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I love stories.
Will always take the time to listen to them.
Do you mind if I tell a story? I quite enjoy telling this one whenever I get the chance. I’ve told it a few times already over the years but its always been quite an enjoyable retelling over and over again.
Our story begins in a small town deep in the heart of Mississippi. On the outskirts of this ever dwindling backwaters town, there are fields upon fields of farming land, desolate farming land. Smack dab in the middle of these barren fields, stands a very large farmhouse which fits in with the dilapidated surroundings, standing right in front of the farmhouse sits an old sycamore tree. It too is nothing more than a petrified shell of its former self, its branches barren and its bark has turned black.
“Tree still standing, ain’t that right boy?”
Panning back towards the farmhouse, an old man sits uncomfortably on an old porch swing, the wood rotted and the chains rusted. The old man turns his head just as a younger man walks out of the farmhouse.
“I guess it is granddad, here’s some lemonade.”
Carefully & cautiously the younger man a lowers himself onto the porch swing while handing a glass of cool and refreshing lemonade to his grandfather. Who slowly takes the glass in his trembling hand and brings it up to his cracked lips as he takes a satisfying gulp.
“I’m getting too old even to enjoy this lemonade here; your daddy loved his lemonade.”
“I know.”
“Good. Then let’s drink to your pappy and his love of lemonade.”
The two clink their glasses together before both men indulge in some well needed refreshments on this sweltering summer’s day. When all of the sudden the wind begins to whip up out of nowhere, kicking up the dust around the old farmhouse and tree.
“Lord where has all this wind come from? “
“Just the weather pops.”
“Nah this ain’t just the weather, it hasn't rained it since we buried your pappy.”
“Don’t remind me, we buried him under dirt and now I’m buried under debt.”
“Hush, the good Lord will provide.”
“Whatever...Who’s that?”
Just as the wind and dust die down, reveals the figures standing where there was nothing before. In fact this figure’s a man, wearing a white suit along with a black shirt and red tie with a white hat but something isn’t right as the man has not a speck of dust on him as if he just appeared out of thin air.
“Well hello there.”
The man tips his hat
“Yes Sir, hello.”
The man in the white hat walks closer towards the old farmhouse, in this sweltering heat there seems not to be an ounce of sweat on his face even though he’s wearing a Sunday suit. Both the old and the young man look somewhat confused and perhaps a tad concerned at the man who appeared out of nowhere.
“That’s far enough what exactly do you want?”
The man in the white hat looks somewhat amused at being told to stop in his place but he does so with a smile a very unsettling one, like that of a shark before taking a bite. Slowly he removes his hat, revealing his jet black and slick back hair.
“Well sirs I came here today to pay my respects to the death of your father and your son.”
“You knew my son?”
“Something like that Sir, I was hoping before his untimely death I could discuss a business offer with him but the good Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Yes Sir, he does indeed.”
“No pops he doesn’t work at all, he just doesn’t exist when will you ever learn? He’s NOT real.”
“Son you don’t believe in the Lord? Hmm…..What about the devil if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Why? Are you him?”
“Perhaps, what about you Sir you obviously believe in God what about the devil?”
“No Sir I never believed in him but I know he exists. Please answer my grandson’s question, are you him?”
“I’m whatever you need me to be; in fact I think right now you need me to help both of you.”
“What? I don’t know who you are, how you got here or even how you don’t even break a sweat while wearing a Sunday suit in this heat. Mister I’ve had to hear a priest ramble on about mumbo-jumbo and pie-in-the-sky theories about an internal kingdom of heaven. I’ve had enough of riddles and empty promises. So please you’ve said your peace now leave.”
“Fair enough son, I’m not here to waste your time with mumbo-jumbo but I will say this which I believe makes a lot of sense in a time where you could use some. A father should never bury his son and a son should never be burdened by the loss of his father.”
“Amen”
“I guess that’s fair tell me man in the white hat how pray tell can you help the both of us?”
“Well I can tell you that tree over there is the answer to both of your problems. You see sometimes a death can begin a new life, while a life always ends with a death like the end of the rope.”
“How does that help us?”
“That’s only half boy, there’s my words and then there’s this………”
The man in the white hat reaches behind his back and presents the men with a pile of rope to which he tosses at the steps of the front porch.
“Thank you sir”
“Thank you? Grandpa what's there to thank him about? Just how was this supposed to help us? A stupid riddle about the tree being the answer to our problems?”
“I don’t know”
“Neither do I, let’s ask the crazy cracker in the white hat……”
Just as the young man turns back towards where the man was standing, he’s shocked to find absolutely nobody there at all. In fact as he runs down the steps there’s absolutely no footprints on the ground whatsoever, all that’s left is that rope.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know son but something is going on, come let’s go inside and let’s pray and the Lord will help us through this difficult time.”
“No Grandpa I’ve had enough of praying to a God, begging him on my hands and knees like a pathetic piece of garbage he tossed away. That man in the white hat says that tree can solve my problems, so I‘d rather pray to that tree instead.”
“You don’t mean that, he knows you don’t mean that you’re just hurt the best way to heal hurt is to just ask God.”
“Then you ask while I work.”
The younger man snatches up the rope, removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves as he begins a frantic search for tools in the nearby shed. While the older man shakes his head in disappointment as he re-enters the farmhouse. For the next three days straight the younger man frantically and desperately tries to find a way to cut, pull or push down that tree but nothing seems to work even though it’s obvious he’s given it his all. All the while still in the farmhouse on the second floor, a window gives us the silhouette of the older man continuously on his knees obviously praying for guidance in his time of need. Finally on the third night just as the old man turns off the lights in the room he continues to pray in, the sky is lit up by a full moon as the younger man sits defeated underneath the very tree which still stands.
“Is this...Is this where I’m supposed to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness? Is this what I have my come to Jesus moment? Is this the time when you finally reveal yourself to me and give me the answers I’ve been begging for my whole life?”
FUCK YOU...FUCK YOU GOD
Keep your motherfucking answers, keep that big mouth of your shut and leave me the hell alone. I don’t need you, did you hear me?”
I DON'T NEED YOU
The young man now holds the rope in his hands, tears and sweat roll down his face as the grip on the rope grows ever tighter as it digs into his hands.
“I can do this, I don’t need God telling me what to do I know what to do I know because another man told me. What did that guy say again? Sometimes death can begin a new life or life always ends with death, like the end of a rope…….”
“Son...son...son...I’ve got it son, I’ve got it I know what we need to do...my prayers! He came to me last night in my dreams….He answered me son...son...Oh son.”
The excitement and jubilance the other man had in his voice vanishes like the man in the white hat did earlier, all that’s left is sadness and sorrow. Because at first light on the fourth day he found his grandson, he was at the end of a rope 6 feet off the ground and twisting slightly in the wind. One end was tied firmly to a lower branch and secured with a slapdash mix of knots and lashings, but they held. The noose was straight from the textbook with 13 coils designed to collapse the loop under pressure. A true hangman’s knot snaps the neck, making death quicker and less painful, and apparently his grandson had done his homework as there was no sign of a struggle or suffering. The older man immediately hugs his grandson’s body; he holds it tight and without the slightest fear of death. A few drops of tears trickle down the grandfather’s face before he slowly kisses the top of his grandsons forehead.
“Lord please forgive my grandsons foolish transgressions and sins, allow him to reside in your kingdom of heaven for all eternity & Lord please give me the strength and the will that is necessary to do what must be done consequences be damned.”
The old man with his much strength as he has left to muster, continues to tighten the grip around his grandsons body and begins to pull. The man seems determined to do what his grandson could not and finally bring down the mighty sycamore. His face and muscles straining, a loud crack echoes throughout the still and hot morning air & once again without warning a mighty wind blows kicking up dust until a loud crashing sound shatters the silence. Like before the dust quickly settles down and were left with the startling image of the tree completely knocked over at the hands of the grandfather.
The tree has buried the corpse of the grandson, as the grandfather sits up in shock and awe of what has just happened but before he has time to absorb the reality of his situation a loud rumbling comes up from under the earth before a massive amount of oil breaks through the topsoil where the tree once stood creating an oil well.
“My God”
“Sir?”
Once again the man in the white hat seemingly appears out of nowhere standing just feet away from where the grandfather sits there looking shocked and amazed at the site he now beholds.
“You”
“I was thinking the same thing; I would’ve thought it would have been your grandson standing here and you under there. Glad I didn’t bet on it.”
“You knew? Sir who are...what...never mind I struck oil because of you, I at least owe you half of this miracle.”
“No you don’t, you struck oil I just helped like I said I would.”
“Sir there must be something I can do to repay you.”
“There is, just keep praying.”
Even after all the tragedy, excitement and confusion of the old man must be struggling with. His face told a different story, almost like he’s bathed in a sea of tranquillity and euphoria almost heavenly like as the man in the white hat walks off into the distance. I truly love this story. It really does reveal the true nature of God himself. Conniving, manipulating, coldhearted and merciless. God guides people to where they want to go, he helps them reach their destination and yet he does it without for a second hesitating to take something away and does so without a moment of considering otherwise. Giveth and taketh. God is pure, God is kind, God is perfect. And despite one’s probable interpretation of the story, God doesn’t kill, he merely gives people enough rope to do it themselves. Whenever someone prays, they hope for perfection. They want what they desire, they want their perfect outcome and they believe God will tend to their needs, handing them a better tomorrow without faults or flaws. It’s laughable, it’s pathetic. That’s not God. It’s a delusional belief propped up by their natural desire for everything to occur in their lives to be perfect without flaws, without criticism, without challenge, without obstacles. But how do their lives plan out? Nothing changes. Sometimes God will give them what they desire but that answer is met with yet another problem, another obstacle in their lives. But instead of realising that either God is a massive fucking cunt or that - for a specific example - their improvement in health is down to advancements in medical improvements rather than divine intervention, they continue to pray, continue to help. I never understood it, maybe it gives them hope, maybe it gives them a greater sense of comfort if there is someone up above ready to give them the intervention they so desperately need. But God just doesn’t care. God doesn’t listen. God is too busy manipulating the world for his own entertainment. I like to think I exist in a similar vein. I don’t listen to the pleas of others. I’ve had people come up to me begging for me to join them as a tag partner and I’ve denied them. I’ve had people use their limited time to beg for a match; dream matches to prove to the world that they’re better. I choose to laugh at the prospect before ignoring them completely. I’ve faced opponents on the verge of mental breakdowns, needing that one big victory over me to reignite their careers. I’ve made that black dog bark louder than ever until we were left with pure speculation if they chose to stand in front of a mirror, close their eyes and dream that they were a World Champion before blowing their brains out. Shout out to Lucian Black. I’m a cunt and I never could care. In those cases, I never killed any hopes or dreams, I just brought them to the edge of the cliff and left them with a piece of advice. Or in probably one or more cases, I just loaded the gun for them.
And yet I’m still a good guy. I’m still a fan favourite. The world still loves me.
I’m sorry, is everything supposed to be black and white, Charlie?
Jesus fucking Christ how were you World Champion with such a simple mind? I guess its vintage Voltage though. Lesser brand, incapable of original thought among its talent. Bad men bad, good guys good, nothing in between. Man, would never be me or Showdown. I guess you’re just showing your lacking experience in thinking that this “God Complex” is a new phenomenon for me or its purely reactionary. Calm down lad, you’re not that unique or special enough. I’ve been doing this shtick since I was constructing a dead New Breed division. I mean fuck, I was doing this God act in fucking DECEMBER. All I have to do is look over my career, look at what I do better than almost everyone else - including you - and I arrive at the conclusion that there is only one conclusion: I am Godlike. At some point you’ve got to come to understand and simply accept that modern understandings of greatness have their limitations. This company has a litany of great Hall of Famers, great Elitists who defined eras and generations but me? Greatness is an understatement. Greatness sells me short. Greatness doesn’t come close to giving me enough credit. Calling myself a God is the only possible answer left. Sure, it’s a common trope, an expected cliche among factory produced bad guys, but again, should I really be confined to tropes that “good guys” hold? If people continue to cheer me, continue to support me despite having such a “villainous” attribute to who I am, then should I stop? Do I even care to begin with? Not really. I never really cared about people’s perception or held this need to be “liked”. That’s why people *did* turn on me once. That’s why they *did* boo me before. But that’s not for the reasons you’ve gone on to claim. I’ve turned my back on morals and standards I held close in order to succeed before, why do you think I would suddenly have an issue if the world turned on me once again? How great is being selective, willingly ignoring what doesn’t fit your narrative? And it’s nice that you’re able to dismiss who I’ve beaten as “nobodies” just because YOU don’t know them. It’s funny when I can barely remember who you managed to beat as the EAW World Champion outside of Camille for the obvious reasons. And if Camille is the only name I can remember? Then that says a fucking lot about your “competition”. I find it impressive to some degree but it becomes sad and pathetic. It’s a problem across everything you muster up; it’s always immensely selective and mixed with such an incredible amount of mistruths. Seemingly every proposed argument is laced with it and if it isn’t? Then it’s just a flat statement without backing it up? What? Did you never write an essay at school? Never did any debating? Never had to back your point up? Wouldn’t surprise me at this stage. Oh I’ll warn you ahead, that’s the basis of my entire piece now, that nothing you seem to utter is backed up with something legitimate. And lets go back to this idea of me being “washed up”. What makes me washed up? You haven’t exactly given me a distinct reason. Is it because I couldn’t beat a woman? My wife? Hey, quick question, are you fucking twelve? Are you only going through puberty? Is Charlie Marr a Vincent Adultman situation, two kids beneath a coat who get giddy and childish around women? Shit wouldn’t surprise me at this point. Did your mum force you to go to Xander Payne’s birthday party or was it the other way around and Xander’s mum just wanted him to be kind to the unpopular kid in the corner?
Anyway, yawn, what a shit fucking reason to believe that I’m washed up
It’s nice that you have a great memory there Charlie, we did have a match and I DISTINCTLY remember it being on Showdown! ...wait...no...it was on Dynasty. 5th of April, actually. And before you say “Well that doesn’t matter”, it kinda fucking does because it shows you can’t get your shit together well enough. If you can’t get a detail as simple as the name of the show correct, then who's to say your entire piece - not just this one, but the ones you’ve done and what’s yet to come - won’t be entirely riddled with misinformation and a litany of incorrect details and I’m not even going to begin the revisionist nature of even THAT match. Sure this might cut it on Voltage where you’re surrounded by a bunch of new generation talent still trying to figure this shit out at the top level but I’ve been hardened by this shit from years of facing the best this company has seen over its lifetime. I sniff that fucking bullshit out like nobody. This isn’t fucking amateur hour fella, no matter where you stand in this company the moment you’re doing this dance with me you’re elevated to the peak where pure god damn excellence isn’t just a necessity, it’s expected. It ranges from the details - big or small - right down to the ideals you push. And speaking of ideals, let me ask you, are you having fun with your story, Charlie? Do you enjoy making shit up? Do you even believe what you’re saying to be true? I’m honestly impressed at just how much you’ve been able to reach for this, how well thought out each and every lie has been. Who grew tired of me, Charlie? I mean if it’s true then you should have prime examples of that, no? Who resented me? Who booed me? Who hated me? No, please go on and tell me and if your answer is a bunch of bitter hacks who bailed on this company, then maybe it's best that you leave this in the dust. Because unlike you, I can look at my resume. I can look at the matches I won. I can look at awards handed to me ever since then and all of that is a bulletproof argument for leaving because I deserved a break. I get it Charlie, you don’t have much against me, you’ve got to fictionalised shit to sound cool, to sound tough, to sound edgy, but maybe you should just come to accept that not every narrative you want to peddle is worth peddling. What’s your proof? The entire basis of this very thing is to provide some evidence, no? It’s not shit talking and spreading mistruths for the sake of it. Who are you trying to impress here? Simple minded people who want their biases confirmed repeatedly? You can’t give me an example, can you? No, you really don’t have anything more than a simple hope cast out hoping for someone to bite. Hell, I even understand how this would otherwise work. People getting flustered, getting angry, getting tilted over being accused of such a lie but all I want is a shred of credibility. Such a big criticism of me being something that you can’t even back up? Ooft, that’s not a good sign big fella. And there’s a deeper problem here, if you can’t quite answer this, why should I take anything else you say as legitimate? Why shouldn’t I just go ahead and completely dismiss everything you utter simply because you can’t back it up?
Wanna know why I don’t rush to say something every time?
Because I don’t need to. Nobody needs to. Everyone has this obsessive nature to constantly pop up every time someone else says something but ultimately it means nothing. Just take you for example. Really think I’m going to spend my week trying tied up in this shit? What benefit do you think propagating the narrative that I’m a quitter will have? The best shot you’ve taken at me was what you did on Dynasty but even that is riddled with not just errors but that it quickly became irrelevant. Couldn’t get the name of the show right. Wants to ignore that you blew that match by not breaking a hold. Lets not forget Grand Rampage either; you position it now as being indicative of what’s to come but shouldn’t you have beaten me back then? Couldn’t follow it up, so why would it suddenly be telling of what's to come? I don’t rush to pop off for this very reason. Uninspired, baseless beliefs that you can’t substantiate in a way that brings me back, makes me want to grab the camera and shoot something on the spot, firing off the hip recklessly. But even then I wouldn’t change a thing; think I became who I am by being the first one to the punch every time?
Motherfucker I’ve been the perfect designer, the excellent communicator, the innovator and champion of consistency. The world doesn’t listen when Charlie Marr speaks, they listen when I speak. Just pause and listen, hear my name get dropped in just about everyone’s pieces. I get mentioned by people who I’ve never crossed paths with. People are envious of my success. Even now. Nobody dares say that I’m done, nobody dares say that I can’t thrive once again. When I face the likes of Chris and Ahren, sure, we’re bitter back and forth but the following week both men are joining the line that wraps around the country ready to guzzle my cock down their throats, envious and inspired by my career. It’s envy, Charlie. That’s all and that’s okay. It isn’t a new, strange phenomenon to feel that way towards me; you’re just feeling the same way that everyone else does. I speak once and the world listens, the world understands, the world praises, the world holds me in the highest of regards even when I engross myself in the egotistical and overbearing ideals of being a God in this business. But you don’t have that luxury, do you? Maybe that’s the telling indicator that you, right now, are nowhere close to the standard I’ve set. Sure, maybe someday you can reach it, just keep toiling away at it! That however, remains the future, a distant possibility that doesn’t arrive at King of Elite. Instead, you’re met with the embodiment of all that is great, the representation of the very best that EAW has. Washed up is a hope, a dream, something you wrap both hands around and pray purely because you would rather believe in the possibility that I won’t run right through you like I’ve done so many beforehand instead of admitting the existence and facing the monolithic titan that scorched the earth in the past.
You fear God.
And you should, you absolutely should. But this God is kind. I’ll validate everything you’ve done, I’ll give you the grace to show the world that you are indeed the best of your generation. You will win, but not the crown. You will be the King of generation but you won’t be the King of Elite.
Hey, Viz gets it. Quality over quantity.
Everyone controls their future, their destiny. I don’t dispute that. All I do is stand above all and judge. Personal judgements that matter little really. I’m wrong at times but more often than not, I’m generally right. And why? It's simple experience. It’s experience of being here for longer, observing more. I’ve watched so many come and go, I’ve seen maybe every possible narrative arc someone could possibly go on as they rise from the bottom to the top. I’ve come to learn that there’s some who can’t be placed into a box, always capable of surpassing those who came before him. Of course, we can put Charlie in a box; do you know how many people have 4-5 month reigns? That shit was like fast food of being a World Champion; ain’t nothing compared to the michelin star feast that was my reign. Belief is...well...it still blinds you. It spurs you on relentlessly, recklessly and carelessly but it’s not all bad per say. I truly don’t doubt that you can’t succeed, situation is simply a greater factor than belief will ever be. You look at someone like Noah, the beneficiary of a situation. Darkane became World Champion through situation benefits. It happens, but in the same way, situation stops people from achieving success. Even I was a victim of situation. On this very night four years ago I lost the EAW Championship to a man cashing in his King of Elite crown. Situation, man. I’m sure you understand the point of all this, no matter your potential, no matter what you are absolutely capable of achieving, ultimately you’re beholden to the influence of situation. A situation where you stand before a Top 3 GOAT of this business hunting for a crown, hunting for one of the very few things he has left. You’re in a situation against someone who on paper and in every statistic and lets be fucking real, every possible argument, blows you out of the water. And you have hope. You have belief. You have intangibles that in the end? In the end that shit just doesn’t matter as much as you believe they do. Maybe that’s why God never listens to people’s prayers, their pleas; faith, hope and belief just isn’t enough. But I digress. I don’t say it’s “not your time” as some judgement that ANYONE could beat you, ANYONE could stop you. I say it because of the situation you find yourself in. Against me, against a great, against someone who is unrivaled in this company and this industry as a whole. Of course it won’t be your time when I beat you, how could it be? But I don’t write off The Visual Prophet winning the World Heavyweight Championship by the time this season is done. However, I’m not Charlie Marr. I’m not most people you come across. I’m arrogant enough to bathe myself in the ideals of being a God. I’m cocky enough to call myself a GOAT over and over again. I’m in love with myself and my own success to drive my success and resume down your throat until you throw up. Yet I’m humble enough to accept when I am beat. If you beat me, Viz? I’ll announce it to the world on Socials. I’ll even announce it on Showdown. Man of my word. This isn’t just any ordinary match, this is the King of Elite final! This is where the very best isn’t something you get to choose to give, it’s an absolute necessity, it’s not something you can compromise on. I’m bringing my best, don’t you worry about that. Beat me? Get that validation. Get that admiration. Get that credit because there won’t be a piece of me that’s reluctant in saying it.
But…
But that is one outcome.
The other is me walking over you. The other is me treating you like a rookie. The other is me dropping you on your head, caving your skull in and dunking the King of Elite crown in both yours and Charlie Marr’s blood. And I don’t expect you to admit anything or say anything. I’m just fucking glad you’re not making me want to grab that wrong and put myself out of the misery of having to deal with Charlie’s inept bullshit. There’s no reason to because what? I’m not the underdog in this match, I’m not the one who people think can’t win it. I don’t need validation, I don’t need to have it confirmed to me that I’m still as great as not only I was then but as I believe I still am. My victory is perhaps more expected than either of you because of what I’ve done, because of who I am. That truly is the alternative outcome to this match. Oh Charlie winning?
Jimmy G in the fourth right there and I’m very fucking unapologetic for my football references because I’m still on that fucking high. But back to it. The alternative to your victory doesn’t shatter the world, it doesn’t shake the foundations of EAW. Nothing really changes, just a few specific narratives end. I become the King but you still remain the Prince. And I do believe in you, believe in what you can do and what you absolutely should go on to achieve; it's your own inevitable conclusion. But this? Nah man. 2020 is the year that Jamie O’Hara’s shadow is once again cast across this entire company. You, Charlie and so many more have absolutely zero idea how close I was to regaining that in 2019, how incredibly different that year could have been and if you know, you know. But 2020? Nah, that’s not going to be 2019 again. Master Craftsman, Champion of Excellence, Everything I built my career on isn’t a distant, fleeting memory unreachable and incapable of being replicated. I’m not going to promise that you will 100% get the very fucking best that I am, that I was or that I’m trying to become, but I can promise you, I can promise Charlie and I can promise the world that everything I’ve got in my physically and mentally will be offered. As you believe in yourself and I might just contradict myself here, but I’m going to believe - on nothing more than hope with only my previous, historic best being an indicator - that I can be better than I have ever been. I said it to start this week, I said it on Showdown, to some degree I don’t want the King of Elite crown, it doesn’t benefit me. But? But I don’t have the intention to lose, I don’t have the desire to quit. The closest thing you’ve come to me is DDD and if in the last six months you’ve grown to a place where you believe you can overcome him? Then so be it, ride that belief into this war but I’ll still strike you right down. I’ll still cave your skull in and I’ll still walk away from this night with the crown you desire so much.
Will always take the time to listen to them.
Do you mind if I tell a story? I quite enjoy telling this one whenever I get the chance. I’ve told it a few times already over the years but its always been quite an enjoyable retelling over and over again.
Our story begins in a small town deep in the heart of Mississippi. On the outskirts of this ever dwindling backwaters town, there are fields upon fields of farming land, desolate farming land. Smack dab in the middle of these barren fields, stands a very large farmhouse which fits in with the dilapidated surroundings, standing right in front of the farmhouse sits an old sycamore tree. It too is nothing more than a petrified shell of its former self, its branches barren and its bark has turned black.
“Tree still standing, ain’t that right boy?”
Panning back towards the farmhouse, an old man sits uncomfortably on an old porch swing, the wood rotted and the chains rusted. The old man turns his head just as a younger man walks out of the farmhouse.
“I guess it is granddad, here’s some lemonade.”
Carefully & cautiously the younger man a lowers himself onto the porch swing while handing a glass of cool and refreshing lemonade to his grandfather. Who slowly takes the glass in his trembling hand and brings it up to his cracked lips as he takes a satisfying gulp.
“I’m getting too old even to enjoy this lemonade here; your daddy loved his lemonade.”
“I know.”
“Good. Then let’s drink to your pappy and his love of lemonade.”
The two clink their glasses together before both men indulge in some well needed refreshments on this sweltering summer’s day. When all of the sudden the wind begins to whip up out of nowhere, kicking up the dust around the old farmhouse and tree.
“Lord where has all this wind come from? “
“Just the weather pops.”
“Nah this ain’t just the weather, it hasn't rained it since we buried your pappy.”
“Don’t remind me, we buried him under dirt and now I’m buried under debt.”
“Hush, the good Lord will provide.”
“Whatever...Who’s that?”
Just as the wind and dust die down, reveals the figures standing where there was nothing before. In fact this figure’s a man, wearing a white suit along with a black shirt and red tie with a white hat but something isn’t right as the man has not a speck of dust on him as if he just appeared out of thin air.
“Well hello there.”
The man tips his hat
“Yes Sir, hello.”
The man in the white hat walks closer towards the old farmhouse, in this sweltering heat there seems not to be an ounce of sweat on his face even though he’s wearing a Sunday suit. Both the old and the young man look somewhat confused and perhaps a tad concerned at the man who appeared out of nowhere.
“That’s far enough what exactly do you want?”
The man in the white hat looks somewhat amused at being told to stop in his place but he does so with a smile a very unsettling one, like that of a shark before taking a bite. Slowly he removes his hat, revealing his jet black and slick back hair.
“Well sirs I came here today to pay my respects to the death of your father and your son.”
“You knew my son?”
“Something like that Sir, I was hoping before his untimely death I could discuss a business offer with him but the good Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Yes Sir, he does indeed.”
“No pops he doesn’t work at all, he just doesn’t exist when will you ever learn? He’s NOT real.”
“Son you don’t believe in the Lord? Hmm…..What about the devil if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Why? Are you him?”
“Perhaps, what about you Sir you obviously believe in God what about the devil?”
“No Sir I never believed in him but I know he exists. Please answer my grandson’s question, are you him?”
“I’m whatever you need me to be; in fact I think right now you need me to help both of you.”
“What? I don’t know who you are, how you got here or even how you don’t even break a sweat while wearing a Sunday suit in this heat. Mister I’ve had to hear a priest ramble on about mumbo-jumbo and pie-in-the-sky theories about an internal kingdom of heaven. I’ve had enough of riddles and empty promises. So please you’ve said your peace now leave.”
“Fair enough son, I’m not here to waste your time with mumbo-jumbo but I will say this which I believe makes a lot of sense in a time where you could use some. A father should never bury his son and a son should never be burdened by the loss of his father.”
“Amen”
“I guess that’s fair tell me man in the white hat how pray tell can you help the both of us?”
“Well I can tell you that tree over there is the answer to both of your problems. You see sometimes a death can begin a new life, while a life always ends with a death like the end of the rope.”
“How does that help us?”
“That’s only half boy, there’s my words and then there’s this………”
The man in the white hat reaches behind his back and presents the men with a pile of rope to which he tosses at the steps of the front porch.
“Thank you sir”
“Thank you? Grandpa what's there to thank him about? Just how was this supposed to help us? A stupid riddle about the tree being the answer to our problems?”
“I don’t know”
“Neither do I, let’s ask the crazy cracker in the white hat……”
Just as the young man turns back towards where the man was standing, he’s shocked to find absolutely nobody there at all. In fact as he runs down the steps there’s absolutely no footprints on the ground whatsoever, all that’s left is that rope.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know son but something is going on, come let’s go inside and let’s pray and the Lord will help us through this difficult time.”
“No Grandpa I’ve had enough of praying to a God, begging him on my hands and knees like a pathetic piece of garbage he tossed away. That man in the white hat says that tree can solve my problems, so I‘d rather pray to that tree instead.”
“You don’t mean that, he knows you don’t mean that you’re just hurt the best way to heal hurt is to just ask God.”
“Then you ask while I work.”
The younger man snatches up the rope, removes his jacket and rolls up his sleeves as he begins a frantic search for tools in the nearby shed. While the older man shakes his head in disappointment as he re-enters the farmhouse. For the next three days straight the younger man frantically and desperately tries to find a way to cut, pull or push down that tree but nothing seems to work even though it’s obvious he’s given it his all. All the while still in the farmhouse on the second floor, a window gives us the silhouette of the older man continuously on his knees obviously praying for guidance in his time of need. Finally on the third night just as the old man turns off the lights in the room he continues to pray in, the sky is lit up by a full moon as the younger man sits defeated underneath the very tree which still stands.
“Is this...Is this where I’m supposed to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness? Is this what I have my come to Jesus moment? Is this the time when you finally reveal yourself to me and give me the answers I’ve been begging for my whole life?”
FUCK YOU...FUCK YOU GOD
Keep your motherfucking answers, keep that big mouth of your shut and leave me the hell alone. I don’t need you, did you hear me?”
I DON'T NEED YOU
The young man now holds the rope in his hands, tears and sweat roll down his face as the grip on the rope grows ever tighter as it digs into his hands.
“I can do this, I don’t need God telling me what to do I know what to do I know because another man told me. What did that guy say again? Sometimes death can begin a new life or life always ends with death, like the end of a rope…….”
“Son...son...son...I’ve got it son, I’ve got it I know what we need to do...my prayers! He came to me last night in my dreams….He answered me son...son...Oh son.”
The excitement and jubilance the other man had in his voice vanishes like the man in the white hat did earlier, all that’s left is sadness and sorrow. Because at first light on the fourth day he found his grandson, he was at the end of a rope 6 feet off the ground and twisting slightly in the wind. One end was tied firmly to a lower branch and secured with a slapdash mix of knots and lashings, but they held. The noose was straight from the textbook with 13 coils designed to collapse the loop under pressure. A true hangman’s knot snaps the neck, making death quicker and less painful, and apparently his grandson had done his homework as there was no sign of a struggle or suffering. The older man immediately hugs his grandson’s body; he holds it tight and without the slightest fear of death. A few drops of tears trickle down the grandfather’s face before he slowly kisses the top of his grandsons forehead.
“Lord please forgive my grandsons foolish transgressions and sins, allow him to reside in your kingdom of heaven for all eternity & Lord please give me the strength and the will that is necessary to do what must be done consequences be damned.”
The old man with his much strength as he has left to muster, continues to tighten the grip around his grandsons body and begins to pull. The man seems determined to do what his grandson could not and finally bring down the mighty sycamore. His face and muscles straining, a loud crack echoes throughout the still and hot morning air & once again without warning a mighty wind blows kicking up dust until a loud crashing sound shatters the silence. Like before the dust quickly settles down and were left with the startling image of the tree completely knocked over at the hands of the grandfather.
The tree has buried the corpse of the grandson, as the grandfather sits up in shock and awe of what has just happened but before he has time to absorb the reality of his situation a loud rumbling comes up from under the earth before a massive amount of oil breaks through the topsoil where the tree once stood creating an oil well.
“My God”
“Sir?”
Once again the man in the white hat seemingly appears out of nowhere standing just feet away from where the grandfather sits there looking shocked and amazed at the site he now beholds.
“You”
“I was thinking the same thing; I would’ve thought it would have been your grandson standing here and you under there. Glad I didn’t bet on it.”
“You knew? Sir who are...what...never mind I struck oil because of you, I at least owe you half of this miracle.”
“No you don’t, you struck oil I just helped like I said I would.”
“Sir there must be something I can do to repay you.”
“There is, just keep praying.”
Even after all the tragedy, excitement and confusion of the old man must be struggling with. His face told a different story, almost like he’s bathed in a sea of tranquillity and euphoria almost heavenly like as the man in the white hat walks off into the distance. I truly love this story. It really does reveal the true nature of God himself. Conniving, manipulating, coldhearted and merciless. God guides people to where they want to go, he helps them reach their destination and yet he does it without for a second hesitating to take something away and does so without a moment of considering otherwise. Giveth and taketh. God is pure, God is kind, God is perfect. And despite one’s probable interpretation of the story, God doesn’t kill, he merely gives people enough rope to do it themselves. Whenever someone prays, they hope for perfection. They want what they desire, they want their perfect outcome and they believe God will tend to their needs, handing them a better tomorrow without faults or flaws. It’s laughable, it’s pathetic. That’s not God. It’s a delusional belief propped up by their natural desire for everything to occur in their lives to be perfect without flaws, without criticism, without challenge, without obstacles. But how do their lives plan out? Nothing changes. Sometimes God will give them what they desire but that answer is met with yet another problem, another obstacle in their lives. But instead of realising that either God is a massive fucking cunt or that - for a specific example - their improvement in health is down to advancements in medical improvements rather than divine intervention, they continue to pray, continue to help. I never understood it, maybe it gives them hope, maybe it gives them a greater sense of comfort if there is someone up above ready to give them the intervention they so desperately need. But God just doesn’t care. God doesn’t listen. God is too busy manipulating the world for his own entertainment. I like to think I exist in a similar vein. I don’t listen to the pleas of others. I’ve had people come up to me begging for me to join them as a tag partner and I’ve denied them. I’ve had people use their limited time to beg for a match; dream matches to prove to the world that they’re better. I choose to laugh at the prospect before ignoring them completely. I’ve faced opponents on the verge of mental breakdowns, needing that one big victory over me to reignite their careers. I’ve made that black dog bark louder than ever until we were left with pure speculation if they chose to stand in front of a mirror, close their eyes and dream that they were a World Champion before blowing their brains out. Shout out to Lucian Black. I’m a cunt and I never could care. In those cases, I never killed any hopes or dreams, I just brought them to the edge of the cliff and left them with a piece of advice. Or in probably one or more cases, I just loaded the gun for them.
And yet I’m still a good guy. I’m still a fan favourite. The world still loves me.
I’m sorry, is everything supposed to be black and white, Charlie?
Jesus fucking Christ how were you World Champion with such a simple mind? I guess its vintage Voltage though. Lesser brand, incapable of original thought among its talent. Bad men bad, good guys good, nothing in between. Man, would never be me or Showdown. I guess you’re just showing your lacking experience in thinking that this “God Complex” is a new phenomenon for me or its purely reactionary. Calm down lad, you’re not that unique or special enough. I’ve been doing this shtick since I was constructing a dead New Breed division. I mean fuck, I was doing this God act in fucking DECEMBER. All I have to do is look over my career, look at what I do better than almost everyone else - including you - and I arrive at the conclusion that there is only one conclusion: I am Godlike. At some point you’ve got to come to understand and simply accept that modern understandings of greatness have their limitations. This company has a litany of great Hall of Famers, great Elitists who defined eras and generations but me? Greatness is an understatement. Greatness sells me short. Greatness doesn’t come close to giving me enough credit. Calling myself a God is the only possible answer left. Sure, it’s a common trope, an expected cliche among factory produced bad guys, but again, should I really be confined to tropes that “good guys” hold? If people continue to cheer me, continue to support me despite having such a “villainous” attribute to who I am, then should I stop? Do I even care to begin with? Not really. I never really cared about people’s perception or held this need to be “liked”. That’s why people *did* turn on me once. That’s why they *did* boo me before. But that’s not for the reasons you’ve gone on to claim. I’ve turned my back on morals and standards I held close in order to succeed before, why do you think I would suddenly have an issue if the world turned on me once again? How great is being selective, willingly ignoring what doesn’t fit your narrative? And it’s nice that you’re able to dismiss who I’ve beaten as “nobodies” just because YOU don’t know them. It’s funny when I can barely remember who you managed to beat as the EAW World Champion outside of Camille for the obvious reasons. And if Camille is the only name I can remember? Then that says a fucking lot about your “competition”. I find it impressive to some degree but it becomes sad and pathetic. It’s a problem across everything you muster up; it’s always immensely selective and mixed with such an incredible amount of mistruths. Seemingly every proposed argument is laced with it and if it isn’t? Then it’s just a flat statement without backing it up? What? Did you never write an essay at school? Never did any debating? Never had to back your point up? Wouldn’t surprise me at this stage. Oh I’ll warn you ahead, that’s the basis of my entire piece now, that nothing you seem to utter is backed up with something legitimate. And lets go back to this idea of me being “washed up”. What makes me washed up? You haven’t exactly given me a distinct reason. Is it because I couldn’t beat a woman? My wife? Hey, quick question, are you fucking twelve? Are you only going through puberty? Is Charlie Marr a Vincent Adultman situation, two kids beneath a coat who get giddy and childish around women? Shit wouldn’t surprise me at this point. Did your mum force you to go to Xander Payne’s birthday party or was it the other way around and Xander’s mum just wanted him to be kind to the unpopular kid in the corner?
Anyway, yawn, what a shit fucking reason to believe that I’m washed up
It’s nice that you have a great memory there Charlie, we did have a match and I DISTINCTLY remember it being on Showdown! ...wait...no...it was on Dynasty. 5th of April, actually. And before you say “Well that doesn’t matter”, it kinda fucking does because it shows you can’t get your shit together well enough. If you can’t get a detail as simple as the name of the show correct, then who's to say your entire piece - not just this one, but the ones you’ve done and what’s yet to come - won’t be entirely riddled with misinformation and a litany of incorrect details and I’m not even going to begin the revisionist nature of even THAT match. Sure this might cut it on Voltage where you’re surrounded by a bunch of new generation talent still trying to figure this shit out at the top level but I’ve been hardened by this shit from years of facing the best this company has seen over its lifetime. I sniff that fucking bullshit out like nobody. This isn’t fucking amateur hour fella, no matter where you stand in this company the moment you’re doing this dance with me you’re elevated to the peak where pure god damn excellence isn’t just a necessity, it’s expected. It ranges from the details - big or small - right down to the ideals you push. And speaking of ideals, let me ask you, are you having fun with your story, Charlie? Do you enjoy making shit up? Do you even believe what you’re saying to be true? I’m honestly impressed at just how much you’ve been able to reach for this, how well thought out each and every lie has been. Who grew tired of me, Charlie? I mean if it’s true then you should have prime examples of that, no? Who resented me? Who booed me? Who hated me? No, please go on and tell me and if your answer is a bunch of bitter hacks who bailed on this company, then maybe it's best that you leave this in the dust. Because unlike you, I can look at my resume. I can look at the matches I won. I can look at awards handed to me ever since then and all of that is a bulletproof argument for leaving because I deserved a break. I get it Charlie, you don’t have much against me, you’ve got to fictionalised shit to sound cool, to sound tough, to sound edgy, but maybe you should just come to accept that not every narrative you want to peddle is worth peddling. What’s your proof? The entire basis of this very thing is to provide some evidence, no? It’s not shit talking and spreading mistruths for the sake of it. Who are you trying to impress here? Simple minded people who want their biases confirmed repeatedly? You can’t give me an example, can you? No, you really don’t have anything more than a simple hope cast out hoping for someone to bite. Hell, I even understand how this would otherwise work. People getting flustered, getting angry, getting tilted over being accused of such a lie but all I want is a shred of credibility. Such a big criticism of me being something that you can’t even back up? Ooft, that’s not a good sign big fella. And there’s a deeper problem here, if you can’t quite answer this, why should I take anything else you say as legitimate? Why shouldn’t I just go ahead and completely dismiss everything you utter simply because you can’t back it up?
Wanna know why I don’t rush to say something every time?
Because I don’t need to. Nobody needs to. Everyone has this obsessive nature to constantly pop up every time someone else says something but ultimately it means nothing. Just take you for example. Really think I’m going to spend my week trying tied up in this shit? What benefit do you think propagating the narrative that I’m a quitter will have? The best shot you’ve taken at me was what you did on Dynasty but even that is riddled with not just errors but that it quickly became irrelevant. Couldn’t get the name of the show right. Wants to ignore that you blew that match by not breaking a hold. Lets not forget Grand Rampage either; you position it now as being indicative of what’s to come but shouldn’t you have beaten me back then? Couldn’t follow it up, so why would it suddenly be telling of what's to come? I don’t rush to pop off for this very reason. Uninspired, baseless beliefs that you can’t substantiate in a way that brings me back, makes me want to grab the camera and shoot something on the spot, firing off the hip recklessly. But even then I wouldn’t change a thing; think I became who I am by being the first one to the punch every time?
Motherfucker I’ve been the perfect designer, the excellent communicator, the innovator and champion of consistency. The world doesn’t listen when Charlie Marr speaks, they listen when I speak. Just pause and listen, hear my name get dropped in just about everyone’s pieces. I get mentioned by people who I’ve never crossed paths with. People are envious of my success. Even now. Nobody dares say that I’m done, nobody dares say that I can’t thrive once again. When I face the likes of Chris and Ahren, sure, we’re bitter back and forth but the following week both men are joining the line that wraps around the country ready to guzzle my cock down their throats, envious and inspired by my career. It’s envy, Charlie. That’s all and that’s okay. It isn’t a new, strange phenomenon to feel that way towards me; you’re just feeling the same way that everyone else does. I speak once and the world listens, the world understands, the world praises, the world holds me in the highest of regards even when I engross myself in the egotistical and overbearing ideals of being a God in this business. But you don’t have that luxury, do you? Maybe that’s the telling indicator that you, right now, are nowhere close to the standard I’ve set. Sure, maybe someday you can reach it, just keep toiling away at it! That however, remains the future, a distant possibility that doesn’t arrive at King of Elite. Instead, you’re met with the embodiment of all that is great, the representation of the very best that EAW has. Washed up is a hope, a dream, something you wrap both hands around and pray purely because you would rather believe in the possibility that I won’t run right through you like I’ve done so many beforehand instead of admitting the existence and facing the monolithic titan that scorched the earth in the past. You fear God.
And you should, you absolutely should. But this God is kind. I’ll validate everything you’ve done, I’ll give you the grace to show the world that you are indeed the best of your generation. You will win, but not the crown. You will be the King of generation but you won’t be the King of Elite.
Hey, Viz gets it. Quality over quantity.
Everyone controls their future, their destiny. I don’t dispute that. All I do is stand above all and judge. Personal judgements that matter little really. I’m wrong at times but more often than not, I’m generally right. And why? It's simple experience. It’s experience of being here for longer, observing more. I’ve watched so many come and go, I’ve seen maybe every possible narrative arc someone could possibly go on as they rise from the bottom to the top. I’ve come to learn that there’s some who can’t be placed into a box, always capable of surpassing those who came before him. Of course, we can put Charlie in a box; do you know how many people have 4-5 month reigns? That shit was like fast food of being a World Champion; ain’t nothing compared to the michelin star feast that was my reign. Belief is...well...it still blinds you. It spurs you on relentlessly, recklessly and carelessly but it’s not all bad per say. I truly don’t doubt that you can’t succeed, situation is simply a greater factor than belief will ever be. You look at someone like Noah, the beneficiary of a situation. Darkane became World Champion through situation benefits. It happens, but in the same way, situation stops people from achieving success. Even I was a victim of situation. On this very night four years ago I lost the EAW Championship to a man cashing in his King of Elite crown. Situation, man. I’m sure you understand the point of all this, no matter your potential, no matter what you are absolutely capable of achieving, ultimately you’re beholden to the influence of situation. A situation where you stand before a Top 3 GOAT of this business hunting for a crown, hunting for one of the very few things he has left. You’re in a situation against someone who on paper and in every statistic and lets be fucking real, every possible argument, blows you out of the water. And you have hope. You have belief. You have intangibles that in the end? In the end that shit just doesn’t matter as much as you believe they do. Maybe that’s why God never listens to people’s prayers, their pleas; faith, hope and belief just isn’t enough. But I digress. I don’t say it’s “not your time” as some judgement that ANYONE could beat you, ANYONE could stop you. I say it because of the situation you find yourself in. Against me, against a great, against someone who is unrivaled in this company and this industry as a whole. Of course it won’t be your time when I beat you, how could it be? But I don’t write off The Visual Prophet winning the World Heavyweight Championship by the time this season is done. However, I’m not Charlie Marr. I’m not most people you come across. I’m arrogant enough to bathe myself in the ideals of being a God. I’m cocky enough to call myself a GOAT over and over again. I’m in love with myself and my own success to drive my success and resume down your throat until you throw up. Yet I’m humble enough to accept when I am beat. If you beat me, Viz? I’ll announce it to the world on Socials. I’ll even announce it on Showdown. Man of my word. This isn’t just any ordinary match, this is the King of Elite final! This is where the very best isn’t something you get to choose to give, it’s an absolute necessity, it’s not something you can compromise on. I’m bringing my best, don’t you worry about that. Beat me? Get that validation. Get that admiration. Get that credit because there won’t be a piece of me that’s reluctant in saying it.
But…
But that is one outcome.
The other is me walking over you. The other is me treating you like a rookie. The other is me dropping you on your head, caving your skull in and dunking the King of Elite crown in both yours and Charlie Marr’s blood. And I don’t expect you to admit anything or say anything. I’m just fucking glad you’re not making me want to grab that wrong and put myself out of the misery of having to deal with Charlie’s inept bullshit. There’s no reason to because what? I’m not the underdog in this match, I’m not the one who people think can’t win it. I don’t need validation, I don’t need to have it confirmed to me that I’m still as great as not only I was then but as I believe I still am. My victory is perhaps more expected than either of you because of what I’ve done, because of who I am. That truly is the alternative outcome to this match. Oh Charlie winning?
Jimmy G in the fourth right there and I’m very fucking unapologetic for my football references because I’m still on that fucking high. But back to it. The alternative to your victory doesn’t shatter the world, it doesn’t shake the foundations of EAW. Nothing really changes, just a few specific narratives end. I become the King but you still remain the Prince. And I do believe in you, believe in what you can do and what you absolutely should go on to achieve; it's your own inevitable conclusion. But this? Nah man. 2020 is the year that Jamie O’Hara’s shadow is once again cast across this entire company. You, Charlie and so many more have absolutely zero idea how close I was to regaining that in 2019, how incredibly different that year could have been and if you know, you know. But 2020? Nah, that’s not going to be 2019 again. Master Craftsman, Champion of Excellence, Everything I built my career on isn’t a distant, fleeting memory unreachable and incapable of being replicated. I’m not going to promise that you will 100% get the very fucking best that I am, that I was or that I’m trying to become, but I can promise you, I can promise Charlie and I can promise the world that everything I’ve got in my physically and mentally will be offered. As you believe in yourself and I might just contradict myself here, but I’m going to believe - on nothing more than hope with only my previous, historic best being an indicator - that I can be better than I have ever been. I said it to start this week, I said it on Showdown, to some degree I don’t want the King of Elite crown, it doesn’t benefit me. But? But I don’t have the intention to lose, I don’t have the desire to quit. The closest thing you’ve come to me is DDD and if in the last six months you’ve grown to a place where you believe you can overcome him? Then so be it, ride that belief into this war but I’ll still strike you right down. I’ll still cave your skull in and I’ll still walk away from this night with the crown you desire so much.
