe my naysayers...and Lord knows I've had naysayers...who have tried to rally the masses, who have tried to scream to the world "LOOK AT HIM, HE'S NOT GENIUS, HE'S INSANE." Whose words have fallen on deaf ears...what if they had figured it out? What if they had it right all along?
Maybe Chuck's NOT a genius. Maybe he's NOT the smartest man in wrestling.
Maybe he's just the craziest.
Why is it that nobody actually believes that? I mean, shit, the evidence is all there, isn't it? I do things...insane things. I regularly engage in the behavior of an escaped asylum inmate. But every time, I escape repercussion. Every time, I weasel my way out. I find some loop to expose. I find some weakness in the wall to break down. I stand here, and I talk, and my words infect your minds. You listen. You agree. You see my words and you see the truth that lies within them.
And you decide that I can't be insane. No way. No how. Because everything I say...as convoluted as it may seem...as of-the-wall fucking whacked-out as it might get...it makes sense. It's snakes and poison and demons and snails that somehow come together to create a choir of angels whispering sweet nothings in your ear. It twists and turns and worms its way into the deepest recesses of your mind and festers like an oozy scab, and you call me a genius for it. Because you can't accept that you've taken the ramblings of a madman as law. You can't justify it. You can't believe that there's a lunatic preaching, week after week, and for some inexplicable reason, you find yourselves nodding slowly, turning to the guy next to you, speaking in hushed whispers, "You know...he has a point."
You NEED me to be the smartest man in wrestling, because otherwise, you're just as fucking crazy as I am.
And that's what makes me a genius. There's a fine line between genius and insanity, isn't there? Do you know what that difference is?
Perception.
And perception, as they say...is reality."