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Post by Meatball-kun on Nov 15, 2014 23:44:35 GMT -6
Chuck Matthews: "You wanna hear something crazy?
For almost half the year, this company has run around like a chicken with its head cut off. It seems that everybody wanted a piece of the pie. Everyone wanted to topple the regime. This whole place was in tatters. Chaos. Discord. Violence. Everybody somehow getting involved, in some form or another, in this crazy war over the future of EXODUS. Seemed like everybody had a stake in it. Everybody wanted to be the one to turn the tide, to stand out from the rest and establish themselves as either the savior of EXODUS...or the biggest threat to it. And with each new person vying for power, more fuel was added to the fire. More chaos. More confusion.
And all that time, there was one man pulling the strings. Moving the pieces. Ensuring that everything went exactly as planned.
Ain't that crazy? Everything that caused you so much confusion, everything that you couldn't even wrap your head around...and not only did I manage to make sense of it: It was all coming out of my little head.
I believe it was Mr. Scott who asked a few weeks ago what made me so confident. The man made a fair point. Everybody wants to take control. Every promotion goes through it at some point: Some punk walks in and tries to take control of the company by force...and they always fail. What makes me so different? What makes me think that I'll be the one guy that defies the odds and seizes power?
Because I've done it before.
Because I'm the only man smart enough to pull the same con twice.
I think that's the really depressing part about all of this. This could have all been avoided so easily had somebody done their homework. I mean, to tell you the truth, this whole scheme of mine? It was solid, don't get me wrong...but it was a little too predictable for my taste. A few too many holes, you know? Christ, this whole thing could have been sent reeling had somebody just looked into the history of, say...NLWF. Or, if you'd like a more recent example, IWF. OR, if we'd like to go another route, we can talk about Pride.
All three of those companies, at one point or another, were under the ME banner...the same banner I intend to bring EXODUS under after Autumn Effect. NLWF...NLWF was my first. It was a lot like what I did here, actually. Cause a little bit of mayhem....sow the seeds of discord...and watch as the company slowly deteriorates. Watch as the powers that be struggle to maintain control...and when the company calls for a new leader, I step up to the plate...and lo and behold, the madness stops.
Of course, back then, I had other goals in mind. Back then, I had dreams of a new company, and to do THAT, I needed to get rid of the competition. So I took over. I seized control, by force, and when I did, I destroyed NLWF.
No? You don't believe me? Ah, you've never HEARD of such a company. Understandable. It shut down in 2011, before EXODUS had even opened its doors. Three years later, and there's no memories of such a place?
Ah, or maybe you HAVE heard of it....and you've heard bad things. Poor management. Massive egos running rampant. A bunch of nasty self-serving bastards with no sense of camaraderie, maybe? Yes?
Hey, what can I say? I'm just really good at what I do.
Fast forward. IWF. They're still kicking, I believe. Just offered a contract to Miss Casey Faith, if I'm not mistaken. Trivia fact! Did you know that my company put up half the money to get that company off the ground? Did you know that for two years, as IWF grew and expanded, they did so while broadcasting on my network?
Oh! Pride! Mr. Halich. Some of you are familiar with the gentleman, I think. A riddle for you: Who puts Pride's flagship show on television? Any guesses?
Why yes, MEN TV! Imagine that.
Christian Kane was the first to catch onto this phenomenon. Of course, he wasn't bright enough to figure out what it was he was seeing, only that it kicked his warped ideas of this business square in the nuts. He was the kindergartner who found an Incan coin in the sandbox and wondered if it would fit in a gumball machine, never questioning the value of what he'd discovered.
Mr. Kane realized, perhaps before any of you, that Chuck Matthews is NOT hated outside of EXODUS. As a matter of fact...he's actually pretty well-liked. Of course, he couldn't understand why. He thought it must be some act, that I'm just a vastly different person outside the ring than in it, but to tell you the truth, that's really not the case.
The sad fact of the matter is that people just don't think I'm all that bad. People realize that I'm here to do good things. EXODUS on MEN TV? That is a good thing.
But of course...nobody's ever really stopped to question this, have they? Nobody's ever wondered if perhaps the change I represent will be for the better. It seems like the common opinion is that should I take over EXODUS, I'll destroy it. Sell it in pieces. Relocate it, maybe.
You know...like I did to IWF or Pride, right?
That was sarcasm, gentlemen.
Fact of the matter is, there's all sorts of crazy accusations about the evil Chuck will do if he gets his hands on EXODUS, but all of these wild allegations lack this pesky thing that we in the legal system call "evidence." And the kicker? I've got a long and proven track record of building companies UP, not tearing them DOWN. Matthews Enterprises: A top-level corporation. IWF: A national-based wrestling promotion, originally funded in no small part by Matthews Enterprises. Pride: A fast-rising promotion, funded and televised by Chuck's company...I mean, with the sole exception being NLWF, I'm some sort of Midas of the business world: Everything I touch turns to gold. I bring change...and I've never denied that when I take EXODUS under my control, there WILL be changes...but what nobody's bothered to ask is: What if those changes are for the better?
But I've been labeled the villain...and that's fine. I've been the bad guy before. I can take the punishment. It's part of what I do. But what's painfully frustrating is how willingly an entire company will submit to the opinions of one man...or, I suppose, one family.
I've blamed the Collins' for the degradation of EXODUS, and perhaps that was a bit harsh. No....they haven't degraded EXODUS...but in a world where stagnation means death, they may as well have. I offered to bring this company into the future. I offered to help bring EXODUS to the next level. And to do THAT, I offered to rid you of the one man that has been holding it back. I offered to get rid of the powers that refuse to accept change. Who stick to this twisted sense of tradition. Who are arrogant enough to think that this industry still needs them. Who have fooled themselves into believing that professional wrestling hasn't passed them by. This business is constantly changing...constantly evolving. This industry changes you, you don't change the industry. And what makes me a successful businessman, and what makes me a successful WRESTLER, is that I've accepted that I cannot stop progress. I can only adapt to it. I can change as the business changes. I can accept the new ideas. I can adapt to these 'new traditions.' And more importantly, I can steer my company, and others with it, to embrace these changes.
Now, you tell me, Zack Lifer: Am I really, truly the villain in our twisted little story? Am I really the bad guy I've been made out to be?
We find ourselves at a crossroads. Take one path, and EXODUS will come under my company banner. What happens further down that road? That's the gamble. Maybe it's exactly as you feared: I pick this company apart, piece by piece. I've already got Pride, right? Maybe my reason for wanting EXODUS is to eliminate some of the competition for my other business ventures. But...maybe I'm being honest. Now there's a scary thought. Maybe I intend to make this company better. Maybe I intend to give the hardworking individuals of this roster that dream they've been chasing since they came into this business. You don't know, do you?
....of course, there's the other path. I lose, and I'm sent packing. I'm gone. I'm out of your hair. And EXODUS remains....exactly...the same.
That's depressing.
But, you see...there is one more path here, and it's the one we tend to ignore. It's the path we just walked down. It's the path we've been walking down that led us to this point. The past. All the crazy shenanigans that have brought us here.
In the nine years since I made my professional debut, I've done a lot of things...some good, some bad...and contrary to what the unheralded master of business has to say about it, I've created an enterprise that has brought a whole new level to this industry. I've built an empire, that, as Mr. Lifer will so kindly point out, fails so hard it's grown exponentially over the last three years. It makes sense if you don't think about it, right?
And here I stand in EXODUS...and, like I've said, this is not my first trip to the rodeo. And as much as I hate to bust everyone's bubble...this isn't even the toughest. NLWF? IWF? These were national promotions. These were massive companies, far larger, far wealthier than EXODUS. What makes you think, in all of your unrestrained hubris, that YOU will be the company that survives my onslaught? Contrary to what Mr. Scott has said, it is not ME that should be questioning why I'LL be the one to take YOU down...it's YOU that should be asking...what is this intangible? What is that mysterious ace in the hole that's going to save you where it failed to save anyone else? What is going to prevent you from going down the road of so many companies before you?
And I've got no doubt you have one. Why else would you put everything on the line in a wrestling match? At the end of the day, you've gambled the fate of your company on a game of chance. You're wagering that I won't have every angle thought through. You're betting that I'll have a night where I won't be able to beat Zack Lifer...a man that I've beaten before...and a man whose mind breaks with the resistance of your average toothpick.
You are COUNTING on me to make a mistake, and as I look back at my plan, I can tell you right now exactly where my big mistake lies: I accepted the match.
Now...that is not a recent revelation. I walk into this match knowing full well what I've just done...and I know damn well that I didn't need to do it. You think this was the only way I'd get what I want? You think I wouldn't be able to break little Nicolas, manipulate him into selling me his company? No...I accepted the wager. Why?
I do not hate EXODUS. Believe it or not, I don't. I do not hate this industry. I've made my living doing....this. Wrestling. Stepping into the ring and showing the world what I can do. This was never about money for me. Money, I've got. Fame? Power? Prestige? I've got that. Yet....I came into this independent promotion out of California. I came here, instead of going national. Instead of going where there was money. Why?
The same reason I accepted this match. Because you've finally made it interesting. You've finally made it fun.
Your desperation is amusing, to say the least. You threw it ALL on the table in one last ditch effort: Either lose your last bit of ground to Chuck, or hit the big ol' undo button on all the damage I've cause since I've arrived. Tell me: In what universe would it have been a good idea to take this match? I've already won. Another few weeks, and this company would have been mine anyway. Jon Collins himself is stepping out of active competition, and is that not half of what I've been doing for months? I mean, you're quick to point out that Mr. Collins holds none of the power that I so desperately need to take over EXODUS...a fact that I myself am very well aware of. But I chose to target him anyway. Why?
It goes to show exactly how little you really understand. You know that the pieces will fall, but you fail to see where. I see where. I see where things will go. I see how people will react. I know that, with one particular individual out of the picture...out of action...the rest of the resistance falls apart. And from there? That's a cakewalk.
I would give it another two months before this company would have been in my power, AND YET....and yet...I took this match.
What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good Cinderella story.
So let's see what you can bring, Lifer. Let's see if you can do what so many people...in EXODUS...in IWF...In NLWF...in Pride...in UGW...in RWF...in wrestling itself...have failed to do: Let's see if you can finally be the man to stop the Chuck Matthews master plan.
They chose you, Lifer. Out of everyone they could have picked...they chose you.
You, who has never been able to get inside my head. You, who once realized the great potential an ally like me could be. You, who understands that there is no single person in this business who can outsmart me. And you're supposed to be the savior of this company?
You're right about one thing, my friend: You need this far, far more than I do. If I win, my plan succeeds...again. I get a company under the Enterprise banner....again. I mean, if I win....EXODUS wins. I bring EXODUS to a bright and glorious future.
But you? If YOU win this? You're the hero who delivers EXODUS from it's greatest threat. Maybe you'll get that recognition you so desperately crave.
That's the big difference between us, Zack...you need that acceptance. You CRAVE it. You need some sort of validation that you're doing the right thing. You obsess over this battle of right and wrong, and THEN...then, like you're in any position to talk to ME about morals, you try and get me to call this whole thing off? THAT's your strategy? You're going to try and appeal to the better nature of a man who has made his career by ignoring that very thing?
You're really not as smart as you think you are, are you?
But, of course, you have that one thing that nobody can take away: You just don't fucking quit. You don't. Doesn't matter that half of this roster doesn't think you've got what it takes. Doesn't matter that Nick Grey himself had so little faith in you, he opted to insert a guest referee. Doesn't matter that you, in some bizarre botch job that only you could manage, figured out how to get on the bad side of BOTH sides of the same war.
You're a soldier, Lifer. You're a fighter. You are designed to go in guns blazing and hope to God it hits. You're a homing missile: Fire him off and he will do whatever the fuck it takes to ensure that the target is destroyed. But....the thing about missiles is that somebody needs to fire them off. The thing about soldiers is that someone needs to tell them who to shoot. You lack leadership. You lake that strategic mind.
I've got that. And that, undoubtedly, is why you came to me for help, those many weeks ago. You weren't looking for an ally. You were looking for someone to see all the moving parts. I was your eye in the sky, telling you where the enemies were, where they were headed, and where you should go next.
But I have no allegiances. I learned that painful lesson years ago: People are expendable. Everybody's replaceable.
Even me.
So if you win, Zack...you're absolutely right. I'll have to give up my crusade for EXODUS. Whatever my reasons for taking it...whatever my goals once I had it...none of it matters. And as for me? I'm out of a job.
Well...a wrestling job.
You tell me who really wins, Zack? Who are you really doing this for? The company? The company that could, potentially, have a lot to benefit from my control? Or...are you doing this for you? Are you doing this as one final shot in the dark, to hope to God that maybe THIS, if nothing else, will get somebody to acknowledge your talent. To tell you that you've done a good thing. To assure you that you're not as hopelessly corrupt, as irredeemable, as a man like me?
If I should lose, by some strange twist of fate...I'll be out of your hair. Gone to torment some other poor souls. No more attacks in the ring. No more going home beaten and sore from a grueling match the night before. No more painfully stupid individuals who have put all their faith behind their ability to kick someone in the skull....I will be free, not of EXODUS...but of this industry that has taken everything I've had left to give.
But if I should win...we find ourselves in a new world. A new leadership, away from the arcane traditions of the old EXODUS and everyone who stood for it. A new era, you might say. A bright and prosperous future. The promised land. No more Gods & Monsters. No more Sekigun. No more Furor, no more Collins, no more war.
Free at last...free at last...
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."
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Post by Meatball-kun on Nov 15, 2014 0:55:52 GMT -6
Random comments: The fact that Wulf went from Liddell to Cannon makes me laugh in a "Poor dude kinda let himself go, didn't he?" way. Holy fuck, there was someone else with a Rachel McAdams pic base. I didn't know those existed. Anywho, I've got a few, because fuck it, why not? Chuck Matthews: David Flair, Zack Ryder (back when he still had the long hair. Wound up changing it before actually committing to this, so maybe it doesn't count), Edge, Matthew McConaughey....which, actually, I really hate that I've gotten to the point where I can't even see Chuck as Edge anymore. He's just motherfucking McConaughey, and it's really a terrible pic base for a 26 year old dude from CHICAGO. Jessica Matthews has actually always been McAdams. I was tempted to change it at one point, but she's never really been a big enough character to warrant it Christopher Matthews: Ted DiBiase Jr., Lucas Bryant (I'm not sure if this was ever used or not), Guy Pearce Chad Mason I think has always been Zack Ryder....and is actually Zack Ryder because I'd used/almost used Ryder for Chuck. Johnny Electric: Christian, Curtis Axel, back to Christian. The only reason I even changed it was because he was such a minor character and some dude came in hoping to use Christian, so I said "Fuck it, take it" and changed mine instead. Rick Christian I'm pretty sure was always Jim Carrey. William Darlington: Paul Walker. Also, fuck Darlington, I'm now convinced that shithead will never succeed no matter how many times I resurrect him. There was also a Miley Cyrus and a Batista, but we don't talk about them. Ever. Never ever. Ever. I never really noticed how many characters I've had over the years until now. And only two of them were worth a shit ....well, one. .........Stupid Chad.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Nov 5, 2014 1:29:52 GMT -6
I think segment 7 should work nicely.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Oct 18, 2014 11:08:59 GMT -6
Chuck Matthews: "So! ....what do you guys wanna talk about?
I don't really have anything written down this week. Normally, I just kinda go off the top of my head, talk about current goings-on, give my opinions on a few things, maybe give you all something new to think about, let you pick my brain for a little bit...but this week, I've kinda slacked off. I've had other things to worry about, and truth be told, I might have completely forgotten about my in-ring obligations if it wasn't for my trainer calling me up yesterday asking if I had anything filmed yet. Oops.
So I think we're going to improvise. I'm pretty good at improvising.
I mean...that's what I've been doing lately, isn't it? Go in with a plan...and if that fails, think on your feet. Turn a failure into a success. Turn defeat into a victory. Know when to go in, guns blazing. Know when to let your opponents get the upper hand. Know when to strike, know when to wait, know when to move, know when to remain perfectly silent and let the world pass you by. You know...things that you would expect someone like me to do.
That's how I've made my career. That's how I've succeeded. And, as you all have so plainly seen, that's how I now find myself in the happy position that I'm in now. I have shown this company exactly the sorts of things I can do. I've shown them exactly the type of competitor I am, and slowly but surely, you have started to come around.
And yet, for every person that sees what I'm all about, there's still that one guy that can't really get it through his head. There's that one person that thinks he has all the answers to the problems, and all he needs to do is push the button and all will be right with the world. Enter Mr. Stearns.
I don't really know why I keep picking on the guy, honestly. It's not even fun. It's like the high school jock that shoves a kid into a locker as he walks down the hall. I go home at night, and I will never remember shoving Stearns aside. It was one more little interaction through the course of my day. But that one tiniest action consumes his soul. He spends his time, meticulously plotting his revenge, showing that he can one-up the big nasty bully, but the sad fact of the matter is he doesn't pose much threat. And neither does Darrin Stearns.
I mean...I'm sure he's giddy that he hand-picked someone to go up against me. Hell, Collins himself was so...fucking...PROUD of himself that he'd given that happy authority to somebody else, that Darrins Stearns would surely be the guy that could break Chuck, that could get inside Chuck's head.
Now THAT...That's just disrespectful, man. I expected better from you. I mean, of all he people on this roster, you chose Stearns to deliver my little slap on the wrist? Darrin Stearns is the captain of your "break Chuck's brain" crusade? Dude can't get his OWN head screwed on straight, what makes you think he'll be able to get inside mine?
And, ever-predictably, he does not fight me himself. He chooses someone else. That's the bureaucracy in action: Chuck's ousting Jon from EXODUS, Jon needs to keep things under control...so he has Darrin do it for him, because heaven forbid if the almighty Jon Collins got HIS hands dirty...and of course, since it wouldn't really be a proxy war without more proxies, Darrin turns right around and picks a THIRD party to take on Chuck Matthews.
And, surprise surprise, he chooses another brainiac, just like they did with Nathaniel Dixon, just like they did with Zack Lifer, so they can call it another 'meeting of the minds!' Like that's supposed to fucking mean something.
Well, hello Mr. Scott. This would be your entrance cue.
See...this is what I can't get my head around. I go and I do....something. Maybe it's orchestrating an attack, maybe it's revealing my big scary plan, maybe it's executing the next phase of this little coup I've staged. You know what I'm after. You know what the end result is going to be. And you know that I've done it in such a way that I've completely detached myself from what goes on in that ring.
So what I don't get, and perhaps, Mr. Scott, you may be able to provide an answer, is why the solution to Chuck's master plan is to throw PEOPLE at him! I mean, at the end of the day, who really has more riding on these matches? I mean, you...you have something to prove. You've got a lot of bad history to erase, and what better way to do that than to tackle the guy trying to take over that very company, right? And that's understandable. You want to succeed, and you've paid enough attention to know that unless you get on your knees and pucker up, that ain't going to happen.
Me? I don't really care either way. I mean, I go to the ring, I compete, I look to beat you....but you have to ask yourself my motivation. That's really the problem here, and that's why my punishment continues to elude me: Collins? Stearns? The rest of EXODUS? They have no idea what's motivating me. They have no idea why I'm doing what I do. They're cursed with this one-track mind that forbids them from thinking outside the box. The PROBLEM...the problem is that they fight me the way they would fight themselves, and it's tremendously funny from where I'm sitting, because that implies that I'm anything like them...anything like the rest of you.
At the end of the day, Chandler, amigo, you're another Christian Kane. You're another Zack Lifer. You've been thrown into the ring with me because the big bad powers that be are angry, and their solution is to hand-pick a guy that they expect to beat Chuck in a wrestling match, as if that's going to make all their problems go away. And you'll do it, because despite how smart you're hyped up as, you still haven't stopped to consider why you're bothering to do it.
Think a minute here, pal: What have I really got to lose? You saw this with Kane. Kane beats me, and everybody cheers and hoots and hollers. 'The bad guy loses! The devil is dead! Long live Kane!' Like I would jus drop everything, throw up my hands and say 'Well guys, you got me, guess I'll go try to take over another company instead.' Kane expected a parade in his honor, and me to spend the next month sulking about, brooding over my crippling defeat.
You know what we got instead? Kane won, people cheered and celebrated my defeat....and then I stood up, brushed myself off, and got ready for the next week. Congratulated Mr. Kane on the victory. Spent a week resting up. And I was right back on track.
And....you're going to be different? How? I mean, you come in and you beat me, that's exactly what they want you to do, because they think it's going to put a dent in my plan, but you know better, don't you? You know that what happens inside that ring means absolutely nothing to me. Means nothing to my plans. I'll get right back up and keep rolling. That's what I do. And you'll get angry at me because your win meant nothing, and EXODUS will get upset because your victory meant nothing, and the powers that be will get upset because they'll realize that they can keep throwing people at me all day long, and it's simply not going to get the job done.
But on the flip side of that coin...what if I go in, and YOU are on the losing end? What happens when you can't get the job done? What happens when you disappoint the guys in the offices, who are counting on you to put Chuck Matthews down for the count?
Fact is, Chandler, you've got this mission to prove that you're worth a shit to EXODUS, to Collins, to their band of merry men. I have no such obligation. You're shackled by this idea that you need to appease this one man if you want to stick around in EXODUS. You NEED to beat me. Your career depends on it. Your validation as a professional wrestler depends on it.
Me? I'm just here to foil that plan. I'm here to show you what happens when you die trying, when you're assigned a job that you can't get done. Because when you fail to stop me, Mr. Scott, all the blame will fall on your shoulders. When I've taken control of EXODUS, it won't be Jon Collins who takes responsibility for his failure. It will be you. It will be Christian Kane. It will be Steve Lenton and Wulf Erikssen. It will be all the people that were given that simple task: Stop Chuck Matthews. It will be all the people who failed to beat him, who failed to put that final nail in the coffin.
Come on, Scotty. You think this has been a test of loyalty? This is a way for somebody else to save his own skin. He knows damn well that he can't stop this. So he's going to send everybody else into battle to suffer for him so that when he falls...and he WILL fall...he can dodge the bullet and put the blame on everyone else's shoulder. You think this is a test of loyalty? Ask yourself that, Scott. Why is it that YOUR loyalty is questioned? What, your history? Who the fuck cares?
You're trying to prove that you belong here. And that's admirable, I won't fault you for that. What I'm going to fault you for is this...painful adherence to a broken set of traditions. You've got this very cut-and-dry thinking of how this business is supposed to work. We're supposed to go in and compete, and when the bell rings and a victor is decided, he can celebrate and catapult into a higher position, maybe gun for a championship, while the loser can wallow in his defeat and try to figure out a way to get back on track. But...I was never really on that track to begin with, was I? Nobody's really knocked me off track. Even after a crushing defeat, I've bounced right back up as if nothing happened. You realize that by now, don't you? You know that I not only don't subscribe to this little wrestling philosophy, I go out of my way to break it. So...what? How will you react to that? Are you going to beat me up? Are you going to pin me for a three? Are you going to try and break every bone in my body so that I CAN'T get back up and do it all over again in two weeks?
Is that supposed to mean something to me?
There is nobody on this roster that poses a threat to me. Nobody in the back. Nobody in the main offices. Nobody in the audience. I'm not motivated my championships. I've won championships. I don't really care about championships. My ambitions aim a little bit higher than that...and so, sure. Yeah. Beat me up all you like. If that's what makes you feel better, sure. I can take the punishment. I'll still be here two weeks from now. I'll still be competing, and this match will be another little footnote, stashed away somewhere.
You want to REALLY beat me, Scotty? Use that big educated brain of yours. Think a little bit. Rack your brain, and see if you can answer the riddle that nobody in EXODUS has yet been able to solve:
How do you get inside the head of the Smartest Man in Wrestling?
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Post by Meatball-kun on Oct 11, 2014 0:15:19 GMT -6
The Masked Salaryman vs. Marty Connor -YO. LAST NAME PICKINS, FIRST NAME RANDOM
Fiona Collins vs. Audrey Lloris -Fe-Fi-O-Na or something totally ridiculous.
Dragons Unleashed (Evangelista & Laurel Anne Hardy) vs. TROUBLE (Wulf Erikssen & Steve Lenton) -UNLEASH THE DRAGONS.
Adrien Cochrane vs. Johnny Cannon -Obligatory "Because fuck you, that's why" prediction
Lexy Chapel vs. Justin Brooks vs. Abby Park -Parks and Brooks are nice, but Chapels are quite divine.
Chandler Scott vs. Chuck Matthews -Dis gon' be fun.
Gods & Monsters (Christum Furor & Savannah Taylor) vs. Christian Kane and Chris Strike -Implying I have legitimate reasons for my picks. Good joke, sirs and madams.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Oct 4, 2014 5:51:26 GMT -6
A Restaurant Las Vegas, Nevada After Long Way Down
Chuck Matthews: "I'm fine."
Jessica Matthews: "Just let me look at it."
Chuck Matthews: "I'm fine."
Jessica frowns, reaching again for Chuck's jaw, still a faint shade of pink from the kick earlier that night. Chuck sighs.
Chuck Matthews: "Fine. Here, look."
Jessica leans across the table. She tentatively reaches to touch it, but just as she does, Chuck gnashes his teeth at her, growling at her like a dog. Jessica jumps in her seat. Chuck laughs loudly, and she hits his arm.
Jessica Matthews: "Jerk!"
Chuck Matthews: "Sorry. Seriously though. I've taken worse. I'll be alright."
Jessica looks at him, looking for any signs of dishonesty.
Chuck Matthews: "Now, I DO have a rather painful scar on my back from your ex-husband, and you're more than welcome to-"
Jessica Matthews: "Fine, fine, I get it. I just don't want you getting hurt."
Chuck Matthews: "I always get hurt. That's the job. But, you know...you do it long enough, eventually you figure out ways to deal with it."
Jessica Matthews: "You really enjoy it, don't you?"
Chuck Matthews: "Wouldn't do it if I didn't."
Jessica looks at him. She wasn't in town for the show. Likely, she was visiting her friend...whatever his name was. It was some meathead working in another company. He and Chuck didn't particularly get along...but to be fair, there was an ever-growing list of people Chuck didn't get along with. Again...just part of the job. Jessica takes a drink, and stares for a moment at her brother.
Jessica Matthews: "Have you talked to Sofia?"
Chuck uses the silence to take a long drink from his own glass as he thinks of an answer. The short answer was 'yes.' Chuck and Sofia had talked, somewhat briefly, considering the circumstances. She was true to her word: She wasn't particularly after anything. She wasn't demanding money, or any of Chuck's assets. The way she put it, she felt the marriage was rushed. Maybe it was a mistake. In her mind, she just wanted out of it so she could hopefully find her true soulmate before she got too old. Or at least...that's what she had told Chuck. Incidentally, it was Chuck who was making it more complicated that it needed to be.
Chuck Matthews: "I'm going to talk to Michael about an annulment."
Jessica Matthews: "I figured you would."
Chuck Matthews: "Yeah...I don't think he'll be too happy with me. But I don't think he'll object."
Jessica Matthews: "Really? Your priest friend isn't going to object to you trying to annul your marriage? Aren't those supposed to be really complicated?"
Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: "Not if you married a Protestant."
Jessica laughs. Chuck smiles. She may have been the only one he knew who would laugh at that, besides maybe Michael himself. Funny enough, it had almost never played a part in the marriage...their differing religious beliefs, that is. Sofia wasn't a spiritual person. The two of them had decided, when she was pregnant, that it would fall on Chuck's shoulders to teach him the importance of spirituality and education...unfortunately, Chuck never had the chance.
Jessica Matthews: "You don't seem too broken up about it."
Chuck nods slowly, trying to decide how he wants to phrase his next thought.
Chuck Matthews: "I think...I knew it was coming."
Jessica Matthews: "So did Corey and I. That didn't make it hurt any less."
Chuck snorts.
Chuck Matthews: "I think we both know you and I have very different ways of dealing with pain."
He takes another drink.
Jessica Matthews: "Well...you know I'm always here if you need anything."
Chuck nods.
Chuck Matthews: "I think I'll be alright."
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US-72 Alabama/Mississippi State Line Thursday
It's dark. The roads are mostly empty, except for the occasional truck making its nighttime trek across the country. A lone car drives down the highway, headlights on, windows up. Here, Chuck drives, alone, heading eastbound into Alabama. It's silent in the car. He's turned the radio off and drives on in silence, apparently deep in thought.
'You really think this little road trip is going to help?'
This was hardly anything new. Some nagging voice, speaking to him from the darkest recesses of his mind. It had been happening for years...sometimes in the form of Paul Matthews. Telling him all the secrets he'd buried away for years...telling him the things he knew, but didn't want to hear.
'You want answers...but are you sure that she's the one who can give them to you?'
Chuck shakes his head, partly to silence the voice, and partly to keep himself awake. He'd been driving for hours. In the distance, Chuck could see where the black sky turned a deep shade of blue. Soon, the sun would rise. Chuck wanted to sleep. He was tired. Beat from the long trip. But he was so close. Another couple of hours, and he'd be in Decatur.
'Why don't you ever visit?'
Chuck sneers as the thought enters his mind.
Chuck Matthews: "I'm a busy man."
He speaks out loud, though he knows it won't help. Nobody was listening. Nobody could hear him. And it didn't help, either. Moments after he speaks, his mind laughs at him, echoing a new thought through his head.
'Too busy to visit your own mother? Now that's a shame...'
Chuck Matthews: "It's complicated."
'It's not. You hold a little Thanksgiving and Christmas get-together every year, and you make sure to attend, just so you can see your family and convince yourself that you're a family man. But you need to be honest with yourself, Charlie. Your son is gone. Your wife is gone. And you've just...moved right along.'
Chuck Matthews: "I'm dealing-"
'Dealing with it? You were a completely different person for a month after Blake passed. Hell, you cared more for the kid than for Sofia.'
Chuck Matthews: "She thought I didn't care about her. She thought she wasn't important to me. She didn't want anything to do with me."
'So why wouldn't you chase after her?'
Chuck pauses a moment.
Chuck Matthews: "Because she was right."
'See? You're only lying to yourself, Charles. Eventually, you're going to have to come to terms with the fact that you really don't care much for other people. You live your life alone, and you like it that way. You LIKE that nobody really knows you. You LIKE that you've pushed away everybody who's ever given a shit about you.'
Chuck Matthews: "And why is that?"
'I think you know the answer to that, don't you?'
Chuck smiles.
Chuck Matthews: "I think we're going to figure it out soon enough."
He glances at his phone, where his GPS directs him towards his destination.
Chuck Matthews: "Sixty miles to Decatur."
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Chuck Matthews: "Well THAT was fun.
I'll give credit where it's due. I lost at Long Way Down. I didn't think I would. I made a critical mistake, and I paid for it. It doesn't happen often, but....well, what's that saying about a blind squirrel and his nuts?
And yet, here we go again, on our happy little trail, ever forward, ever onward, with so little changing in the grand scheme of things. Fiona Collins is still champion. Lexy Chapel continues to run over her competition. Gods & Monsters continues to beat down their competition.
And I guess that means that, regardless of the outcomes, I need to continue to feed you all my riddles. You're starting to crave them, aren't you? They've started to become a staple in your day-to-day life. Wake up, go to work, go through your business, come home, and listen to what Chuck Matthews has to say. Because whether you agree with it or not, I don't think anybody can argue that painful, simple fact: When I talk, people listen.
And why do you suppose that is? Is it out of respect? I mean...shit, you spend a long enough time in this business, eventually people will listen to just about anything you say, right? You've proven that you're there to stay. You've proven that your words hold weight. Or maybe it's something else?
Maybe it's because as much as people would love to deny it, they've come to realize: Chuck Matthews is every bit as smart as people say he is. And so I am. I sit. I observe. I read people. I understand people. That's how I think. That's how I work. If there's anybody in this industry who better understands the mental aspect of this sick little game we play, I haven't met him.
And that's a painful pill for a lot of you to swallow, isn't it? You're starting to realize what I've been saying since the day I stepped foot in EXODUS. This whole "supergenius" thing? That wasn't really my call to make. That's just a nickname they gave me. Something people notice as my career went on. All I did was prove them right. Prove to them that "Yes, Chuck Matthews is most certainly the smartest man in wrestling."
Not that anyone has really been able to disprove that, right? Christ, even now, I keep pulling the same tricks over and over, and nobody's really doing anything about it. Now, there are two reasons for that. Either you don't particularly care if I succeed...or you can't figure out how to put an end to it.
But Christian Kane! Christian Kane beat Chuck!
And I congratulate him for it. Good for you, Sparky. But that was two weeks ago. This is now. And now, I have more important things to do than take a match because it appeases you and calms you down from your perpetual temper tantrum.
Enter Trouble.
Now, this...this could get very interesting, couldn't it? I mean...there's a lot to consider. For one, Trouble has established themselves. They're a tag team that's proven that they have what it takes to be successful. They've proven that they can work well as a team.
And then there's Justin Brooks and Chuck Matthews. Brooks, who manages just fine on his own. And Chuck, who only seems to work well with others when it's convenient for him. But...that's the wildcard, isn't it? There's one scenario we haven't seen out of me yet, isn't there? There's one question that nobody can begin to answer: How does Chuck fare as a member of a team?
What makes Brooks and I an interesting combination is that it's this perfect mesh of my brains and his...whatever it is he wants to call it. Brutality? Violence? Pound-The-Shit-Out-Of-Everything-ness? Whatever it is, Mr. Brooks has it, and he uses it very well.
Then there's me. And I just...baffle you. As I have been. As I do now. As I very likely will continue to do. How exactly do you plan to combat that?
See...I'd like you to think back. Think to all of my losses here. Think of my victories. And in every match, there's always this...this strange commonality. Wrong place...wrong time. When I lose, why is it? Some bizzarre twist of fate that puts me in exactly the wrong spot to take a blow that keeps me down just long enough to cost me the match. A kick from Kane. A shot from Windsor. Or...let's move back even further...
An uncharacteristic moment of overconfidence that allowed Steve Lenton to hand me my first loss.
But..what about that strength? What about that distinct advantage I hold over every opponent? That ability to think ahead? To turn any match into a game of chess? That happy power to predict the moves before they happen, to see the things that nobody else does. And do you know when that comes in handy?
When there's more than two people in the ring.
Is there any doubt? The more people get involved, the better I become. And that's not necessarily because I'm better. It's because everybody else gets worse. People are not trained to handle so many moving variables at once. Their brains can't process it. Mine can. That's how I fight. That's how I win. You throw me one man, I'm forced to rely on my own ability, and my ability to read my opponent. My ability to predict what he'll do before he knows he's going to do it. But you throw two men in the ring with me? Three? That's more variables. That's more pieces.
And that's when I get really dangerous.
And when one of those pieces is on my side of the fight? It makes it all the more difficult, doesn't it?
THAT is my game. THAT is what Wulf and Steverino are fighting. I'll give you some credit, Steve. You've beaten me before. That's not an easy task. But now...can you do it twice? Can you find it in you to tack another loss on my growing losing streak?
More importantly...can you count on Wulf to have your back? Can you count on him to get the job done? To ensure that it won't be YOU fighting the match on your own? I mean, you can talk all you like about how Brooks and I have no history, but at the end of the day, the two of us are damn good at what we do. We're solid competitors in our own right. You put those two together? Why wouldn't we succeed? But you?
When was the last time Wulf did anything noteworthy? What has he done that has made people stop and pause? When has he been deemed a legitimate threat? What can he do that would make either of us stop and think 'Well hold on a second...we may have bitten off more than we can chew here.'
Fact of the matter is, I don't think you can beat me twice, Steve. And I KNOW Wulf can't do it once. He's not prepared for something like this. He's never fought someone quite like me before. And while you can talk him through it all you like, I think you know, deep down in that big ol' Lenton heart of yours: Wulf is outgunned here. He's not strong enough to take on Justin Brooks, and he's not smart enough to go up against Chuck Matthews. No...he needs someone who's powerful enough to overcome the disadvantage. He needs someone with enough raw power to overcome Chuck's intelligence. Brooks' brutality. He needs you, Steve, far more than you need him. He's relying on you to take it home. He's relying on you to get the job done. But to tell you the truth, Steve?
I think this is one burden even you can't bear."
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Post by Meatball-kun on Sept 23, 2014 15:15:33 GMT -6
Dat Chuck pic tho. I died.
All joking aside, nicely done, especially since it looked like there were some difficulties. Kudos to guys who stepped up to fix em. Good on you.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Sept 20, 2014 8:11:08 GMT -6
A Cabin Somewhere in the Minnesota woods September 17, 2014
A young woman sits in a cushioned armchair, gazing into a fire that roars in its hearth. The room is mostly dim, the only light coming from what little sunlight penetrates through the blinds over the windows. The cabin is modern, but cozy. A ceiling fan overhead remains motionless, the lights turned off. In the next room, the hum of a refrigerator provides the only noise in the house. A car is parked in the garage outside, hidden from view. It's a bit chilly for a September afternoon, though not cold enough to warrant an open flame...it seems to be aesthetic more than anything else. The woman gazes into it, shadows dancing across a pensive face. She wears a tight-fitting black tank-top and black shorts. The girl seems to have an affinity for the color, in fact: Her hair, tied in a tight ponytail, is equally dark, but the brown roots reveal that it's not her natural color. The most distinguishing feature, however, is the abundance of tattoos that litter her body. Her arms are covered, and though her shirt covers a number of them, it's evident that they splash across her back and torso as well. She rests her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, gazing into the fire. There's a thoughtful expression on her face, but there's something more to it...sadness, perhaps.
The sound of a door opening snaps her out of her trance. Almost instinctively, she flings her leg over the arm of the chair, prepared to vault over and race for the window should the need arise. A second girl walks in, carrying two large plastic bags in each arm. She pauses, looking at the tattooed girl, confused.
Morgan Hill: "Hey, L. What are you-..."
She trails off, shaking her head. The tattooed girl sighs, and returns to her comfortable position in the armchair as Morgan wanders through the open door into the kitchen.
Lillian Parker: "I didn't expect you to be back so soon."
Morgan's voice carries back through the door.
Morgan Hill: "I went fast."
Lillian groans.
Lillian Parker: "You really need to be careful with that. Where'd you park-"
Morgan Hill: "Nobody's going to find it, don't worry."
She reappears in the doorway.
Morgan Hill: "Where is everybody?"
Lillian doesn't even look up from the fire.
Lillian Parker: "Scott's in Los Angeles. Myles is downstairs. Tanya is...Actually, I'm not entirely sure where she's at."
Morgan Hill: "Myles can't track her?"
Lillian Parker: "He's got other things to worry about."
Morgan Hill: "Like...?"
Lillian Parker: "He's working on something with Scott."
Morgan Hill: "Of course he is..."
She shakes her head. This was common behavior from Lillian. She had no problems answering the questions, but when she did, they were often short, and usually posed even more questions than answers. Suddenly, Lillian sits upright.
Lillian Parker: "Actually...now that I think about it, I should probably check on that."
She vaults over the back of the chair, landing cat-like on her feet. Morgan shakes her head again.
Morgan Hill: "Show-off."
Lillian looks over her shoulder and gives her a wink and a smirk.
Lillian Parker: "It's a skill."
She moves to the closed door near the kitchen, making a point to brush past Morgan as she moves. Morgan stands still, making no attempts to move as Lillian struts past. Lillian opens the door, which creaks loudly as it swings out. She looks back at Morgan.
Lillian Parker: "You coming?"
Morgan doesn't have a chance to answer before Lillian is already halfway down the stairs. At the bottom, Lillian pokes her head around the corner, into the main area of the basement. A dim blue light illuminates the otherwise black room. Against the far wall, computer monitors are set up, several of them, hanging from the wall in a grid pattern. Most of them show various maps, pictures, and files. One of them, sitting on a desk, appears to be running some sort of security program. In the center of it all, Myles Shannon sits, keeping an eye on it all. He's a skinny young man, in his early twenties. His hair hangs to his shoulders, though it's not unclean, as one might expect. He would be almost attractive, but years of sitting and watching the screens has done him little good: His eyes are dark and sunken, and his skin is pale, a likely result of his extended hours in the dark room. Still, Lillian moves up behind him, avoiding the minefield of empty soda bottles that litter the room. Again, the inked woman shows off her agility, stepping from one clear space to another, dodging bottles, discarded food containers, and empty pizza boxes, each time landing silently on the hardwood floor. Morgan leans against the wall, watching Lillian move. She seems almost bored at this point, though she seems genuinely impressed when Lillian's socks slip on the floor, only for her to catch herself, silently, with one hand, inches from a very crinkled Sun Chips bag. Lillian rests her head on Myles's shoulder.
Lillian Parker: "How's it going down here?"
Myles jumps, and Lillian has just enough time to move her head before his shoulder can slam into her chin. Morgan and Lillian laugh loudly as he holds his hand over his heart, breathing heavily.
Myles Shannon: "Don't DO that!"
Lillian giggles, and takes a seat in the young man's lap, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek.
Lillian Parker: "I'm sorry."
Myles shakes his head angrily, but makes no attempt to push the attractive woman away.
Myles Shannon: "Yeah....whatever."
He turns his seat back towards the monitors, rubbing his chin with his hand. Lillian rests her head on his shoulder.
Lillian Parker: "Whatcha doin'?"
Myles Shannon: "Same thing I'm always doing. Keeping things moving along."
Lillian Parker: "Mhmm...and how are you doing that?"
Myles motions to the desk. For the first time, Lillian notices a bunch of small plastic cards in a neat stack, near one of the monitors. She picks up the top one: A California driver's license.
Myles Shannon: "Scott's in Los Angeles right now, taking care of that job you gave him."
Lillian Parker: "Is this his new ID?"
Myles Shannon: "Yeah."
Lillian admires the handiwork, turning the license over in her hands, admiring it.
Lillian Parker: "It looks real."
Myles frowns.
Myles Shannon: "It looks-...you know, I swear, you guys never appreciate all the work I put into these. You know how long it takes me to set up your names? I gotta make ID's, set up records, credentials, the whole bit. That stuff doesn't just pop out of the sky, you know."
Lillian shakes her head. Myles wasn't angry. She knew that. But he took a lot of pride in his work, and since they so rarely gave him much appreciation for it, the least they could do was humor him when he went on about how difficult his work was. He was essential, though. Maybe even more important than he knew.
Lillian Parker: "What IS his story, anyway?"
Myles Shannon: "He told her he was a fitness trainer. I told him it was a bad idea. I don't think he can fake that."
Lillian Parker: "He'll do fine. But I wanted to know about that Matthews Enterprises job. Did we ever find where he's hiding his money?"
Myles Shannon: "You realize a company that big has money all over the place? You realize how hard it is to figure out the financials of a corporation like that? I mean, we got television, radio, license fees, taxes, merchandise revenue. And they still find the money to do those stupid sponsorships."
Lillian Parker: "So....did you find it?"
Myles grins.
Myles Shannon: "Oh...I did more than just find it, baby."
He motions to the top row of screens, and pulls up a list of files.
Myles Shannon: "Turns out our buddy Mr. Matthews has been up to some hinky stuff. He's moving a lot of money into this new project. So far, I can't figure out a name. It looks like he's getting ready for some sort of big buyout."
Lillian Parker: "What about the money we stole? Where is he on that front?"
Myles Shannon: "Far as I know? He's shooting in the dark. Judging by these records, it looks like he just gave it up. Can't have been too happy about it, either. See, this?"
He highlights a few lines in one of the documents.
Myles Shannon: "Few weeks after our job, he started pulling money from all sorts of places. He cut a few of his sponsorships. Moved some money out of his radio station...Lily, whatever this dude was planning, I think we put a big dent in it."
Lillian Parker: "So why didn't he pursue us? Why did he give up so easily?"
Myles Shannon: "Because I'm very good at what I do. Can't follow what you can't see."
Lillian rolls her eyes. There was than Myles ego again. Still, she kisses him on the cheek.
Lillian Parker: "So where is he now?"
Myles frowns, and reads over a map on the far right monitor.
Myles Shannon: "Looks like the GPS is on in his phone. Hold on."
He types furiously for a moment, glancing at the screen every few seconds.
Myles Shannon: "He is in......Chicago."
Lillian takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Lillian Parker: "He finally went home..."
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Matthews Residence Chicago, Illinois Meanwhile...
Chuck buries his face in his hands.
He knew it would come to this. How could it not? It wasn't the disappearance. That was probably the last straw...but the whole situation was unraveling, far before that. And Chuck knew it. He could feel it. Their never-ending string of bad luck was piling on fast, and looking back now, Chuck wondered if the foundation had ever been solid enough to withstand it. At times, it all seemed forced. Like...like his heart was never really in it. Like he wasn't SUPPOSED to be there. Like he was there because he HAD to be, because he wanted to fit in...not because it was something he truly wanted.
No marriage can be built on such a thing.
And yet...it did nothing to ease the sting. There was still a stabbing pain in his chest...one that he hadn't felt since Blake's funeral. Just the latest in his run of bad luck. His wrestling career was slipping away from him. His company had been robbed of a quarter-million dollars. His son had died...and now, here were the papers, bringing with them a whole new set of problems.
And yet...even with the marriage crashing around him, there was something...strangely relieving about it. At least he knew. At least he could stop questioning it. He could stop questioning himself, wondering if he was doing it right. Wondering if he had made the right decision. Wondering if he wasn't a complete failure of a husband.
As it turned out, he was.
Chuck nods slowly. He takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out, calming down a bit with each breath. Sofia's note, scribbled in her elegant cursive, sits next to the divorce papers. She was surprisingly civil, given Chuck's behavior.
"....I don't want this to be messy. I don't want your house. I don't your things. I just want out."
A page-long letter, but it was those last phrases that hit Chuck the hardest. He could only imagine Sofia, hunched over the counter, writing away, not knowing when Chuck would come home to see the letter. He wondered when she'd written it. She was crying when she did...the splotches in the ink where they fell told him that. It didn't do much to make Chuck feel better. He nods to himself, looking down at his wife's words. He'd screwed up. And the worst of it was that he knew he should have seen it coming. His friends, his family...they were all taken by surprise when Chuck told them he was getting married. And why wouldn't they? They had gone years in the same mindset as Chuck himself: Chuck Matthews would never settle down. He would never get married. He wouldn't have a family. And who was Chuck to try and change that? Who was he to challenge what he always knew?
He was better off on his own.
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Chuck Matthews: "Christum Furor.
Sally Talfourd.
Lady Magdalena.
Savannah Taylor.
Daisuke Iwakuma.
All the people I conned into doing my bidding. All the people I have on my side. The only allies I've got left in this business...right? Hold on. The list isn't finished.
Zack Lifer.
Johnny Cannon.
Justin Brooks.
Vanessa Cade.
Lexy Chapel.
Chris Strike.
Jimmy Riley.
And the list...goes...on.
Now then...What do all of these people have in common? Hmm? Anybody?
....Bueller?
These are all people who have been behind me at one point or another during my short tenure in EXODUS. These are all people who have expressed their respect, either for my ability, for my intelligence...hell, even for a combination of the two. In fact, up until three weeks ago, every single one of those names had one thing in common, and ONLY one thing:
They all knew the value of having Chuck Matthews on their side.
Now? Now, I'm sure we can safely remove Lifer and Strike from that list...but to be fair, they have very good reason for not being a part of the Chuck Matthews fan club right about now.
Here's the thing...I will not try and justify the things I've done. I will not pretend that I didn't pull the rug out from under the entire EXODUS roster. I won't pretend that I did some wonderful thing that has ensured victory for my noble cause. I won't. Because I didn't. What I did was cold. It was calculating. It was detestable, and you should absolutely hate me for it. I'm not saying that to pander to someone, I'm saying that because it's cold fact, and I really don't think there's anyone who will argue with me on it.
But...you don't hate me for it. Not everybody, at least. Even after I revealed my big plan to the world, that list still stands...give or take a couple names. Now, I'm sure you know the terrifying three-letter word I'm going to say next, don't you?
Why?
Do you know what Ralph Waldo Emerson said? He said "Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood. All is riddle, and the key to a riddle is another riddle." It's one of his most famous quotes, I believe.
Now who among us has a greater mastery over riddles than Chuck Matthews? I mean...look at what I've done. Even as I solve EXODUS's greatest puzzle, I pose ten more questions. Even as I reveal my master plan, I raise new problems. New dilemmas. New questions: What will Chuck do next? How does he plan to execute the rest of his plot to take control? What will he do when he does? And why, for the love of all that is good and holy, are there people taking his side on this? Why do they praise him? Why do they respect him? Why is it that there's no mob waiting outside my door? Why is it that after all the deception, all the scheming, all the manipulation, there's not a swarm of people looking to put my head on a pike? I mean, basic rationale says I should be reviled right now. Logic dictates that I should be the most hated man in this company right now. People should be pelting me with trash. The dirtsheets should be ripping me to shreds. Everybody in the locker room should feel their stomach retch at the mere mention of my name.
You know what we get instead? We get Justin Brooks, applauding me for doing what I said I would do. We get Johnny Cannon, agreeing with the things I had to say at the last show. We get Jimmy Riley, who, understandably, doesn't condone my methods...but I think even he finds it difficult to argue with the end results.
And that? That just pisses you off, doesn't it, Kane?
Hell, I'd imagine it pisses off the entire Sekigun. How could it not? Even after I walked out to the ring, pulled my most abhorrent trick yet, this roster still shows their respect. Even after I did the unthinkable, people still applaud what I did. People are still on my side. People continue to stand by me. And the more they do, the more it just chews at you from the inside.
Ah. Another quote, I think. Let's try Charles Baudelaire this time: "La plus belle des ruses du diable est de vous persuader qu'il n'existe pas."
"The Devil's greatest trick is to convince the world he doesn't exist."
I am not Christum Furor. I think I've shown that. Furor...Gods & Monsters...they're not all that different from Collins and Crew. They fight their battles. They sling mud at each other. They argue amongst themselves when they fail, and somehow stand united when the time calls for them to do so. But at the end of the day, each of them thinks they can do no wrong. Each of them thinks that they fight some noble fight, and they demand you follow their side, and if you don't, you're the enemy. It's all really very tiring, isn't it?
But we know better when it comes to Chuck Matthews. I don't fall into that system, do I?
That's why you hate me, Kane. You don't hate me for the things I've done. Not entirely, at least. You don't hate me because I orchestrated this entire war. Do you know why you REALLY hate me, Kane? Do you know why Collins doesn't like me? Do you know why Stearns doesn't like me?
It's because I just don't fit into your worldview. Guys like them? Guys like YOU? You've got this perfect little system where there are good guys and bad guys. It's all fucking black and white to you. You're either with EXODUS or you're against it, and if you're against it, you're the villain and you need to be stopped.
And Furor and G&M are exactly the same way. Good, evil, black, white, you're either fighting for a better EXODUS or you're trying to maintain the broken system and if you're doing THAT, you're the villian and you need to be stopped.
But me? What am I? I'm a guy who knows that he's doing bad things. I'm a guy who will openly admit that the things he's done should not be respected. Should not be applauded. I realize that I've done terrible things. Hell, I might even feel bad about some of them. We know I've made my apologies to Mr. Lifer...futile as they may be. We know I've met with a few individuals, I've said my piece to them, and I respect their opinions...even if they don't line up with my own. And that bothers you, doesn't it? I don't fit into your perfect little system. I don't match this cookie cutter archetype of what a villain is supposed to look like. And that bothers you. You hate me because I'm something you can't understand. I'm something that has moved into this realm that you can't wrap your head around. I break every mold you have, every category you can think of, and yet, I still exist. I contradict everything you know about wrestling, about business, about human beings, and yet, as much as you think there's something askew, you're forced to acknowledge that it all makes sense. Everything fits together. And it pisses you off, doesn't it? You're not angry because I don't fit your system. You're angry because your system isn't working, and you refuse to admit that there are some people that it just can't factor in. People like, for instance, the Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling.
I mean, it's half the reason I've gotten away with this for so long: You don't quite know what to make of me. Even now, I've done something...shit, I've done something objectively BAD! I've manipulated an entire roster into joining my side. I've brought together mortal enemies and made them, unknowingly, fight for the same cause. I've played two sides of the same war, and pulled the rug out from under them when it best served my own selfish agenda. But there's always more to the story, isn't there? And isn't that EXACTLY the lesson that I've taught since day one? Always consider the opposite. Always consider the story from the other point of view. Looks to me like more than a few people took my lessons to heart, didn't they? See...THAT is why I'm not the most hated man in this business. THAT is why I can be both hated and loved, and for exactly the same reason. I have been planning for this since the day I stepped foot in EXODUS. I knew, one day, I would do something nobody would like...and so I spent four months, prepping them. Convincing them that, no matter what evil I may do, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. The ends will justify the means.
Bad acts, good intentions, right?
You see? I watched as both sides played their games. While they sat on the battlefield fighting, I stood on the hilltop, getting a bird's-eye view. Watching all the pieces shuffle around the board. Garnering allies. Earning respect the old-fashioned way: By winning matches. By proving that I'm worth listening to. By showing that this is not just a nickname, and that I am every bit as intelligent as people say I am.
THAT is why those same people now find it so difficult to turn against me. This isn't stupidity. This isn't brainwashing. This is that pesky thing that we call "human behavior," and it's one of the reasons I've been called the smartest man in this industry. I understand how people think. I understand how people react to certain situations. I have created a battle within every man and woman in EXODUS, wrestler and fan alike. I have created a conflict between their hatred for anyone who dares to fight the status quo, and their adulation for anyone who sticks to their own beliefs. Anyone who can put their money where their mouth is. Anyone who shows that they are honest men...even if that honesty is about their DIS-honesty.
I have done all of these.
The reason, Mr. Kane, that it's so damned hard to turn people against me is because I give them something to believe in. I have become an agent of change. See...you've mistaken my anonymity for invisibility. You assume that I have remained off the radar for months because I lack the ability to get people to listen. Oh how wrong you are, my friend. On the contrary, that anonymity was crucial. Even now, four months later, I enjoy a strange, happy detachment from this company. I'm on the outside looking in. I'm another face in the crowd. But this face has a voice, Mr. Kane, and that voice is heard loud and clear, and now, people are, just as they have been for months, slowly rallying behind it.
Have you stopped to think why ExPro 22 was the night I chose to stage my assault? Have you asked yourself why I chose that night to reveal my plan to the world? You have, of course, realized by now that nothing I do is insignificant. Nothing I say isn't thought out well in advance. You've certainly taken pause, haven't you? Considered for a moment why THAT was the night I chose to act?
Of course you didn't. You haven't questioned why I did what I did. You just know that you're the good guy and I'm the bad guy and that's all there is to it. You know that you're supposed to fight this snot-nosed punk from Chicago and you're supposed to bash his fucking head in because he disrespected Darrin Stearns and he's trying to destroy EXODUS, and Jon Collins wants him taken out. And like a good little monkey, you're going to do exactly that.
Let's be honest here, Kane: I've pegged you pretty good on this one.
But...that's the problem, isn't it? You think you're better than me. You think you're bigger than all of this, don't you? To you, this is a main event star taking on another curtain jerker who thinks he's tough. To you, I'm hardly better than your one-sided stint against Mason Joseph three weeks ago. Chuck's on a losing streak. Chuck's been getting his ass kicked pillar-to-post. And now you've got a reason to want to kick my head clean off, don't you? You have to protect EXODUS. You have to stop me from completing my master plan.
Let me remind you that you picked this fight, Kane. You requested this match. How soon we forget, right? You think you're bigger than this? You think this is going to be a cakewalk? Get your head out of your ass, man. I'm telling you, right here and now, you go into our match in that mindset, and you'll be playing right into my hands.
That's what I do. Or haven't you been paying attention? I don't strategize for one match. I strategize for several matches all at once. You've just watched me get my ass kicked for two matches straight. You watched as Chris Strike and Lexy Chapel beat me six ways to Sunday. And you've smiled a little bit. You've grown confident. And we know what happens when you get confident: You get messy. You make mistakes. Now, I'm going to say this real slowly for you, Kaner:
YOU CANNOT MAKE MISTAKES AGAINST CHUCK MATTHEWS.
But you will. How do I know? Because I've studied you, Mr. Kane. I've observed. I've watched you. I know your flaws. I know how you work. I know how you think. I know that you plan to walk in and decimate everything that is Chuck Matthews. I know that you intend to punish me for my every transgression, against Stearns, against Collins, against you, against the rest of this company. But I'll let you in on a little insider secret, sir: Anger is not a valuable weapon. Abby Park was angry. Kliff Ulysses was angry. An angry mind is a mind that makes mistakes. And I've got a pretty good track record of beating people when their rage gets the best of them.
You're a powerful competitor. I'd be stupid to try and contest that. But you're not a thinker. You've got that one-track mind that's been the downfall of so many great wrestlers before you. You spend your days training for an opponent you know nothing about, and make no mistake, you don't know much about me, Mr. Kane. Instead, you tell anyone who will listen that I'm going to be taken out of that ring on a stretcher. You'll talk about kicking my head off. You'll talk about beating me to an unrecognizable pulp. You'll play it up like no tomorrow, because somehow you're convinced that people still buy into this 'bad boy' bullshit.
Here's the thing, man. You beat Brett Sands out of EXODUS. You beat Mason Joseph. You beat Black Jones. Want a fucking medal, Sparky? Welcome to a whole other ball game, amigo. You're not fighting stink stains like Joseph, or Revo guys like Jones, or...whatever you'd categorize Sands as. You're fighting a man who, in the span of four months, has gone from Unknown to Unstoppable to Unpredictable....And that's just it, isn't it? I've become completely unpredictable. You think that's a weakness? Tell me: Which Chuck Mathews are you expecting to fight? Are you planning for the Matthews that tore down everyone EXODUS could throw at him? Or are you hoping for the Matthews that got curb-stomped by Chris Strike? Who got manhandled by Lexy Chapel? See...as much as you'd love to think that these last couple matches of mine are indicative of our fight, you know that it's a very stupid trap to fall into. Or, at least, you SHOULD be thinking that, and if you're not, I'm telling you right now: That's a VERY stupid trap to fall into.
A friendly reminder, Kane, that this is the man that damn near won the Crucible. This is the man that beat Kliff Ulysses at Ascendancy. This is the man that beat Zack Lifer. This is the man who, for quite some time now, has had people wondering why he doesn't gun for a championship. And up until these last couple bouts, I don't think there was a soul in EXODUS who thought I wasn't talented enough to do it.
Fact is, Christian, what you're up against is not a shitty wrestler who had a three-month hot streak. And while thinking isn't your strong suit, I know you're not dumb enough to think that's the case. No...you're fighting a guy who has done nothing but put on one great match after another, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, he's completely fallen apart in his last two go-arounds.
Now, you tell me: How does something like that happen?
More importantly: Are you willing to gamble this match on it happening again? Are you really expecting lightning to strike a THIRD time?
The ball is in your court, Mr. Kane. This is the part where you sit down and think long and hard about what you're about to do. Are you going to come to this ring expecting an easy win? Are you going to rely on me having another off night? Or are you going to come in expecting the fight of your life?
Just remember: EXODUS is counting on you. Jon Collins is counting on you. And....I'll tell you the same I tell ALL my opponents: I'm counting on you.
As dirty and conniving as I will admit to being, there is one thing you can count on: I will never lie to you, Christian. I don't need to lie to you. I know you're expecting me to have my hired guns waiting in the back to save my skin if I get into trouble. But I'm going to tell you right here and now: You will not see G&M during our match. You will not see HATE in our match. I don't want them, and I don't need them. I didn't need them to help me win matches these last few months, and I certainly don't need them to win this one. But more importantly than that?
I want the clean win. I want you at your best, Kane. I WANT you to come in and kick my damn head off. Not because I feel like I deserve it. Not because I want to lose. No...because when I spear you into next week, when I beat you, when I send you to the back with a notch in the loss column, and when you fail to put me down, I don't want you to have any excuses. I don't want you to blame your shortcomings on outside interference. I don't want you blaming it on an off night. I want you to suffer your failure, take your lickings like a man, and I want that failure to fester in the weeks to come. I want you to reflect on it. I want you to keep it fresh as I continue my little mission here in EXODUS. Because I promise you, the outcome of this match is going to play a vital role in the next phase of my plan. And your failure is going to come up again...and again...and again...
What does this match mean, Kane? Well...I suppose that's a whole other riddle now, isn't it?
That Emerson is a pretty smart dude."
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Post by Meatball-kun on Aug 30, 2014 11:49:29 GMT -6
Chuck Matthews: "I fucked up."
Fr. Michael: "You didn't. You've made mistakes, but I think it speaks in your favor that you're able to acknowledge them. You know you've done wrong. You don't try to justify it-"
Chuck Matthews: "But I've done nothing to make it right."
Fr. Michael: "Baby steps, Charlie."
Michael takes a deep breath. Chuck knew what Michael wanted to say. Hell, Chuck felt it himself. He'd fallen...and he'd fallen far. In a sense, Michael and Chuck were two sides of the same coin. They'd grown up together. They'd known each other their entire lives. They had almost gone into the priesthood together. But that lone dividing line...that fork in the road...that was where they were different. Michael went into the church. Chuck went into wrestling. From that point on...what? They had become near polar opposites. Michael was poor. He lived alone. But he was happy. He enjoyed his life. He'd lived humbly and honestly, and he was a better man for it. But Chuck? Chuck was a wealthy businessman. He was a highly intelligent individual, and he never let people forget it. He'd hurt a lot of people to get where he was. In some ways, sure, he was happy where he was. He enjoyed his position in his company. He enjoyed having a large house in Chicago. He enjoyed being able to travel as much as he did. But something was missing. Something always was. And this was not the sort of thing he could throw sex and money at to drive it away.
Fr. Michael: "It's never too late to make things right. You should know that better than anyone."
Chuck Matthews: "I don't know about that."
Fr. Michael: "You came to see me. That has to mean something."
Chuck Matthews: "You're a friend. You're someone I can trust."
Michael laughs.
Fr. Michael: "I'm a priest, and you're a practicing Catholic. I hardly think it's a coincidence that you traveled halfway across the country for a surprise visit with a friend."
Chuck shakes his head.
Fr. Michael: "So what is it really, Charlie? Why did you come down here? What is it you want? Forgiveness?"
Chuck looks up from the table, meeting Michael's eyes. He pauses for a moment, but when he finally speaks, there's a tone of surprise in his voice, as though Chuck himself can't believe what he's saying.
Chuck Matthews: "....no."
The priest leans back in his chair, looking a bit surprised himself. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows.
Fr. Michael: "Then what?"
Chuck thinks on it for a moment.
Chuck Matthews: "I think.......I just need...closure."
-------------------------------------------- A Hotel Room August 20, 2014 Sacramento, California
It's another shitty hotel room. Chuck seemed to be spending a lot of time in these lately. He was closer now. He could see her, if he really wanted to. But did he want to?
Michael's words still ran though his mind. His advice. His road to Chuck's "closure." This was what Chuck needed to do...right?
No...no, he didn't. Why would he? Chuck was happy, right? He had a wife back home in Chicago-
'Who you haven't seen in months. Do you really think that's going to go over well when you finally show your face again?'
And yet, despite this nagging thought running through his head, Chuck felt...strangely indifferent. He felt bad, of course...who wouldn't? But did he feel bad because he felt true remorse for his behavior? Or did he feel bad because he knew he should? Was he forcing himself to feel guilt?
'Ah...now you're onto something. How does that feel? You have to force yourself to feel the most basic of human emotions: Guilt. Sadness. Happiness. Fear. You're hardly human.'
There was a painful truth in those thoughts. And yet...he knew he was. He could remember those moments. He remembered days when he felt bad when he did something wrong. He remembered moments where he truly felt crushed. And, on the flip side of that coin, he could remember the days he felt truly happy. Days he would give anything to relive.
And perhaps that was what had brought him back to Sacramento. Chuck didn't care much for the west coast as it was...and yet, if there was ever a place that felt as comfortable to him as Chicago, this was it. He used to spend a lot of time here...perhaps more than he'd like to admit now.
Chuck stares at his phone. One phone call. That's all it would take. That's all he needed. What was stopping him?
Slowly, he punches in the numbers. This was going to happen. He was actually doing it. The phone rings, but Chuck doesn't dare hold the phone to his ear. He stares at the screen, almost in shock at what he'd just done. The faint sound of the tone sounds through the speaker. Once....twice......three times...
A pause. Nothing. For what seemed like ages. Silence...and then...
Woman: "Hello?"
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The camera opens to its ever-familiar scene: An empty room, highlighted by a lone light shining down on Chuck Matthews. Chuck stands, frowning, staring off somewhere beyond the camera itself. He seems perplexed, but the playful smirk that he tries to hide tells us he's bursting to say something, but for reasons only he knows, is choosing to keep quiet.
This bizarre behavior continues for a few long, seemingly endless minutes of dead airtime. Finally, he chuckles to himself, and utters a single word.
Chuck Matthews: "Nah."
With that, he shuts off the camera, and the screen goes dark.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Aug 22, 2014 1:49:54 GMT -6
I'm thinking segment 8.
Yeah.....eight would do nicely.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Aug 16, 2014 6:55:07 GMT -6
'It's hot in here.'
With everything else going on, this was the thought that managed to wrestle its way to the forefront of Chuck's mind. The sun was exceptionally bright that day. Chuck sat in his car, his eyes closed behind dark sunglasses. Sweat clung to his skin. His face burned. But Chuck didn't move. The car had since turned into a sauna. For a brief moment, Chuck was tempted to move...but he knew what he would need to do once he opened that door.
It was rounding out the first month since Chuck had been home. His phone, now with several cracks spread across the screen, told him he had eighty-seven missed calls. Most of them from Sofia. Some of them from Jess. A couple even from Chris. It seemed the entire family was trying to get hold of him. And here was Chuck, melting away in a locked car in a deserted parking lot. Resting under the sun.
'I should probably move.'
The thoughts spoke to him, ringing through his head. He hadn't had much communication since he left the house. The occasional conversation with the bartenders. A chat with an old friend here and there...but for the past month, Chuck had spent as isolated as possible. That's just how he did things. That's how he preferred it.
'But you already knew that. You knew that when you married her, it wasn't going to work. You can't keep lying to yourself, Charlie: You're better off alone.'
It was almost as if there was an entirely different person who existed in Chuck's head. His thoughts seemed to have a personality all their own. They told him the things he didn't want to hear...but maybe the things he needed to hear. Maybe these were the things he spent all this time denying.
Chuck opens he door of the car. A blast of cold air rushes in, crashing over his face in an awesome wave. Chuck takes a deep breath, and rubs sweat away from his eyes. He slowly steps out of the car. His knee ached. It was doing that a lot lately.
He finds himself in the parking lot of a large church. A steeple rises high above the lot, with a large cross perched atop the roof. It's empty. Chuck expected as much. It was a Thursday afternoon. But Chuck was familiar with this place. He'd been there before...many times, in fact. But that was a lifetime ago. It isn't long before he spots what he's looking for: A small yellow cottage tucked away in the corner of the grounds behind the church. Here, a young man, just in his late twenties, kneels in the dirt, digging away at his garden. Chuck walks across the field, the memories slowly rushing back. He'd spent a lot of time here. It was a simple yard, a field of grass, bordered by the church on one side and a pond on the other. It was on the edge of this pond where the cottage sat. Chuck himself had only been inside that house on two occasions. The first was the day he met its previous occupant, when Chuck's family had first moved to this area. Chuck was young at the time. He didn't yet realize just how important that church would become as he matured. The second time...
-----------------
January 21, 2006 The Chu-
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Chuck shakes the memory out of his head. No. The second time didn't matter.
Chuck Matthews: "This is how you spend your Thursdays, Father? Slaving away in a garden?"
The young priest jumps at the sound of Chuck's voice. He looks up at Chuck, holding up his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. He smiles wide.
Fr. Michael: "Charles Matthews."
Chuck can't help but crack a smile. He'd known Michael Hughes for a long time. The two had been close friends for years, but when Chuck began wrestling, they lost touch. Michael had always been around when Chuck needed him though...and now, more than ever, Chuck needed help.
Fr. Michael: "I can't say I expected to see you today. When did you get in?"
Chuck Matthews: "This morning."
Fr. Michael: "And you didn't come to mass today? I expected better of you, Charlie."
Charlie. That alone was a testament to how close the two were. There was something strange about the name. Everybody simply called him Chuck. And he preferred it that way. He introduced himself to strangers as Chuck. His fans and coworkers called him Chuck. His friends called him Chuck. Only his family called him by his full name, and only his closest friends could get away with calling him Charlie. Michael was one such friend.
Chuck Matthews: "I'll be sure to catch Sunday's reading."
Fr. Michael: "Funny enough, I've got a great sermon on friendship this week. I think you'll enjoy it."
Chuck nods. Michael brushes the dirt off his knees and takes off his gardening gloves. He stands at his full height, looking at Chuck. A warm smile crosses his face, and he clasps Chuck in a friendly hug.
Fr. Michael: "How have you been? Please, come inside."
He motions towards the house.
Chuck Matthews: "You own the place now? What happened to Fr. Tom?"
Fr. Michael: "He retired, and left the place to his successor."
Chuck Matthews: "And you wound up here?"
Fr. Michael: "Funny how things just sort of work out, isn't it?"
Chuck Matthews: "God works in mysterious ways?"
Fr. Michael: "I suppose He does."
Michel holds the door for Chuck, who steps inside. He couldn't remember much of the interior of the house from when he was a kid, but it seemed like not much had change, despite the change in its inhabitants. The walls looked as though they hadn't been repainted in years. The decoration had a 50's feel to it, though Chuck noted that the house was in good repair. There was relatively little in the house. A stove and refrigerator in the kitchen. A small television in the living room. Through a door near the back of the house, Chuck noticed a twin bed, made nicely, and next to it, a sturdy oak desk, where piles of papers and books sat.
Fr. Michael: "A little smaller than what you're used to, I'm sure."
Chuck Matthews: "It suits you."
Fr. Michael: "But not you?"
Chuck frowns.
Chuck Matthews: "I had my reasons."
Michael nods solemnly.
Fr. Michael: "Nobody thinks any the less of you for it, either. I know I would have much rather you left than you go through with it and wish you hadn't."
The two were in the seminary together. They'd spent their first years as undergrads, focusing primarily on theology. Michael eventually earned a double-major in Theology and Chemistry...a combination Chuck found a little odd. At the time, Chuck was working at a gym to help him pay his way through school, and he was just getting involved in wrestling. When the wrestling career took off, and Chuck was given the opportunity to see the world, he backed out of the seminary...a move which Michael was less than fond of at the time. But it wasn't the visions of fame and fortune that called Chuck away. It was family. Things changed in Chuck while he was on the road. His aspirations changed. He realized that a family was far more important to him than anything else. He wanted to be a husband. A father.
Look at how that turned out.
But while Chuck was chasing fame and fortune in the wrestling world, Michael was taking vows of poverty. Of celibacy. Of obedience. That was not the life for Chuck.
Fr. Michael: "So what brought you back here anyway, Charlie?"
Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: "I've had a lot on my mind."
Fr. Michael: "You know my door is always open."
Chuck Matthews: "Yeah...yeah, I know. That's why I came here."
Michael moves around the kitchen, filling a tea kettle with water and setting it on the stove.
Fr. Michael: "Tea?"
Chuck shakes his head.
Chuck Matthews: "No. I'm alright. Thanks."
Fr. Michael allows himself a small smile, and takes the extra tea bag anyway. He sits at the kitchen table, waiting for the water to boil.
Fr. Michael: "Please. Sit."
Chuck slumps in the chair opposite Michael.
Fr. Michael: "Now...tell me what's on your mind, my friend."
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Chuck Matthews: "I need to get my head in the game.
I suppose it's come as no surprise to anyone though, right? I mean...I don't exactly have it made right now. Not personally, at least. It's been tough. Yeah...it's definitely been tough. But that's not important. Whatever it is that goes on outside the ring, that's not important. I have a job to do. I don't get paid to sulk and throw myself a little pity party. I get paid to fight.
But I suppose that's easier said than done.
These last few weeks, I've been off my game. I know I've been off. I've felt off. I watch the matches, and I look off. I make rookie mistakes. I'm not wrestling my style of match. I'm slipping.
And yet, by some strange chance, I'm still winning.
Now THAT has to be a massive thorn in everyone's side, doesn't it?
Although, I do have to applaud you. I have to give a hand to the powers, those hotheads trying to figure out how to crack my code. I mean, if there's ever been a time to get to me, this would have to be it: Get him while he's weak. Get him while he's vulnerable. When his head isn't in it. When he's distracted. When he's slowly losing his drive.
And even then, they're failing. And it's sad. Even as I'm slowly falling apart, slowly losing my touch, I'm still winning matches. I'm still getting the job done. I wonder if that irritates you all? I wonder if it gets under your skin? Even at my worst, I'm toppling whatever obstacle you throw at me.
And so, I suppose it was only a matter of time before you brought out the big guns. Enter Chris Strike.
I think this is usually the part where I explain why Chris Strike is the man they chose to stop me. I start talking about why he's a logical choice. Why he's seems like a legitimate threat. Why he's not, in fact, a threat, and why I'm going to stop him anyway.
But for reasons I'm not sure of myself...I can't. I'm sure, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I've got a million and a half reasons why I should be able to beat Chris Strike. And, sure, on a good day, I don't doubt I WOULD beat him.
But there's a block...and it's not the opponent. There's something bigger. Something...else. Something deeper that I can't quite put my finger on.
I'm hurting. I suppose I should stop denying that. I'm battered, and I'm beaten, and I don't know how much more I've got left in me. Not physically. Nah...Lord knows I've got a lot of years left in this business. But mentally. Something in my head that I can't shake.
I guess we've seen it, haven't we? I've been in one hell of a slump this last month. Don't pay attention to my wins. I think if there's one thing we know, it's that my wins don't mean a whole lot. But those matches...they're bad. There's no way around it. I haven't been at my peak. I haven't been wrestling the way Chuck Matthews wrestles. I've been sloppy. Careless mistakes. Letting things slip away from me.
I'm slowly falling apart.
And you know what the cruelly ironic part of the whole thing is? When I stop to think...really sit down and focus, I know damn well it's my own doing. Shit, I can beat Abby Park nine times out of ten, and I won't have a problem doing it. I'll beat Kliff Ulysses no sweat...and yet, I haven't had any matches in EXODUS that have come so close as those two. I haven't had those moments that people watch and think "Damn, I think they figured out how to beat him."
But is that because they've figured it out? Or because I've lost a step? They've gotten close to beating a man who, for the better part of the last month, has been in this rapid decline. You've seen it. I've seen it. And I've done nothing to stop it. Just sat here and let it happen. I've become complacent. I've accepted my successes, and paid no attention to the fact that with each success, I've gotten a little bit softer. I've left a little bit more behind.
Something...something though...it's keeping me going. It keeps me going back to that arena, keeps me walking towards that ring. Keeps me fighting through one match after another. Going through the motions. Enter. Fight. Hollywood Impact. Pin. Leave. A spear here. A near-fall there. And the wins just sort of fall into my lap. Like I'm just pulling the same tricks, over and over, and hope that they'll work just one more time.
Eventually, they won't. They can't.
And I suppose that's your job, Chris. I think management is sending you in so that you can figure out the way to crack the armor. Figure out the way you can stop me. Keep me from moving forward.
But I'm telling you myself: I don't think I can beat you. Not now, anyway. There's too much weight. There's a pressure, weighing down on the very core of my being, and I can't seem to shake it.
Perhaps you beating me is what I need to snap back to reality. Perhaps it's what I need to get my head back in the game.
So for the second time in my tenure here, I willingly walk to the slaughter. As I did in the Crucible, I enter with the hopes that someone will best me. Hoping that the same old tricks won't work again. I've put my faith in you, Mr. Strike. Your reputation precedes you. You've made a name for yourself. I don't expect I'll beat you. How could I? Chris Strike, riding a wave of momentum, against a walking ghost in Chuck Matthews.
...of course, that's what I said two weeks ago. And two weeks before that. It seems that I walk in with the expectation to lose, and I win because I underestimate the ineptitude of my opponents. For all of his hype, Kliff couldn't beat me. For all her anger, all her intensity, Abby Park couldn't get the job done.
Maybe I'm too good. Maybe I really am as good as they say. Maybe, even with my mind off the match, I can still find it in me to compete. To win.
Maybe.
And what will I do then? What happens when, in all my efforts to fail, I continue to succeed? What happens when Chris Strike, for all his bravado, for all his accolades, for all his talent, still can't find a way to stop a man who has, for the better part of the last month, been on autopilot?
Then...I don't even know what then. There will be no more barriers left to cross. Nobody left that I can't beat. And all of this...the burden I've placed on my own shoulders...the mounting pressure that I've brought upon myself...for what? I will continue to elude my awakening. I'll await an opponent that will never come: Somebody who can snap me back to reality. Somebody who can help me to realize that I need to get back in control, or I will never again succeed.
So be the man, Chris. Beat me. No...destroy me. Pick me apart. Humiliate me. Make me realize that the shit I'm pulling just isn't going to fly...and if I have any hope of continuing my career in EXODUS...in wrestling, even...then I need to get this sorted out, and fast. EXODUS does not need you to win this match. No...I need you to win this match.
Because if you don't? Then I'm afraid there will simply be nobody left who can. There will be no catharsis. No punishment for the things that I've done. That I do. That I am yet to do.
And this confession will mean nothing.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Aug 11, 2014 8:41:27 GMT -6
1) If you could change anyone's entrance theme in EXODUS, what would it be to and why?
I would give Deron Franklin an exit theme. Not his entrance theme, he gets to keep that. But like, a totally different song that plays whenever he wins. Like "We Are the Champions" or some shit, I don't know.
2) What are the three main TV shows you're watching right now?
I don't really watch TV. Supernatural, Numbers and The League are usually queued up on Netflix though.
3) What's your favorite fast food joint?
Culver's. Culver's ice cream is my friendly reminder that the world does not hate me.
4) Marvel or DC and why?
Normally I'd say DC, because Batman was too cool not to like. That, and there weren't a lot of Marvel names I really cared about. I always liked Iron Man and Spider-Man. Didn't really care for Captain America. Wasn't a fan of Thor or Hulk. Then they made all these movies. I'm much more interested in Cap and Thor. The new Spidey movies have been great. Still give zero shits about Hulk, though.
I realize I didn't really answer the question. And I'm going to keep it that way.
5) What's the last great video game you've played? My xbox is on way more often than I'd like to admit. I've been working on New Vegas and Borderlands 2 lately. But Bioshock is probably my top game of all time. I swear I find something new to appreciate about it every time I go through.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Aug 2, 2014 22:45:07 GMT -6
"Mr. Matthews, do you know what hell is?" "....No." "It begins in your final days...when the man you became meets the man you could have become."
A Motel Phoenix, Arizona 3:33 AM
Chuck sits upright in his bed. He breathes heavily, shaken by...something. He feels cold, despite the warmth of the room. He blindly reaches for his phone on the nightstand next to the bed, and glances at the time.
Chuck Matthews: "Jesus..."
He drops the phone lazily on his chest, resting his head against the wall. Again, he reaches to the nightstand. The sound of glass clinking against glass, sliding across the wood of the table...a dull thud as a bottle falls to the floor. Chuck shines the light of his phone onto the stand. All of them, empty. Chuck groans. His head pulses. He knows it won't help...but it seems that's all he's been doing for the last week. Slowly, he pulls himself out of bed.
The room is small. There's two beds placed behind a sofa which faces a small TV propped up on a cheap stand. A dirty window looks out over the parking lot. In the back, there's a tiny bathroom with a rusty metal sink and a toilet...Chuck's not sure what color this originally was. Chuck rubs his face. It's been a while since he's last shaved. Or showered, for that matter. Part of it was because he had no intention of using the public shower across the lot...but even if he did, he had no desire to move. For the last week, he'd been here...rotting away in a cheap motel in Phoenix. He'd left after the-....after the funeral. He hadn't been back since.
His phone was his only lifeline anymore, though he hadn't really used it for anything. He'd called his mother at some point, and explained to her what happened...but he had never disclosed where he had gone. He spoke to Jessica once, just because he felt some strange compulsion to do so. Besides that, though...an occasional drunken tweet here and there, but he'd had no contact with the world outside his tiny motel room. This had been his world for a week, aside from the lonely trek down the block to the 7-11, where he could buy cheap booze to keep him numb for the next night. Maybe he would drink himself to death. That wouldn't be so bad.
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Sunday, July 20 Matthews Residence Chicago, Illinois
Sofia Sinclair: "Don't you have a match tomorrow?"
Chuck shrugs. He did. He knew he did. But with the news of Blake's death the night before, Chuck couldn't really bring himself to do anything. He hadn't so much as packed his stuff yet. On the one hand, it was habitual. He kept to a fairly strict schedule most of the time. He'd leave for the show on Friday, spend the weekend resting up and getting ready, then compete on Monday. Then Tuesday morning, it was back to Chicago, where he'd wait for his next match. Sofia had offered to move to California with him, if it would make it easier for travel. Chuck shot the idea down immediately. He was used to the travel; there was once a point in his career where he was flying somewhere new every week. Truth be told, a trip to California every two weeks was a godsend. But he refused to live there. California was an entirely different breed of people, and not one Chuck particularly enjoyed.
Sofia Sinclair: "Do you want to talk?"
Chuck stares at her for a moment. Her eyes are already beginning to turn red, and tears are welling up. Eventually, Chuck would need to face this. In two days, they would be burying their first child...and it still hadn't quite sunk in yet that this was something he needed to do.
Chuck Matthews: "No."
Sofia Sinclair: "You can't just-"
Chuck Matthews: "Yes, I can."
Sofia lets out a sob, and shakes her head before retreating from the room. Chuck sits in silence for a moment, listening to her hushed cries heading up the stairs. The tears hadn't quite hit him yet. Sofia didn't understand it. She couldn't. Truthfully, Chuck wasn't quite sure of it himself. Maybe because it hadn't quite hit him. He was still trying to let it process. It wasn't that it didn't hurt. No...it hurt like hell. But for some reason that Chuck couldn't explain, he just couldn't show it. And it bothered Sofia. And, maybe, in some way...it bothered Chuck, too.
A faint buzzing snaps Chuck back to his living room. Fucking cell phone. He glances at the number. There's a moment of hesitation where Chuck seriously considers hurling the phone across the room. He decides against it, and answers.
Chuck Matthews: "What."
It wasn't a question.
Thomas Byrne: "Mr. Matthews, we've got something here we think you need to see."
Chuck Matthews: "Not now, Byrne."
Thomas Byrne: "I'm afraid it can't wait."
Chuck clenches his teeth.
Chuck Matthews: "What's this about?"
Thomas Byrne: "We have reason to believe that this Rebecca Dalton you dealt with a few weeks ago isn't exactly who she says."
Chuck thinks back. The name rang a bell. The MMA woman from Japan. Right.
Chuck Matthews: "What about her?"
Thomas Byrne: "We contacted a few officials in the company she claimed to work for. The company doesn't exist."
Chuck Matthews: "Sure it does. I went to their corporate offices. I met one of their fighters."
Thomas Byrne: "With all due respect, Mr. Matthews, I don't know where she took you, but it wasn't a corporate office of any existing company. I don't want to jump to conclusions...but I think you may have just lost your company a half million dollars-"
Byrne's voice is silenced as the phone sails through the air, and smashes against the wall.
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Chuck Matthews: "I've got your number.
I won't get cocky. That's not really my style. Never has been. There's no threat that I don't take seriously. No single person that I don't see for their every strength and their every exploitable weakness. It's part of the reason I've garnered so much momentum during my EXODUS tenure.
And let's talk about that, shall we? Let's talk about that momentum. Always building...always gathering more force. Always moving a little faster, getting a little stronger. Week by week, month by month, match by match, I've been crawling my way up. Slowly, granted. My trek skyward has been slow, maybe far slower than most people. But the question you need to ask yourselves is-...well, I suppose you know by now what my favorite question is, don't you?
Why?
Why is it that Chuck Matthews is taking his time, when he's never done so before? I mean...I don't think I'm tooting my own horn when I say I'm a respected competitor. I don't think there are a whole lot of people who will disagree that I've done some pretty cool things in this business. I believe a few of you are even aware I've been inducted into some sort of hall of fame or something...a feat that, you'll notice, I never mention, and one that I'm not particularly proud of.
But the respect is there. Maybe not as a person, good heavens, no. But as a professional wrestler. As a star who can bring something new to the table. As someone with all the talent to do great things in this business. Who has something to teach the newcomers to the industry. THAT is what they respect me for. Now, the kicker?
I'm only twenty-six.
What's the point? The point is that my career has been one long story of "fast and hard." I hit the ground running in this business, and it didn't take me long before I was fighting some of the best in the world, and beating them at their own game. But here...in EXODUS...I'm not really doing that, am I? I'm not chasing the world title...or any title, for that matter. No, instead, I've been biding my time. Waiting. Keeping my cards close to my chest.
And that's by design. I mean...how could you argue otherwise? I mean, sure, you can argue that there are powers that be that won't let me anywhere near the top...but at the end of the day, who are they really hurting? The bottom line is this: I have proven my ability against everyone and everything that EXODUS has thrown at me. I've beaten damn near everyone they've sent my way...and those rare instances where I've lost? I don't think there's a soul in the building who didn't think I put on a bad match. I don't have bad matches. I don't make mistakes. That's just one of those things that makes me so dangerous.
But, of course, it's a never ending puzzle. It's all a big game now...for me, at least. For EXODUS, for the powers that be, it's a riddle they can't solve. It's a puzzle they can't crack: How do you stop Chuck Matthews?
I mean...they know they can BEAT me. Shit, it's not terribly difficult to beat me, especially when I sit here every other week and tell you in the plainest terms how to do it. But to stop me...to beat me to the point that I can't get up...to halt my plans in their tracks, stop my momentum, put everything on hold? THAT is a little more complicated.
And it is exactly that which has been tasked to each and every person who has stepped up to face me. Find the crack in the armor. Find the blind spot. The break in the wall. Figure out what it is that Chuck Matthews falls to. Figure out what it is that he can't plan for...that he can't see coming. Figure out the weakness.
Has anybody been able to find it? Kerry Windsor, maybe. He beat me. Steve Lenton, possibly. He's beat me, too. You know who hasn't managed to figure it out? The new faces like Nathaniel Dixon. Demento. The old faces. Kliff Ulysses. Zack Lifer. Angela Jameson.
...and then there's you, Abby.
Now, you and I are no strangers to each other, are we? You are, in fact, the second person, after Mr. Windsor, who has fought me on more than one occasion. And, of course, we've all heard the hype. We all know what they're pushing this match as. We know what match they're going to bring up:
The Crucible.
Christ, that seems like almost a lifetime ago now, doesn't it? Do you remember that, Abby? You entered it at number one. I walked in at number two...the move that surprised everyone. That was when people first began to see my plan for what it was. The moment I decided to enter at number two was the moment people started realizing: Chuck Matthews is not like everybody else. Chuck Matthews is not interested in personal glory, or championships, or success...no, Chuck Matthews has his sights set a little bit higher.
That freight train of momentum I mentioned? Always building, with each successive win, with each match that goes by...but what's it building towards? What am I after? I've spent months adding on more pressure, more power, tacking on more wins. And when that train hits the end of the line and bulldozes straight through...what do I have waiting for me on the other side?
I'm sure you'll try and convince me how much has changed since we last met, Abby. I'm sure you'll tell me about how angry you are, how you're going to channel your frustration into the energy you need to beat me. But I wonder if you realize it isn't going to help you.
I want you to think back to that match, Abby. The Crucible. You and I fought with everything we had. We fought through to the final six. You damn well had energy then, didn't you? You showed tenacity that I don't think anyone quite expected from you. But do you remember what took it all away?
One well-placed, opportunistic spear.
But let's go back a little bit. Let's go one match further. San Diego, two weeks before the Crucible. Dan Stein, Abby Park, Angela Jameson, and Chuck Matthews, main eventing the show, vying for the chance to choose their spot in the big match. Winner chose his entry...loser entered at number one.
I think a lot of people have forgotten about that, Abby. I won't take away what you did in that match. You put on a show-stealing performance that night. But let's not forget who it was that put you there. Let's not forget the reason you HAD to enter in at number one in the first place. Do you remember?
One...well-placed...opportunistic...spear.
The pattern is starting to show, isn't it darlin'? You've got energy. You have intensity. I've seen it. I've fought it. I've beat it. You intend to break me by just..adding more? Like that's going to magically solve all your problems? I don't think you yet realize: All the intensity, all the tenacity? It's just not getting the job done. For every hit you take, I'm taking one just as hard. For every impressive match you've had lately, I've put on one just a bit better. And that's supposed to be different now? Suddenly you're going to dig down deep and find what it takes to beat me?
The trick, my dearest Park, is not to add to your own strength. The trick is to take away mine. That's the problem you face. Your solution to beating me is to dig deep. You're counting on you having the night of your life, but is that really your wisest decision? You intend to take out your frustrations with Mr. Cannon on me in order to beat me...and I laugh at that, and do you know why?
Because an angry mind is a mind that makes mistakes.
And if you need any further evidence of why it's dangerous to make mistakes against me, look at my last match. Look at Kliff Ulysses having the upper hand. Look at Kliff controlling the pace. Look at the way it seemed like he had finally figured out the secret to beating Chuck Matthews...and then look at where it all went downhill.
One........well-placed........opportunistic.........spear.
That's what I'd like you to think about. That's what all of your focus needs to be on. One more spear, Abby, and it's all over. That's all I need. Just that one tiniest window of opportunity. That one moment that you don't see coming. That one split second when you take your eyes off me. Can you afford to be distracted? Can you guarantee that your head is completely and totally in this match? Because I don't think I need to reiterate what will happen if you let it wander for even a moment. If your head isn't in the game from the opening bell to the finish.
But like you said...you're frustrated. You're angry. You've got Johnny boy on your mind...not me. So ask yourself, Abby:
Who are you really helping?"
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 25, 2014 19:43:50 GMT -6
Hello all Name is Matt. I am here just to observe for the time being until free time comes my way. some maybe most might know me I remember Clint from a couple years ago, Kerry, Lifer, Danny, Jon Pete, and some others. Hello! The Matts are taking over.
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Post by Meatball-kun on Jul 22, 2014 21:02:25 GMT -6
Chuck Matthews though? Him > All you hos.
Not sure why the hard-on for Chuck. Not complaining.
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