Not at my expense
Show: Victory XL
Paris France, It's a local gym. Another day, another chance at turning back the clock. It's another chance at slowing down Father Time. It's another day to prepare. It's another moment in a long life spent in wrestling. The chance to build a winning streak and gain momentum for the PPV coming up in Tokyo are there for the taking.
Some kids get by on talent, others their mouths, even a few by the sheer force of personality. For Ron Hall the Hall of Famer, there is no wishing or letting his gifts and talent carry the day. It's hard work that will get him what he wants. It's not just hard work to break a sweat. It's hard work to the point of exhaustion. It's knowing that someone else still wants to make a name at your expense.
Ron's white T shirt is now grey, completely soaked in sweat. His facial features seem to have shrunk in the downfall of sweat. He's in front of an exercise bag pounding away. His mind is thinking Lisil Jackson on Monday. The problem is the target he sees in front of him isn't the Jamaican Voodoo Priest. It isn't the bag, it's someone else he's still wanting to get his hands on. If only for a few moments it seems, Ron blocks it out and powers through. The words of the Jamaican Ninja Warrior playing like a soundtrack in his mind.
"But ya know mon dee difference tween is us dat I am mo prepared den him.".
The Hall of Famer's thoughts race, maybe because his lips are stuck together and his tongue is begging for water. He keeps pounding away at the bag refusing to let his body stop. "I would be insulted if you weren't prepared for Monday Lisil. Don't sleep on me because I damn sure won't be sleeping on you."
"Ya see brudda I still be seekin dat key win!" Ron's arms feel like they weigh more than he does and almost refuse to lift but up he makes them rise anyway. They pound the bag on, even harder than before. His mind's voice getting louder. "Sorry but Monday's not going to be your day brudda! I need the win, I need the momentum for International Afair."
"I need dat establishment! I need ta get dat victory unda me belt!" The Hall of Famer's legs barely rise, each kick to the bag feeling like it will break his leg from the fatigue he's put himself through. "You think you've got it rough? Try being me for a day, maybe a week. Everything I've done since Ring King scrutinized, second guessed and critiqued by arm chair quarterbacks who think I'm getting handed everything because of what my position is. Sorry but the establishment your looking for will have to come from somewhere else because I've got something to prove!"
"That I can still do this on my own and by myself.... No favors, no assist, no strings. Hard work, sweat and paying the price." Ron takes a moment and draws himself into a fighting stance, his body begging him to stop, his eyes close in focus, his body racing to recover in the few seconds of rest he's affording himself.
"Words prove nothin... What I do in dat ring is what mattas! And what I do out dere are what people talk bout in dee end!" In a place where it's only him and his thoughts Ron's reply echoes.
"Funny thing to me Lisil, all you've done is talk. All you do is say that you can or will get it done but haven't yet. I know to be ready. You sound more than determined. You sound desperate. You sound willing to do something crazy to beat me Monday night. I know to what lengths even a nobel man will go to get what they're after. You should know what lengths I'll go to make sure you don't.
Suddenly, Ron slides forward and unleashes his kick. Country Chin Music on the bag, it forces the bag off the chain, the bag flies to the wall and smashes with a loud THUD! as the contents explode all over the wall and spread all over the floor.
That moment where every eye is on you? It's right now. That moment where people are saying something? It's now, and it's about what Ron just did to that bag. Ron says nothing, instead grabbing his towel and heading off for a shower.
30 minutes later....
The Hall of Famer comes walking out of the shower room, dressed and with his gym bag. He walks over where the remnants of the bag are laying on the floor. He throws what's left of the bag over his shoulder. He takes a dust pan and broom and begins to clean up the mess. His mind cleared and ready for the challenge of his Jamaican foe at Victory on Monday night but of course, there is something or someone who wants his attention as he's sweeping up.
A gentleman walks in to the picture. His long hair, cammo outfit and long beard make him look like a reject from some A&E show and yet he isn't here for a casting call or an autograph. "Ya is a dence one, ain't ya boy?"
Ron puts the broom against the wall and faces the intruder. This would be funny if it hasn't gotten so sad. The look on Hall's face says he's tired of all this unwanted attention but he's not about to start backing down today. "You too?"
Knuckles crack as brain cells prepare to die, "Today, I haz comed to teach youz a personalizd hrd core lezzon in respects."
Ron smiles weakly. "Whatever you were paid, it won't be enough for the trip to the hospital."
The cammo jacket comes off to reveal a "Redd Nex Prde" T shirt. The guest swings the jacket over his head and lets loose with a scream that sounds like it's the end of whatever grip on reality he still had. He throws the jacket into the wall and prepares to pounce. "I show youz howz wes does dis where I comes from."
Ron realizes that this has to be dealt with like he's going to have to deal with Jackson on Monday. No problem. Ron takes the bag's remnants and looks at the guest.
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