Post by sonstuds on Aug 17, 2020 19:32:21 GMT -5
::: Kamigami & Monsutā:::
July 6, 10:27 PM JST
The lights from the various buildings in Tokyo's metropolitan area shine through the hotel room window, illuminating the room as he mixes his old fashioned on the rocks. Calmly he walks towards the window, staring out at the neighbouring lights. It's radiant. Very calm. He takes a drink of his old fashioned. It makes him feel refined. He closes his eyes. How tranquil. What a moment. These are the moments that you appreciate and remember. The quiet moments. The reflective moments. The meditative moments.
Matthew Werner: You don't want to close the curtains?
Trance broken, he turns towards his guest who sits at the table with squinted eyes before returning to his previous engagement with his phone.
The moment has passed.
Matthew Werner: It's so bright in here.
EBR: When I was checking in I was told to be ready for blackouts because there’s so much power being used. I’m not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. I uh ... can’t speak Japanese that well.
Matthew Werner: I have noticed that.
EBR: That seems like an observation you didn't need to share publically.
Matthew Werner: Didn't mean anything by it -
EBR: It's cool, it's cool ... chuckling build me up just to tear me down. My man.
There was a lot to digest when he was informed of the request for his final match in Japan to be an episode of a docu-series. Flattery, vindication, pride, but a prevailing feeling of embarrassment. The idea that he would walk down the street, with a camera man lagging behind him, forced to give his thoughts as they try their best to minimize the inconvenience they're placing on everyone else who just wants to go about their day. Perhaps they'll film him in distinct locations, looking off into the distance as he gets to self-narrate what this all means to him, all while he stands there until they can get just the right shot of him looking forlorn. The talking heads will spew his accomplishments over the past five years, accompanied with still images to corroborate. They'll show him signing autographs and posing for pictures, and of course, can't leave out his game show appearances and wacky commercials.
Just pretentiousness and foolishness all around. He's here for business. He was always here for business.
As he looked to say no he was informed it would be directed by long-time acquaintance Matthew Werner, which threw everything for a loop. Half way around the world and somehow they still end up intertwined? That just seems like fate that maybe he shouldn't try to test. Life has a way of coming full circle, after all.
So he said yes.
He ended up being quite fond of the experience. We all want to feel significant, anyways.
Matthew Werner: Thanks for the drink.
EBR: We've been hanging out for a week. Just wanted to say thanks. I'd have taken you out but ... shrugs ... kind of wanted to stay low key. Don't want any distractions. Tomorrow's a big day.
Matthew Werner: I am surprised you're not out. When I took this job I just had this visual image of you in downtown Japan and it ... wasn't this.
EBR: Man, I'm forty now. Don't do that type of stuff anymore. I had fun going out and partying and sh*t like that but I dunno ... that's not really me anymore.
Some things are better left as relics of the past, simply to serve as remembrance of who you used to be but aren't currently. After so many years it's not like he even misses it that much, beloved pet Winston excluded. He loved that little guy, at least as much as anyone would love their pet buffalo.
His "cocaine and pill" guy earned his money.
EBR: I just want to chill here for the night. Just take it all in, think about things ... that kind of stuff. Reminisce, as it were.
Matthew Werner: I understand.
EBR: Don't get me wrong I've had a dope life but these have been the most rewarding. These have been the ... best. Does that make me sound like a p*ssy?
Matthew Werner: You're supposed to have emotions.
Though history does show that emotions are generally an attribute of a p*ssy.
EBR: Like, I really didn't know how all of this was going to go but man ... I really loved it here. It was everything I wanted it to be. So to just think that tomorrow it's all going to end ... it's ... a lot. I just need to really soak it all in for one last time. Good times, man. Good times.
Matthew Werner: You've never really struck me as someone who would miss the company he worked for.
EBR: Yeah, you'd have been right. Things can change for the better, I suppose. But hey, you know what they say; you won't really appreciate the good days until you don't have 'em, so ... sorry, that probably would have been a good sound bite for you to use.
Matthew Werner: It's fine ... it would have, but it's fine.
EBR: I'm just grateful of everything since I've been here ... the things I've learned ... you should see me grill a Wagyu steak. I hate to admit it but the only reason I can say with certainty I'm not going to cry tomorrow when I leave that ring for the last time is because of that lacrimal gland issue I have.
Which is fortuitous, being as it's been established who emotions are attributes of.
Matthew Werner: When I took this job I didn't really know what to expect.
EBR: Why did you take this job, Matt?
Matthew Werner: Guess you could say I was ... curious, to see what you've become. I've known you for almost fifteen years, and sure I've heard that you were up here but I didn't really know what it would be like. If I'm being honest, there was a part of me that worried it would be like in "Apocalypse Now" when he meets Marlon Brando. But seeing you interact with people, talking to people about you, talking to you ... it seems you're at peace. It's good. Not to mention ...
His sight is drawn to the wedding band around EBR's ring finger.
Matthew Werner: ... That.
She's the lead singer of synth-pop band. He has a dope life. He's met Taylor Swift.
EBR: Five years ago my first engagement fell through, my career was a mess, and I had nothing of value to my name. Well, I had my money ... but you know what I mean.
Look at me now, huh? I was born in Canada, made my livelihood in America ... but I grew up in Japan.
Immediately he shakes his head in regret.
EBR: God dammit ... that was your sound bite. I'm real sorry, man.
Matthew Werner: We have a lot of good footage already ... but you could always just say it again when we're filming.
EBR: Pulling back the curtain like that really makes me question the authenticity of documentaries, man. Speaking of, how's that going? You got just about everything you need?
Matthew Werner: That I need here, yeah ... for the most part. I would like to speak with you tomorrow about ... some things.
EBR: Tomorrow's probably not going to work ... sort of wanted to get as many hours of sleep as I can, plus I want to be there early ... you know, the whole reflection thing. Plus honestly I don't really want the ... uh ... distraction is the only word I can think of at the top of my head.
Matthew Werner: Okay, but this whole thing is about documenting your last match so I sort of have to ... document that.
EBR: Naw you have a job to do and I respect that. I get that you'll be there tailing me, I just don't think I'll be able to fit in time for a sit-down interview or whatever you need.
Matthew Werner: It's not so much -
EBR: No means no, dawg.
Matthew Werner: After?
EBR: That could work ... well, I dunno. Shelia has a gig in Australia, so I'm going to catch a red eye, and that's like a ten hour flight ... so I dunno ... Look, you have my number. Call me next week to touch base and we'll meet up and I'll give you what you need, cool? That work? I don't know how long it takes to put all this together -
Matthew Werner: It's a process, that's for sure.
EBR: I hear that, I tried making a movie once. That ish is hard.
Matthew Werner: You did more than try.
EBR: I don't follow.
Matthew Werner: The um ... sex tape with Rebecca ...
EBR: Oh ... no, I was talking about a different one ... yeah, that one I finished.
In more ways than one, as the evidence on Rebecca Marie's navel shows.
Matthew Werner: Anyways, I should probably get going, leave you to your own devices.
EBR: Yeah sure.
Which truthfully, will probably only amount to another drink as he watches television and gets some reading done. He can do both simultaneously. It does take him a long time to finish a page, however.
Werner rises from his chair as EBR does the same, walking him over to the door. He's a gracious host.
EBR: I know I'll see you tomorrow when you're filming but I'm not sure how much time we'll have to talk, so if we don't thanks for doing this, man. Appreciate it.
Taken by surprise by the acknowledgement of his work, and even more so by the extended hand of EBR, he shakes it. Two professionals doing professional things.
EBR: By the way, now that you mentioned it ... did you ever watch that sex tape?
Matthew Werner: ... What? I know you, Rebecca ... Alex ... of course I didn't. Why would you even ask me that?
EBR: Just wondering if you had any thoughts.
Now partially curious about the physical appearance of EBR's genitalia Werner exits the room, leaving EBR alone. He walks back towards his old fashioned, and subsequently back towards the large pan window.
He continues to admire the lights.
Radiant.
July 20, 1:12 PM PDT
Matthew Werner: This is quite the outdoor patio ...
The lush vegetation ... the fire pit barbeque ... the acres upon acres of finely trimmed grass ... the marble stone paving he's currently residing on ...
The aura is majestic. For perhaps the first time in his life Matthew Werner understands what it means to be in the presence of someone who's larger in scope then your average man. A mythological figure, some would say.
EBR: You want some tea? It has Manuka honey in it!
A legend. Clearly.
Matthew Werner: Uh ... sure ...
He pours some for his biographer as they reside in EBR's outdoor gazebo, listening to the birds chirp as the sun beams down.
Matthew Werner: You just moved here?
EBR: Had it for years, just haven't really been around ...
He notices Matthew staring directly ahead. Specifically, the very large pool that occupies a vast majority of his backyard.
EBR: I told them I wanted an Olympic sized pool. They said it was unreasonable, so I just said do the best you can.
Matthew Werner: You're a swimmer?
EBR: Not really, no.
Matthew Werner: So why would you need an Olympic pool in your backyard?
EBR: Dunno ... I might decide I really want to get into swimming some day.
Some people just don't understand pool ownership. Matthew Werner is one of those people.
EBR: How was your flight?
Matthew Werner: Fine ... I appreciate you flying me out here, by the way ... first class wasn't necessary.
EBR: You were lugging that camera around for like a week. Just letting you know it was appreciated.
Matthew Werner: Have to admit that I was a little surprised that you actually responded to my call. I just assumed you were going to blow me off.
EBR: C'mon ... I always took care of you.
Matthew Werner: How’s that?
EBR: Who do you think got you all those announcing gigs?
Matthew Werner: I thought that was Alex?
EBR: Well ... I gave him your number. So, the documentary; how's that coming along?
Matthew Werner: Good. Really good. I was able to get the bulk of it filmed last week, and now we're mostly in the process of just putting everything together ... which is why I'm here.
EBR: Right, that interview.
Matthew Werner: Actually ... no. We interviewed a lot of people ... other wrestlers, promoters, sports historians ... and we're using them to tell the story, more so than you. I mean ... you've seen documentaries, I'm sure you get the narrative structure we're going for. But uh ... the reason I really wanted to meet with you is one of the people we talked to said something that was interesting ... and I want this to be as objective as possible and not just a fluff piece ...
bringing out of his phone ... and out of journalistic integrity I'd like to get a clarification ... or confirmation ...
After scrolling to the appropriate video, he hands it to EBR.
There's a temporary, some would say awkward, silence as EBR hands the phone back to Werner.
Matthew Werner: ... Comment?
EBR: Look, that was a long time ago. I don't know man, I couldn't really tell you.
Matthew Werner: Right, well -
EBR: The amounts. That's true though, yeah.
Nonchalantly he takes another sip of his tea. He loves that Manuka honey.
Matthew Werner: That's really all you have to say about -
EBR: I always won. Well ... there were a few times D got me. Even Michael Jordan missed a free throw, you know?
He feels that silent, judgemental stare he's grown accustomed to throughout his professional career.
EBR: Let's not bullsh*t one another, Matty. You've known me for what was it? Fifteen years? C'mon man ... you knew that was true before you even asked.
He was living the dream many moons ago. He was the Heavyweight Champion of the world. His name was synonymous with respect, admiration, and affection. He was the gold standard of his profession which, considering his goal was to always be just that, suited him fine. He had to settle for momentarily being the best in the world, due to the unfortunate technicality of the future not yet happening so he couldn't firmly cement his claim as the greatest of all time. In due time, he supposed. EBR; a name for the ages.
But alas, with great success comes great jealousy. A certain individual (some would argue "bitch") who loses the title to EBR feels the need to bring EBR down a notch or two (classic bitch behaviour), and sets out to embarrass him because as has been established, he certainly couldn't beat him. Yet, in a shocking display of turncoatism it works, and suddenly the once revered EBR is seen as a liar and a con-man. With that, the once proud EBR finds himself down on the canvas for the first time in ages (figuratively speaking, obviously), left to ponder just what this life lesson was.
Well f*ck them then.
He's EBR, and he's going to put up with this sh*t? Seriously? Gloves off. If y'all wanted to play dirty then f*ck it, let's get dirty. Y'all poked the bear just because he chose to be in the circus, and he happened to be riding a little car, with a little hat, and looked a little cute. He's still a bear.
With that, the real EBR was born. Even more grandiose. Even more imposing. Even more untouchable. People want to talk sh*t on him? Gun shot. People want to get in his way? Gun shot. People want to take what's his? Gun mother f*cking shot. He couldn't believe how much easier it was, or frankly, how much more fun it was. If people aren't going to adhere to respect than why should he? So he can play a different game with a different set of rules? So he can be one of those fools trying to do it the "right way", praying that one day they'll finally get an opportunity to have a meaningful moment in this company only to die of pancreatic cancer six months later?
Nah, don't think so. He'll be the one doing the killing. Sorry kids, it's a cold world out there. If his name won't be respected, it'll be something else. It'll be the eerie silence as the seas part as he walks backstage, like a character from a Spaghetti Western. It'll be the eye contact that's quickly diverted. It'll be the ACL in Vanessa McGurk's right knee tearing because hubby Wayne was too thick to get the message.
EBR; leading cause of workplace injuries after slips and falls.
EBR; reincarnation of the great Shao Kahn.
EBR; repeated five times in front of a mirror by children playing scary games at sleepovers.
Thus, EBR; man, myth, legend. Hallowed be thy name. The story of the WFWF could never be shared without the tall tales of his exploits, if it was even the WFWF's story at all and they weren't just a bit player in what would become his story. Having reached the mountain tops that were once deemed insurmountable, EBR firmly stood where he knew he would always stand, and with the sweet passage of time, could now call himself indeed, the greatest of all time. He had lived the dream.
After the dream you naturally wake up. If you're fortunate, at least.
EBR: ... You know that's the type of stuff that made me leave in the first place, right?
You know what no one talks about when you reach the mountain top? How you have to climb back down. How you see those mangled bodies. The bodies you've broken not out of necessity, but out of desire. The bodies you've gutted. The bodies you've stabbed in the back. The bodies that have both wounds, if they're the body of an Alex Sean. The slow descent you've always dreamed would be a victory lap gradually begins to morph into a scathing review of your past work right before your very eyes, every action and "accomplishment" carefully and painstakingly recreated and analyzed in a slow-motion, highly defined instant replay. Maybe the train fell off the rails at some point.
You continue downwards, following the trail of blood and broken bones with the lonely silence your only soundtrack. Hrm. You could have sworn there used to be music. Sooner or later that thought finally begins to creep in, even though you try your best to suppress it. That thought that makes you ask yourself whether this ride was really worth the price of admission. You sneer. Not at the accusatory tone you gave it, or even the indignity of being asked the question in the first place. You sneer because you know that if it isn't ... then what the f*ck did you just spend your whole life doing?
You just keep trekking on to the finish line because you pretty much have to at this point, at some juncture reaching the bottom and discovering there's no one left to greet you. And that's when it really hits you.
Just you. You, some discarded needles that were injected in your buttocks, and a few scattered shell casings littered on the ground for when you felt the need to pull the trigger. You just stand there, finally accepting that the hard part wasn't the decision to pull the trigger. It's realizing you're the piece of sh*t who'll pull it.
He often wonders what he even thought would happen once he finally left his perch. What was even the end game? To be the best? A man? A myth? A legend? Bitch, don't lie to yourself; you were just there for revenge. Pray tell, what did he think would happen once he got it? He'd storm the village, burn it to the ground with a vengeance, and then what? Stand over the ashes and make a sarcastic quip as a bald eagle swoops in to land on his shoulder while the credits roll? No. He just gets to stand there with scuffed shoes.
He gets to stand there like a f*cking clown. Like a f*cking a**hole. Like a f*cking f*ck. Like a f*cking EBR, because that’s what he is. A f*cking EBR.
You know that expression about looking in the mirror and not recognizing who you see? He knew exactly who he saw. That was the problem.
EBR: All the things you do ... it weighs on you, man. It starts off gradual, maybe a fleeting thought here or there and you just go on with your day. Then you start having them a little more, and suddenly those fleeting thoughts aren't so fleeting anymore and suddenly you're staying awake at night just a little bit longer than the night before. And eventually, man ... that's just you now. That's what your life is.
Matthew Werner: I don't really understand how someone who has that much of a conscience can ever let it get to that point.
EBR: Well yeah, you're not the type of person who's even capable of pulling the trigger.
Matthew Werner: It's not like your actions weren't being criticised. At no point did you think "hey, maybe they're right and I'm the bad guy here ..."?
EBR: It's hard to notice the difference between fame and infamy when they pay the same ... hell, I just didn't really care. The blood money looks fine when you're wearing rose colored glasses. But after while even that fades and then you just have to be alone with yourself and who you really are. Ain't no glasses for that, man.
As it were, just a great “pill and cocaine” guy.
EBR: When you're so singularly focused on a goal you don't care how you get there. Well ... at least I didn't. I was all about the destination, and I didn't care if I had to suck, f*ck, and swallow to hitch a ride. Just so we're clear by the way -
Matthew Werner: Yes, I understand it was a metaphor.
EBR: But once I reached that destination I found I had nowhere else to go. So I had to just turn and walk back. The way back it's ... not really as fun, you know? I had every accomplishment and milestone I ever wanted ... sh*t, every accomplishment and milestone period. But for what? For me? Well that sucks, cause now as it turns out it doesn't mean a whole lot in the end. Not to me, anyways. Ain't that some irony?
Even though he's still not entirely sure what the definition of irony is. It's certainly some bullsh*t, nevertheless.
EBR: So that's why I left the scene, so to speak. I didn't deserve it. Didn't want it. F*ck it. That wasn't what I wanted to be. I had to get out.
Matthew Werner: "The Poltergeist".
EBR: What's that?
Matthew Werner: Haunted by a past that you want to stay dead.
EBR: No, the metaphor was the whoring myself out in a car. You told me you understood, Matt? It's just ... you make movies, right? So imagine you're the guy who directed "Deer Hunter".
Matthew Werner: Michael Cimino?
EBR: Maybe, I don't remember his name. But you direct "Deer Hunter" and people love it, you win an Oscar, it's on all those lists of the greatest movies of all time. You're on the way to be considered one of the greatest at your crafts, but then you follow it up with that movie that becomes one of the biggest bombs of all time and your reputation is tarnished. That's how Wikipedia describes you in its very first paragraph.
Matthew Werner: I can understand all that. Just ... what I'm confused about is how you go from ... that, to just resurfacing in Japan only a year later?
Without words he directs his gaze, and by proxy Werner's attention, to the size of his very large house. It effectively makes his point for him.
EBR: What else am I gonna do, Matthew? Work at a paper company? There's no real world for someone like me. I’m stuck doing this gig. The only difference is where.
It was just an endless cycle between himself and the WFWF. He's played the game too many times to feign ignorance it would ever be any different. Something would happen, something would be said, something would come up and next thing he knows he's bludgeoning someone's skull like it’s muscle memory, wondering what the f*ck just happened to him and how he got there. No, he couldn't be there without deteriorating into that guy. You know that guy. A Phillip Schneider. A Michael Kyzer. A Drakz.
An EBR.
It didn’t take a marriage for him to understand the concept of divorce.
EBR: You go across the world you find suddenly your name doesn’t mean as much anymore. There’s no reputation that follows me or that I’m trying to chase. That’s what I needed ... just get away, do my job like I'm supposed to do it, and by relation do what I should have done many years before.
Matthew Werner: Which was?
EBR: Grow the f*ck up.
Over the years he let himself shovel sh*t on his own reputation and simply chose to begrudge the smell it left behind. He'd bat away the buzzing flies while the rancid smell would linger in the air and fill his nostrils, leaving him gasping for air while he tried not to choke on his defecation. His own desecration, really.
He really didn't use to be this pathetic.
He looked at that pile of sh*t with disgust it deserved. He knew eventually he would have to do the deed, regardless how inglorious of a task it seemed. He got down on his hands and knees in the pile of sh*t of his own creation and cleaned. Scrubbing until his finger nails were cracked, until his knees were bloody, until every corner and crevice was hit with a toothbrush, until every surface was bleached, and until he scorched the God damn Earth.
Until it was clean.
He picked himself up off the ground, wiped the sweat off his brow, and looked at what used to be a large pile of sh*t but was now what it used to be. What it was always supposed to be.
Spotless.
Pristine.
Immaculate.
EBR. That's what it it was. F*cking EBR.
EBR: Got to take responsibility some day, my brother.
Matthew Werner: Yeah ... plus for someone who's always taken things personally I guess it helps to not speak the language.
Instantaneously, Werner can feel the sharp glare directed towards him. He looks to apologize, but is met with a defeated shrug first.
EBR: Well ... you're not wrong.
Matthew Werner: I don't mean this as pointedly as it'll sound ... or maybe I do, but you really think leaving Japan is the best decision? A good decision for someone with your ... history? Your temperament?
EBR: I already made that decision ... so sh*t, I certainly hope so.
Matthew Werner: I don't know ... I guess the big elephant in the room for me at least is just why, after everything you've talked about and everything I've seen of you in the past week, you'd give all that up just to return to the WFWF? A place you've never treated with loyalty, or respect, or ... anything other than disdain?
EBR: Look I mean, I love Japan and all but at the end of the day ... I was just a tourist. That wasn't my home.
Matthew Werner: There has to be more to that than just some unfinished business, or amends you're looking to make ... right? I guess I just worry that after everything you've accomplished in the last several years, after everything you’ve done for yourself ...
EBR: ... Yes?
Matthew Werner: ... You're just going to find yourself just going down the same path as before.
It wasn't lost on him that it was less than five minutes into his homecoming eight years in the making for him to already get annoyed. As the scene is set and the band looks to play out comes Manchester Prep's valedictorian, complaining about losing the Vanguard Championship. He didn't even know what that was. He assumed a commemorative shield with a fancy emblem of some kind (maybe even a crest). Anna Ahriman proceeded to air her grievances, as if the world should stop because God forbid Anna Ahriman has a problem. Anna Ahriman, of all people. Because unbeknownst to him at the time, the WFWF also serves as a daycare to former color commentator's children.
Being as he was being greeted with what essentially amounted to a hero's welcome in his return he figured that sooner or later someone would physically remove Sammy's daughter from the premises and the show could continue as scheduled, but alas, it was not to be.
Instead he just stood in the back awkwardly, waiting for her to finish. Standing there like a f*cking dope. Like a f*cking clown.
This sh*t never would have happened back in the day. You think he would have stood for that? F*ck no. He knows exactly how he would have handled it and Anna Ahriman would have learned very quickly to tow the line and follow the natural order of things. If she needs a refresher she can ask her little friend Scarlett about her mom.
Anna Ahriman can cosplay as this company's savior until she's weak in the knees all she wants, but it doesn't change the reality that she's just a spoiled twat who's gotten into the game because of her father, a man whose career can best be described as “had one”. Whereas some build themselves up through hard work and talent, she got by on nepotism and a phone call. She takes immense pride in being the Jared Kushner of the WFWF.
It's insulting to watch some twenty year old appoint them self the gate keeper, masquerading as someone who knows the do's and don'ts of the business and to have the nerve to even imply that she knows best. Not because she’s done it mind you, and not even because she watched her father do it – but because she watched her daddy get slain by better men.
By men like EBR.
That’s solely where her insight into this crazy and violent world she willingly chooses to enter lies. That’s the reason she thinks she has some type of leg up on her contemporaries, as if watching someone else’s failure prevents the same from happening to her. She thinks that by watching the cow go through the slaughterhouse the calf escapes the same fate. No one ever told her what veal is.
But no ... go ahead, bitch. Please teach EBR. It's not like he was winning World Championships while she was still getting finger banged in the backs of cars.
It’s not even just her self-righteousness that rubs him the wrong way, it’s that he knows exactly who she is. She's the type of person who stabs Mesh in the back but doesn't even have the fallopian tubes to own up to it. Instead she puts herself in front of a camera and gives some weak "but it was for her benefit!" sh*t, delusional about her own behavior and somehow believing she's the good guy in this whole thing and not just a f*cking a**hole. Or a f*cking f*ck. Or a f*cking EBR from back in the day.
She wipes her sludgy, grimy mucus all over the business she claims to love. A parasite that’s too naive and ignorant and stupid to think she's anything but, watching from a distance with a sh*t-eating smirk as better men are forced to clean up the mess that her and her ilk leave behind. Once it's clean she just slides back in and repeats the process. It will always be filthy. The slugs will always make sure of that.
So f*ck Anna Ahriman. If she won't leave the ring he'll make her leave. If Sammy doesn't want to raise his kid to show respect he'll do it for him. Ain't no one beating kids this effectively since Joe Jackson. She can even bring Sakabato if she pleases. He encourages it. It's been years since he's engaged in his favorite hobby. Let them dance the water dance.
At least that's how he would have handled it. Nowadays he just shrugged. Anna Ahriman probably had some legit gripes. And in the end, aren't we all just trying to do the best we can? That reminds him, he should do some meditation later. He's got some mean yoga poses he's been looking to try out.
EBR: That's a fair point, Matt.
Matthew Werner: It was a concern, actually.
EBR: Whatever it may be ... look there was a time where you'd have been right and for various reasons I couldn't have been there ... but that's not that time anymore. Whether I've grown, matured, found what I'm looking for ... whatever description I can give myself to explain it, I know I can do better. When my career's over most people are going to remember it for my time being in the WFWF, you know? And what I want, not just for people who are remembering, not just for possible children who'll Google me, but specifically for me? Is to think back on my time there and be able to look at my accomplishments and career with a fondness that, quite frankly, is a little lacking at the present moment. "Unfinished business", "make amends" ... man, I'm just trying to do better. I'm too old to be staying awake at night.
Matthew Werner: It's funny ... the thought never crossed my mind that you weren't retiring. There was just such a feeling of ... finality to the whole thing. I guess I was just a little surprised that just a few days later you're already back in the WFWF. It wasn't how I pictured it going, is all. I'm not trying to dump on you or your decisions if it comes across that way ... I just really hope you thought this whole thing through.
The apprehension of Matthew Werner continues to linger, regardless of attempts to walk it back. EBR doesn't get offended. He doesn't do that anymore. He's a responsible, grown ass man who makes his own decisions and dictates his own future. All due respect to her, but he's worked far too hard to throw everything away because of someone like Anna Ahriman.
But you already knew that.
EBR: Yeah ... one week ago I stood in the middle of a ring and took three bows as the Tokyo Dome gave me a round of applause. That means something to me. That was how I left. You know how I used to leave the companies I worked for?
He takes the final sip of his tea.
EBR: By walking out the f*cking door. I prefer the former.
The sun continues to shine down as both men remain in a temporary silence. It's a beautiful day in Oakland. The birds are chirping.
But again, you already knew that.
EBR: Say, you want to get out of here and head out to Highlands? Hit some links?
Matthew Werner: I'm not much of a golfer, but sure.
EBR: I'll let you drive the little cart.
There's a courtesy chuckle elicited from Werner as EBR readies to get up, but is halted once he notices Werner's gaze is drawn back to the pool that takes up a large percentage of his field of vision. He's glad. It should draw eyes.
DGX paid a lot of money for it.
July 7, 12:04 AM JST
He finishes mixing himself his second, and final, old fashioned for the night. He'll have one final, celebratory toast before he packs it in and puts the finishing touches on his latest, and most successful, venture. Here's to you, Japan.
Placing the glass on the nearby night stand he props himself on the bed, Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby continuing to play on the hotel television. It was the only thing he could find in English. He really wishes he had picked up a better handle on this country's language.
In an instant it all flicks away. The television is black, the room is black, and the adjacent building's lights which previously shone through his balcony's window are gone.
... Hrm.
Well, he hopes everything works out for that Gatsby fellow. He assumes it does. Things usually turn out okay for those grandiose types.
Once his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness does he pick himself off the bed, walking towards the room's balcony. He steps outside, greeted to a calming cool breeze. Looking down he catches the only occasional glimpses of light as cars pass on the streets below, their headlights not nearly strong enough to create any type of visual.
It's just him, alone, surrounded by the proverbial shadows. He closes his eyes. It's a meaningless gesture and he feels silly even doing it. When he opens them it's what he thought it would be. It's the same.
He takes a nice deep breath. The air is so much better here. It's always better at night. It's soothing. It's tranquil. He gets hit with another gust of wind. It's pacifying.
What's he doing, anyways? He's going to sleep? Really? His last night is going to be spent in a hotel room? A hotel room that doesn't even have power? He should get out. Make it a night to remember. There's probably power somewhere. F*ck it. He doesn't need power to have a good time. His presence is the good time. He's the Poltergeist, baby. This land has embraced him. It's time he returns the favor. Let them all share the true EBR experience. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
Or does he want the story of his last night in the Land of the Rising Sun to be how he went to bed on time?
That's what a p*ssy would do. He's not a p*ssy. He always prided himself on being a man, and yet he stands out here in the cooling embrace of night understanding that he's not even that. He's surpassed that through his own hard work. He's the one thing above a man. The same thing he used to be so many, many years ago.
That's how his saga should end. That's the way it was always supposed to end. The nearest car finally drives out of sight. He's engulfed in total darkness, and only now does he see how this entire saga should end. So beautifully poetic.
A smirk spreads across his face. No one can see it. But it's there.
He's startled by the sudden bursts of lights which hit him from all directions. Momentarily blinded he looks down to shield himself, gathering himself before he looks back up at the lights which shine through the various buildings from each side. Most noticeably, he can feel the light from his own room behind him.
He takes a brief sigh before he turns around and heads right back into his room.
Tomorrow's a big day.
He should get those eight hours of sleep.
July 6, 10:27 PM JST
The lights from the various buildings in Tokyo's metropolitan area shine through the hotel room window, illuminating the room as he mixes his old fashioned on the rocks. Calmly he walks towards the window, staring out at the neighbouring lights. It's radiant. Very calm. He takes a drink of his old fashioned. It makes him feel refined. He closes his eyes. How tranquil. What a moment. These are the moments that you appreciate and remember. The quiet moments. The reflective moments. The meditative moments.
Matthew Werner: You don't want to close the curtains?
Trance broken, he turns towards his guest who sits at the table with squinted eyes before returning to his previous engagement with his phone.
The moment has passed.
Matthew Werner: It's so bright in here.
EBR: When I was checking in I was told to be ready for blackouts because there’s so much power being used. I’m not sure if he was being sarcastic or not. I uh ... can’t speak Japanese that well.
Matthew Werner: I have noticed that.
EBR: That seems like an observation you didn't need to share publically.
Matthew Werner: Didn't mean anything by it -
EBR: It's cool, it's cool ... chuckling build me up just to tear me down. My man.
There was a lot to digest when he was informed of the request for his final match in Japan to be an episode of a docu-series. Flattery, vindication, pride, but a prevailing feeling of embarrassment. The idea that he would walk down the street, with a camera man lagging behind him, forced to give his thoughts as they try their best to minimize the inconvenience they're placing on everyone else who just wants to go about their day. Perhaps they'll film him in distinct locations, looking off into the distance as he gets to self-narrate what this all means to him, all while he stands there until they can get just the right shot of him looking forlorn. The talking heads will spew his accomplishments over the past five years, accompanied with still images to corroborate. They'll show him signing autographs and posing for pictures, and of course, can't leave out his game show appearances and wacky commercials.
Just pretentiousness and foolishness all around. He's here for business. He was always here for business.
As he looked to say no he was informed it would be directed by long-time acquaintance Matthew Werner, which threw everything for a loop. Half way around the world and somehow they still end up intertwined? That just seems like fate that maybe he shouldn't try to test. Life has a way of coming full circle, after all.
So he said yes.
He ended up being quite fond of the experience. We all want to feel significant, anyways.
Matthew Werner: Thanks for the drink.
EBR: We've been hanging out for a week. Just wanted to say thanks. I'd have taken you out but ... shrugs ... kind of wanted to stay low key. Don't want any distractions. Tomorrow's a big day.
Matthew Werner: I am surprised you're not out. When I took this job I just had this visual image of you in downtown Japan and it ... wasn't this.
EBR: Man, I'm forty now. Don't do that type of stuff anymore. I had fun going out and partying and sh*t like that but I dunno ... that's not really me anymore.
Some things are better left as relics of the past, simply to serve as remembrance of who you used to be but aren't currently. After so many years it's not like he even misses it that much, beloved pet Winston excluded. He loved that little guy, at least as much as anyone would love their pet buffalo.
His "cocaine and pill" guy earned his money.
EBR: I just want to chill here for the night. Just take it all in, think about things ... that kind of stuff. Reminisce, as it were.
Matthew Werner: I understand.
EBR: Don't get me wrong I've had a dope life but these have been the most rewarding. These have been the ... best. Does that make me sound like a p*ssy?
Matthew Werner: You're supposed to have emotions.
Though history does show that emotions are generally an attribute of a p*ssy.
EBR: Like, I really didn't know how all of this was going to go but man ... I really loved it here. It was everything I wanted it to be. So to just think that tomorrow it's all going to end ... it's ... a lot. I just need to really soak it all in for one last time. Good times, man. Good times.
Matthew Werner: You've never really struck me as someone who would miss the company he worked for.
EBR: Yeah, you'd have been right. Things can change for the better, I suppose. But hey, you know what they say; you won't really appreciate the good days until you don't have 'em, so ... sorry, that probably would have been a good sound bite for you to use.
Matthew Werner: It's fine ... it would have, but it's fine.
EBR: I'm just grateful of everything since I've been here ... the things I've learned ... you should see me grill a Wagyu steak. I hate to admit it but the only reason I can say with certainty I'm not going to cry tomorrow when I leave that ring for the last time is because of that lacrimal gland issue I have.
Which is fortuitous, being as it's been established who emotions are attributes of.
Matthew Werner: When I took this job I didn't really know what to expect.
EBR: Why did you take this job, Matt?
Matthew Werner: Guess you could say I was ... curious, to see what you've become. I've known you for almost fifteen years, and sure I've heard that you were up here but I didn't really know what it would be like. If I'm being honest, there was a part of me that worried it would be like in "Apocalypse Now" when he meets Marlon Brando. But seeing you interact with people, talking to people about you, talking to you ... it seems you're at peace. It's good. Not to mention ...
His sight is drawn to the wedding band around EBR's ring finger.
Matthew Werner: ... That.
She's the lead singer of synth-pop band. He has a dope life. He's met Taylor Swift.
EBR: Five years ago my first engagement fell through, my career was a mess, and I had nothing of value to my name. Well, I had my money ... but you know what I mean.
Look at me now, huh? I was born in Canada, made my livelihood in America ... but I grew up in Japan.
Immediately he shakes his head in regret.
EBR: God dammit ... that was your sound bite. I'm real sorry, man.
Matthew Werner: We have a lot of good footage already ... but you could always just say it again when we're filming.
EBR: Pulling back the curtain like that really makes me question the authenticity of documentaries, man. Speaking of, how's that going? You got just about everything you need?
Matthew Werner: That I need here, yeah ... for the most part. I would like to speak with you tomorrow about ... some things.
EBR: Tomorrow's probably not going to work ... sort of wanted to get as many hours of sleep as I can, plus I want to be there early ... you know, the whole reflection thing. Plus honestly I don't really want the ... uh ... distraction is the only word I can think of at the top of my head.
Matthew Werner: Okay, but this whole thing is about documenting your last match so I sort of have to ... document that.
EBR: Naw you have a job to do and I respect that. I get that you'll be there tailing me, I just don't think I'll be able to fit in time for a sit-down interview or whatever you need.
Matthew Werner: It's not so much -
EBR: No means no, dawg.
Matthew Werner: After?
EBR: That could work ... well, I dunno. Shelia has a gig in Australia, so I'm going to catch a red eye, and that's like a ten hour flight ... so I dunno ... Look, you have my number. Call me next week to touch base and we'll meet up and I'll give you what you need, cool? That work? I don't know how long it takes to put all this together -
Matthew Werner: It's a process, that's for sure.
EBR: I hear that, I tried making a movie once. That ish is hard.
Matthew Werner: You did more than try.
EBR: I don't follow.
Matthew Werner: The um ... sex tape with Rebecca ...
EBR: Oh ... no, I was talking about a different one ... yeah, that one I finished.
In more ways than one, as the evidence on Rebecca Marie's navel shows.
Matthew Werner: Anyways, I should probably get going, leave you to your own devices.
EBR: Yeah sure.
Which truthfully, will probably only amount to another drink as he watches television and gets some reading done. He can do both simultaneously. It does take him a long time to finish a page, however.
Werner rises from his chair as EBR does the same, walking him over to the door. He's a gracious host.
EBR: I know I'll see you tomorrow when you're filming but I'm not sure how much time we'll have to talk, so if we don't thanks for doing this, man. Appreciate it.
Taken by surprise by the acknowledgement of his work, and even more so by the extended hand of EBR, he shakes it. Two professionals doing professional things.
EBR: By the way, now that you mentioned it ... did you ever watch that sex tape?
Matthew Werner: ... What? I know you, Rebecca ... Alex ... of course I didn't. Why would you even ask me that?
EBR: Just wondering if you had any thoughts.
Now partially curious about the physical appearance of EBR's genitalia Werner exits the room, leaving EBR alone. He walks back towards his old fashioned, and subsequently back towards the large pan window.
He continues to admire the lights.
Radiant.
July 20, 1:12 PM PDT
Matthew Werner: This is quite the outdoor patio ...
The lush vegetation ... the fire pit barbeque ... the acres upon acres of finely trimmed grass ... the marble stone paving he's currently residing on ...
The aura is majestic. For perhaps the first time in his life Matthew Werner understands what it means to be in the presence of someone who's larger in scope then your average man. A mythological figure, some would say.
EBR: You want some tea? It has Manuka honey in it!
A legend. Clearly.
Matthew Werner: Uh ... sure ...
He pours some for his biographer as they reside in EBR's outdoor gazebo, listening to the birds chirp as the sun beams down.
Matthew Werner: You just moved here?
EBR: Had it for years, just haven't really been around ...
He notices Matthew staring directly ahead. Specifically, the very large pool that occupies a vast majority of his backyard.
EBR: I told them I wanted an Olympic sized pool. They said it was unreasonable, so I just said do the best you can.
Matthew Werner: You're a swimmer?
EBR: Not really, no.
Matthew Werner: So why would you need an Olympic pool in your backyard?
EBR: Dunno ... I might decide I really want to get into swimming some day.
Some people just don't understand pool ownership. Matthew Werner is one of those people.
EBR: How was your flight?
Matthew Werner: Fine ... I appreciate you flying me out here, by the way ... first class wasn't necessary.
EBR: You were lugging that camera around for like a week. Just letting you know it was appreciated.
Matthew Werner: Have to admit that I was a little surprised that you actually responded to my call. I just assumed you were going to blow me off.
EBR: C'mon ... I always took care of you.
Matthew Werner: How’s that?
EBR: Who do you think got you all those announcing gigs?
Matthew Werner: I thought that was Alex?
EBR: Well ... I gave him your number. So, the documentary; how's that coming along?
Matthew Werner: Good. Really good. I was able to get the bulk of it filmed last week, and now we're mostly in the process of just putting everything together ... which is why I'm here.
EBR: Right, that interview.
Matthew Werner: Actually ... no. We interviewed a lot of people ... other wrestlers, promoters, sports historians ... and we're using them to tell the story, more so than you. I mean ... you've seen documentaries, I'm sure you get the narrative structure we're going for. But uh ... the reason I really wanted to meet with you is one of the people we talked to said something that was interesting ... and I want this to be as objective as possible and not just a fluff piece ...
bringing out of his phone ... and out of journalistic integrity I'd like to get a clarification ... or confirmation ...
After scrolling to the appropriate video, he hands it to EBR.
On the screen is a Hector Perez, former wrestling executive. The clip begins in the middle of an answer.
Hector Perez: ... When I think back on him my mind always go back to the whole "fencing" thing.
Matthew Werner's voice is heard off camera.
Matthew Werner: Fencing?
Hector Perez: This was back when there was a lot of blowback on him for how he was conducting himself in the ring, the stigma he was dealing with regarding how dirty he wrestled ... I don't know if it was an interview or if he brought it up, but more or less he was asked what his hobbies were. He said "fencing".
Matthew Werner: Really?
Perez shakes his head in disappointment, eliciting a chuckle which borderlines on disgust.
Hector Perez: You know what "fencing" is, right? When someone suffers a severe enough head injury ... extending his arms in front of his body, acting it out ... despite being knocked unconscious, your arms will stick up involuntarily. That’s the fencing response.
There’s a silence from behind the camera.
Hector Perez: That became some sort of mantra with him, back when he and DGX were running around together ... I mean, if you're interviewing people about him I'm sure you've heard references to their wagers?
Matthew Werner: I've heard ... rumblings ...
Hector Perez: I should preface this that it's all conjecture but ... supposedly... before matches they'd place bets on themselves.
Matthew Werner: On whether they'd win?
Hector Perez: Something like $5000 for a knock-out, $10,000 for an injury ... and allegedly $20,000 if their opponent doesn't compete again ... rumors are they actually had a ledger to keep track of it ...
The camera lingers on Perez for several seconds until the clip ends.
Hector Perez: ... When I think back on him my mind always go back to the whole "fencing" thing.
Matthew Werner's voice is heard off camera.
Matthew Werner: Fencing?
Hector Perez: This was back when there was a lot of blowback on him for how he was conducting himself in the ring, the stigma he was dealing with regarding how dirty he wrestled ... I don't know if it was an interview or if he brought it up, but more or less he was asked what his hobbies were. He said "fencing".
Matthew Werner: Really?
Perez shakes his head in disappointment, eliciting a chuckle which borderlines on disgust.
Hector Perez: You know what "fencing" is, right? When someone suffers a severe enough head injury ... extending his arms in front of his body, acting it out ... despite being knocked unconscious, your arms will stick up involuntarily. That’s the fencing response.
There’s a silence from behind the camera.
Hector Perez: That became some sort of mantra with him, back when he and DGX were running around together ... I mean, if you're interviewing people about him I'm sure you've heard references to their wagers?
Matthew Werner: I've heard ... rumblings ...
Hector Perez: I should preface this that it's all conjecture but ... supposedly... before matches they'd place bets on themselves.
Matthew Werner: On whether they'd win?
Hector Perez: Something like $5000 for a knock-out, $10,000 for an injury ... and allegedly $20,000 if their opponent doesn't compete again ... rumors are they actually had a ledger to keep track of it ...
The camera lingers on Perez for several seconds until the clip ends.
There's a temporary, some would say awkward, silence as EBR hands the phone back to Werner.
Matthew Werner: ... Comment?
EBR: Look, that was a long time ago. I don't know man, I couldn't really tell you.
Matthew Werner: Right, well -
EBR: The amounts. That's true though, yeah.
Nonchalantly he takes another sip of his tea. He loves that Manuka honey.
Matthew Werner: That's really all you have to say about -
EBR: I always won. Well ... there were a few times D got me. Even Michael Jordan missed a free throw, you know?
He feels that silent, judgemental stare he's grown accustomed to throughout his professional career.
EBR: Let's not bullsh*t one another, Matty. You've known me for what was it? Fifteen years? C'mon man ... you knew that was true before you even asked.
He was living the dream many moons ago. He was the Heavyweight Champion of the world. His name was synonymous with respect, admiration, and affection. He was the gold standard of his profession which, considering his goal was to always be just that, suited him fine. He had to settle for momentarily being the best in the world, due to the unfortunate technicality of the future not yet happening so he couldn't firmly cement his claim as the greatest of all time. In due time, he supposed. EBR; a name for the ages.
But alas, with great success comes great jealousy. A certain individual (some would argue "bitch") who loses the title to EBR feels the need to bring EBR down a notch or two (classic bitch behaviour), and sets out to embarrass him because as has been established, he certainly couldn't beat him. Yet, in a shocking display of turncoatism it works, and suddenly the once revered EBR is seen as a liar and a con-man. With that, the once proud EBR finds himself down on the canvas for the first time in ages (figuratively speaking, obviously), left to ponder just what this life lesson was.
Well f*ck them then.
He's EBR, and he's going to put up with this sh*t? Seriously? Gloves off. If y'all wanted to play dirty then f*ck it, let's get dirty. Y'all poked the bear just because he chose to be in the circus, and he happened to be riding a little car, with a little hat, and looked a little cute. He's still a bear.
With that, the real EBR was born. Even more grandiose. Even more imposing. Even more untouchable. People want to talk sh*t on him? Gun shot. People want to get in his way? Gun shot. People want to take what's his? Gun mother f*cking shot. He couldn't believe how much easier it was, or frankly, how much more fun it was. If people aren't going to adhere to respect than why should he? So he can play a different game with a different set of rules? So he can be one of those fools trying to do it the "right way", praying that one day they'll finally get an opportunity to have a meaningful moment in this company only to die of pancreatic cancer six months later?
Nah, don't think so. He'll be the one doing the killing. Sorry kids, it's a cold world out there. If his name won't be respected, it'll be something else. It'll be the eerie silence as the seas part as he walks backstage, like a character from a Spaghetti Western. It'll be the eye contact that's quickly diverted. It'll be the ACL in Vanessa McGurk's right knee tearing because hubby Wayne was too thick to get the message.
EBR; leading cause of workplace injuries after slips and falls.
EBR; reincarnation of the great Shao Kahn.
EBR; repeated five times in front of a mirror by children playing scary games at sleepovers.
Thus, EBR; man, myth, legend. Hallowed be thy name. The story of the WFWF could never be shared without the tall tales of his exploits, if it was even the WFWF's story at all and they weren't just a bit player in what would become his story. Having reached the mountain tops that were once deemed insurmountable, EBR firmly stood where he knew he would always stand, and with the sweet passage of time, could now call himself indeed, the greatest of all time. He had lived the dream.
After the dream you naturally wake up. If you're fortunate, at least.
EBR: ... You know that's the type of stuff that made me leave in the first place, right?
You know what no one talks about when you reach the mountain top? How you have to climb back down. How you see those mangled bodies. The bodies you've broken not out of necessity, but out of desire. The bodies you've gutted. The bodies you've stabbed in the back. The bodies that have both wounds, if they're the body of an Alex Sean. The slow descent you've always dreamed would be a victory lap gradually begins to morph into a scathing review of your past work right before your very eyes, every action and "accomplishment" carefully and painstakingly recreated and analyzed in a slow-motion, highly defined instant replay. Maybe the train fell off the rails at some point.
You continue downwards, following the trail of blood and broken bones with the lonely silence your only soundtrack. Hrm. You could have sworn there used to be music. Sooner or later that thought finally begins to creep in, even though you try your best to suppress it. That thought that makes you ask yourself whether this ride was really worth the price of admission. You sneer. Not at the accusatory tone you gave it, or even the indignity of being asked the question in the first place. You sneer because you know that if it isn't ... then what the f*ck did you just spend your whole life doing?
You just keep trekking on to the finish line because you pretty much have to at this point, at some juncture reaching the bottom and discovering there's no one left to greet you. And that's when it really hits you.
Just you. You, some discarded needles that were injected in your buttocks, and a few scattered shell casings littered on the ground for when you felt the need to pull the trigger. You just stand there, finally accepting that the hard part wasn't the decision to pull the trigger. It's realizing you're the piece of sh*t who'll pull it.
He often wonders what he even thought would happen once he finally left his perch. What was even the end game? To be the best? A man? A myth? A legend? Bitch, don't lie to yourself; you were just there for revenge. Pray tell, what did he think would happen once he got it? He'd storm the village, burn it to the ground with a vengeance, and then what? Stand over the ashes and make a sarcastic quip as a bald eagle swoops in to land on his shoulder while the credits roll? No. He just gets to stand there with scuffed shoes.
He gets to stand there like a f*cking clown. Like a f*cking a**hole. Like a f*cking f*ck. Like a f*cking EBR, because that’s what he is. A f*cking EBR.
You know that expression about looking in the mirror and not recognizing who you see? He knew exactly who he saw. That was the problem.
EBR: All the things you do ... it weighs on you, man. It starts off gradual, maybe a fleeting thought here or there and you just go on with your day. Then you start having them a little more, and suddenly those fleeting thoughts aren't so fleeting anymore and suddenly you're staying awake at night just a little bit longer than the night before. And eventually, man ... that's just you now. That's what your life is.
Matthew Werner: I don't really understand how someone who has that much of a conscience can ever let it get to that point.
EBR: Well yeah, you're not the type of person who's even capable of pulling the trigger.
Matthew Werner: It's not like your actions weren't being criticised. At no point did you think "hey, maybe they're right and I'm the bad guy here ..."?
EBR: It's hard to notice the difference between fame and infamy when they pay the same ... hell, I just didn't really care. The blood money looks fine when you're wearing rose colored glasses. But after while even that fades and then you just have to be alone with yourself and who you really are. Ain't no glasses for that, man.
As it were, just a great “pill and cocaine” guy.
EBR: When you're so singularly focused on a goal you don't care how you get there. Well ... at least I didn't. I was all about the destination, and I didn't care if I had to suck, f*ck, and swallow to hitch a ride. Just so we're clear by the way -
Matthew Werner: Yes, I understand it was a metaphor.
EBR: But once I reached that destination I found I had nowhere else to go. So I had to just turn and walk back. The way back it's ... not really as fun, you know? I had every accomplishment and milestone I ever wanted ... sh*t, every accomplishment and milestone period. But for what? For me? Well that sucks, cause now as it turns out it doesn't mean a whole lot in the end. Not to me, anyways. Ain't that some irony?
Even though he's still not entirely sure what the definition of irony is. It's certainly some bullsh*t, nevertheless.
EBR: So that's why I left the scene, so to speak. I didn't deserve it. Didn't want it. F*ck it. That wasn't what I wanted to be. I had to get out.
Matthew Werner: "The Poltergeist".
EBR: What's that?
Matthew Werner: Haunted by a past that you want to stay dead.
EBR: No, the metaphor was the whoring myself out in a car. You told me you understood, Matt? It's just ... you make movies, right? So imagine you're the guy who directed "Deer Hunter".
Matthew Werner: Michael Cimino?
EBR: Maybe, I don't remember his name. But you direct "Deer Hunter" and people love it, you win an Oscar, it's on all those lists of the greatest movies of all time. You're on the way to be considered one of the greatest at your crafts, but then you follow it up with that movie that becomes one of the biggest bombs of all time and your reputation is tarnished. That's how Wikipedia describes you in its very first paragraph.
Matthew Werner: I can understand all that. Just ... what I'm confused about is how you go from ... that, to just resurfacing in Japan only a year later?
Without words he directs his gaze, and by proxy Werner's attention, to the size of his very large house. It effectively makes his point for him.
EBR: What else am I gonna do, Matthew? Work at a paper company? There's no real world for someone like me. I’m stuck doing this gig. The only difference is where.
It was just an endless cycle between himself and the WFWF. He's played the game too many times to feign ignorance it would ever be any different. Something would happen, something would be said, something would come up and next thing he knows he's bludgeoning someone's skull like it’s muscle memory, wondering what the f*ck just happened to him and how he got there. No, he couldn't be there without deteriorating into that guy. You know that guy. A Phillip Schneider. A Michael Kyzer. A Drakz.
An EBR.
It didn’t take a marriage for him to understand the concept of divorce.
EBR: You go across the world you find suddenly your name doesn’t mean as much anymore. There’s no reputation that follows me or that I’m trying to chase. That’s what I needed ... just get away, do my job like I'm supposed to do it, and by relation do what I should have done many years before.
Matthew Werner: Which was?
EBR: Grow the f*ck up.
Over the years he let himself shovel sh*t on his own reputation and simply chose to begrudge the smell it left behind. He'd bat away the buzzing flies while the rancid smell would linger in the air and fill his nostrils, leaving him gasping for air while he tried not to choke on his defecation. His own desecration, really.
He really didn't use to be this pathetic.
He looked at that pile of sh*t with disgust it deserved. He knew eventually he would have to do the deed, regardless how inglorious of a task it seemed. He got down on his hands and knees in the pile of sh*t of his own creation and cleaned. Scrubbing until his finger nails were cracked, until his knees were bloody, until every corner and crevice was hit with a toothbrush, until every surface was bleached, and until he scorched the God damn Earth.
Until it was clean.
He picked himself up off the ground, wiped the sweat off his brow, and looked at what used to be a large pile of sh*t but was now what it used to be. What it was always supposed to be.
Spotless.
Pristine.
Immaculate.
EBR. That's what it it was. F*cking EBR.
EBR: Got to take responsibility some day, my brother.
Matthew Werner: Yeah ... plus for someone who's always taken things personally I guess it helps to not speak the language.
Instantaneously, Werner can feel the sharp glare directed towards him. He looks to apologize, but is met with a defeated shrug first.
EBR: Well ... you're not wrong.
Matthew Werner: I don't mean this as pointedly as it'll sound ... or maybe I do, but you really think leaving Japan is the best decision? A good decision for someone with your ... history? Your temperament?
EBR: I already made that decision ... so sh*t, I certainly hope so.
Matthew Werner: I don't know ... I guess the big elephant in the room for me at least is just why, after everything you've talked about and everything I've seen of you in the past week, you'd give all that up just to return to the WFWF? A place you've never treated with loyalty, or respect, or ... anything other than disdain?
EBR: Look I mean, I love Japan and all but at the end of the day ... I was just a tourist. That wasn't my home.
Matthew Werner: There has to be more to that than just some unfinished business, or amends you're looking to make ... right? I guess I just worry that after everything you've accomplished in the last several years, after everything you’ve done for yourself ...
EBR: ... Yes?
Matthew Werner: ... You're just going to find yourself just going down the same path as before.
It wasn't lost on him that it was less than five minutes into his homecoming eight years in the making for him to already get annoyed. As the scene is set and the band looks to play out comes Manchester Prep's valedictorian, complaining about losing the Vanguard Championship. He didn't even know what that was. He assumed a commemorative shield with a fancy emblem of some kind (maybe even a crest). Anna Ahriman proceeded to air her grievances, as if the world should stop because God forbid Anna Ahriman has a problem. Anna Ahriman, of all people. Because unbeknownst to him at the time, the WFWF also serves as a daycare to former color commentator's children.
Being as he was being greeted with what essentially amounted to a hero's welcome in his return he figured that sooner or later someone would physically remove Sammy's daughter from the premises and the show could continue as scheduled, but alas, it was not to be.
Instead he just stood in the back awkwardly, waiting for her to finish. Standing there like a f*cking dope. Like a f*cking clown.
This sh*t never would have happened back in the day. You think he would have stood for that? F*ck no. He knows exactly how he would have handled it and Anna Ahriman would have learned very quickly to tow the line and follow the natural order of things. If she needs a refresher she can ask her little friend Scarlett about her mom.
Anna Ahriman can cosplay as this company's savior until she's weak in the knees all she wants, but it doesn't change the reality that she's just a spoiled twat who's gotten into the game because of her father, a man whose career can best be described as “had one”. Whereas some build themselves up through hard work and talent, she got by on nepotism and a phone call. She takes immense pride in being the Jared Kushner of the WFWF.
It's insulting to watch some twenty year old appoint them self the gate keeper, masquerading as someone who knows the do's and don'ts of the business and to have the nerve to even imply that she knows best. Not because she’s done it mind you, and not even because she watched her father do it – but because she watched her daddy get slain by better men.
By men like EBR.
That’s solely where her insight into this crazy and violent world she willingly chooses to enter lies. That’s the reason she thinks she has some type of leg up on her contemporaries, as if watching someone else’s failure prevents the same from happening to her. She thinks that by watching the cow go through the slaughterhouse the calf escapes the same fate. No one ever told her what veal is.
But no ... go ahead, bitch. Please teach EBR. It's not like he was winning World Championships while she was still getting finger banged in the backs of cars.
It’s not even just her self-righteousness that rubs him the wrong way, it’s that he knows exactly who she is. She's the type of person who stabs Mesh in the back but doesn't even have the fallopian tubes to own up to it. Instead she puts herself in front of a camera and gives some weak "but it was for her benefit!" sh*t, delusional about her own behavior and somehow believing she's the good guy in this whole thing and not just a f*cking a**hole. Or a f*cking f*ck. Or a f*cking EBR from back in the day.
She wipes her sludgy, grimy mucus all over the business she claims to love. A parasite that’s too naive and ignorant and stupid to think she's anything but, watching from a distance with a sh*t-eating smirk as better men are forced to clean up the mess that her and her ilk leave behind. Once it's clean she just slides back in and repeats the process. It will always be filthy. The slugs will always make sure of that.
So f*ck Anna Ahriman. If she won't leave the ring he'll make her leave. If Sammy doesn't want to raise his kid to show respect he'll do it for him. Ain't no one beating kids this effectively since Joe Jackson. She can even bring Sakabato if she pleases. He encourages it. It's been years since he's engaged in his favorite hobby. Let them dance the water dance.
At least that's how he would have handled it. Nowadays he just shrugged. Anna Ahriman probably had some legit gripes. And in the end, aren't we all just trying to do the best we can? That reminds him, he should do some meditation later. He's got some mean yoga poses he's been looking to try out.
EBR: That's a fair point, Matt.
Matthew Werner: It was a concern, actually.
EBR: Whatever it may be ... look there was a time where you'd have been right and for various reasons I couldn't have been there ... but that's not that time anymore. Whether I've grown, matured, found what I'm looking for ... whatever description I can give myself to explain it, I know I can do better. When my career's over most people are going to remember it for my time being in the WFWF, you know? And what I want, not just for people who are remembering, not just for possible children who'll Google me, but specifically for me? Is to think back on my time there and be able to look at my accomplishments and career with a fondness that, quite frankly, is a little lacking at the present moment. "Unfinished business", "make amends" ... man, I'm just trying to do better. I'm too old to be staying awake at night.
Matthew Werner: It's funny ... the thought never crossed my mind that you weren't retiring. There was just such a feeling of ... finality to the whole thing. I guess I was just a little surprised that just a few days later you're already back in the WFWF. It wasn't how I pictured it going, is all. I'm not trying to dump on you or your decisions if it comes across that way ... I just really hope you thought this whole thing through.
The apprehension of Matthew Werner continues to linger, regardless of attempts to walk it back. EBR doesn't get offended. He doesn't do that anymore. He's a responsible, grown ass man who makes his own decisions and dictates his own future. All due respect to her, but he's worked far too hard to throw everything away because of someone like Anna Ahriman.
But you already knew that.
EBR: Yeah ... one week ago I stood in the middle of a ring and took three bows as the Tokyo Dome gave me a round of applause. That means something to me. That was how I left. You know how I used to leave the companies I worked for?
He takes the final sip of his tea.
EBR: By walking out the f*cking door. I prefer the former.
The sun continues to shine down as both men remain in a temporary silence. It's a beautiful day in Oakland. The birds are chirping.
But again, you already knew that.
EBR: Say, you want to get out of here and head out to Highlands? Hit some links?
Matthew Werner: I'm not much of a golfer, but sure.
EBR: I'll let you drive the little cart.
There's a courtesy chuckle elicited from Werner as EBR readies to get up, but is halted once he notices Werner's gaze is drawn back to the pool that takes up a large percentage of his field of vision. He's glad. It should draw eyes.
DGX paid a lot of money for it.
July 7, 12:04 AM JST
He finishes mixing himself his second, and final, old fashioned for the night. He'll have one final, celebratory toast before he packs it in and puts the finishing touches on his latest, and most successful, venture. Here's to you, Japan.
Placing the glass on the nearby night stand he props himself on the bed, Baz Luhrmann's The Great Gatsby continuing to play on the hotel television. It was the only thing he could find in English. He really wishes he had picked up a better handle on this country's language.
In an instant it all flicks away. The television is black, the room is black, and the adjacent building's lights which previously shone through his balcony's window are gone.
... Hrm.
Well, he hopes everything works out for that Gatsby fellow. He assumes it does. Things usually turn out okay for those grandiose types.
Once his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness does he pick himself off the bed, walking towards the room's balcony. He steps outside, greeted to a calming cool breeze. Looking down he catches the only occasional glimpses of light as cars pass on the streets below, their headlights not nearly strong enough to create any type of visual.
It's just him, alone, surrounded by the proverbial shadows. He closes his eyes. It's a meaningless gesture and he feels silly even doing it. When he opens them it's what he thought it would be. It's the same.
He takes a nice deep breath. The air is so much better here. It's always better at night. It's soothing. It's tranquil. He gets hit with another gust of wind. It's pacifying.
What's he doing, anyways? He's going to sleep? Really? His last night is going to be spent in a hotel room? A hotel room that doesn't even have power? He should get out. Make it a night to remember. There's probably power somewhere. F*ck it. He doesn't need power to have a good time. His presence is the good time. He's the Poltergeist, baby. This land has embraced him. It's time he returns the favor. Let them all share the true EBR experience. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
Or does he want the story of his last night in the Land of the Rising Sun to be how he went to bed on time?
That's what a p*ssy would do. He's not a p*ssy. He always prided himself on being a man, and yet he stands out here in the cooling embrace of night understanding that he's not even that. He's surpassed that through his own hard work. He's the one thing above a man. The same thing he used to be so many, many years ago.
That's how his saga should end. That's the way it was always supposed to end. The nearest car finally drives out of sight. He's engulfed in total darkness, and only now does he see how this entire saga should end. So beautifully poetic.
A smirk spreads across his face. No one can see it. But it's there.
He's startled by the sudden bursts of lights which hit him from all directions. Momentarily blinded he looks down to shield himself, gathering himself before he looks back up at the lights which shine through the various buildings from each side. Most noticeably, he can feel the light from his own room behind him.
He takes a brief sigh before he turns around and heads right back into his room.
Tomorrow's a big day.
He should get those eight hours of sleep.
