| Moments | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 27 2016, 01:11 PM (21 Views) | |
| Haven | Jun 27 2016, 01:11 PM Post #1 |
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EWA CEO, Majority Owner
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“so now I am owed this one self indulgent tirade a hollow attempt to to sell my point of view yeah I know what’s rotting beneath your best intentions at the heart of your convictions sits a broken man that needs to understand I am owed this now” ![]() June 25th, 2016 Buffalo, NY 8:45 PM The sun was starting to set as evening began to fade into night, turning the sky a bright shade of pink as it progressed. The summer air was warm, but comfortable, even wearing this damn suit. He took a swig of the bottle he clutched in his right hand, which had been full of Jack Daniels hours earlier. It was time to go. No, not yet. A few more minutes. Another smoke. Finish the bottle. Not like it’s going to change anything. Alexander Haven sat in the middle of a wide sprawling cemetery on the fringe of the city of Buffalo, NY. Row after row of gravestones sprawled across the surrounding areas, some the sight of burials long ago, and others home to the more recently deceased. The city skyline was visible in the distance, but he was alone in the immediate vicinity. His back and head rested against the back of a moderately sized gravestone that appeared to be a fresh addition to the area. The dirt in front was still moist, having been watered and covered with grass seed following the service by the cemetery caretakers. He took another sip from the bottle, and set it down on the ground next to him. From his suit jacket, now adorned in grass stains and dirt, he produced a joint from one pocket and an old zippo lighter from the other. Lighting it, he exhaled slowly before he began to speak. “You’ll have to excuse me, Grady, if I ramble a bit here...and if I slur my words, because as you can see...I’ve been drinking. I've been waiting months to unleash a verbal tirade upon you in the grandest of fashions. I've been looking forward to that moment, man. Building it up in my mind, piece by piece, exactly how it was going to go down. You ever do that, Grady? Imagine a moment, time and time again, until eventually it becomes so big that you literally build your life around reaching that goal? Having that moment. Even if it's a brief second in time, they can never take that feeling of accomplishment away from you. It's yours. You own it. I've had a few of those moments in my life, Grady. The day I turned down a full scholarship to play football at Syracuse University to chase my dream of becoming a wrestler, my father told me not to come home when I failed. That I was a disgrace to the family and that I should be grateful for the opportunities I had been given. Opportunities for a broken down old man to live his dreams through me. Opportunities to mortgage my future all in the name of a man who felt I owed it to him because he fed and clothed me for the first eighteen years of my life. A life that he created, and therefore should have the right to control like a puppet. You and I both know I don't do very well with authority, Grady. My father told me not to come home when I failed. He never said what to do if I succeeded. And so I waited. Over fifteen fucking years I waited. I became a success in spite of him. I didn't speak to my mother or my father for over fifteen years, Grady. Still haven't, I guess. I have no problem carrying a grudge around. Only makes me stronger. But in that time, that moment, Grady...that moment I was owed became everything to me. That moment when my father finally swallowed his pride and came to me like a man to say “I was wrong”... I built my life around reaching that moment. Around what that moment would feel like. How good it would feel to shove it down his throat that he was wrong about me all those years. The quest for that moment was my ultimate goal, Grady. It fueled my very being. While you do what you do to find acceptance in the form of millions of strangers rather than your own family, every bump, bruise, and broken bone I have ever endured has been done in an attempt to gain the admiration and acceptance of one man. And now I'll never get it. Because this gravestone, Grady? It’s my father’s. Buried him who knows how many fucking hours ago, now. All I know is that it was almost exactly one bottle of Jack ago, and Kage told me to call him for a ride when I was ready to go home. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. Pretty sad state of affairs when your sobriety lifeline is Chris Kage, huh? In his last big 'fuck you' to his son, my dad dropped dead on Monday. On my fucking birthday. You would have liked him. Really knew how to ruin things for his children. I’m sorry, Grady - I know I’m rambling. I’m not one of those drunks who gets angry, or likes to fight. I can hold my liquor just fine. I just like to tell the truth, and I get talkative. Normally, I’d try to dress up my words a little bit. Pepper some vocabulary in here and there to let you know I'm not like the rest of these idiots. Hell, even Kage is making use of his thesaurus lately. It’s really something to see. This time, Grady, there’s not going to be any cute skits with puppies or any YouthTube shenanigans, because I don’t have the patience for any of that this week. No one-liners, no dick jokes, no bullshit. In another world, we would have had a grand old time. Maybe shot a short film starring Martin as you in The Grady Smith Story. A true heartwarming tale about how one man time and time again used his power and influence to hold younger generations down! You know, I saw my mom at the funeral, Grady. Can’t say I spoke to her, because apparently she still blames me for not repairing the relationship with my father. For not swallowing MY pride, and being the bigger man? Tell me, Grady. You're a father, allegedly. Why are the children always left to repair the relationships their parents ruined? It’s really something else. Two people get together and do their best to mess you up as a human being, and then blame YOU for it when everything goes wrong. No wonder Marty and I get along so well. He’s a good kid, Grady. A really good kid. You should be proud. No, really. You should be playing the role of the proud father happy to support his kid - the next generation of this sport - in his quest for glory. You should be front row at every show with that wife of yours, cheering your ass off for your boy. Hell, even a luxury box would be fine, if you can't stomach kicking it with the common man. But instead you’re here picking fights with me, in a desperate attempt to get yourself back into the spotlight instead of supporting your son. And for what reason do you feel you must involve yourself in my affairs? For what reason exactly am I such a terrible human being and all around bad influence? Because I had the audacity to take a rookie under my wing. A rookie who was desperately looking for guidance. A rookie whose talents had brought him to the big time before he truly had a chance to grasp the business. A rookie who needed a friend...because his own father was too damn self-absorbed to give his kid a proper education in the sport. No, not wrestling holds, Grady. We all know you did well to train him in his wrestling ability. But what about everything else that goes into breeding a champion? Sure, you accomplished a great deal in this sport because of your physical ability...but you played the games better than anyone. You navigated these shark infested waters with contractual clauses, lawyers, and power struggles like no other man in history before you. Hell, you wrote the book. Can you imagine that? The son of Grady Smith, the most decorated wrestler to ever set foot in this circuit, not knowing his head from his ass when he walked into this locker room. Who to trust. Who to ignore. How to deal with management. Merchandising rights. Jesus christ, Grady, it's like you didn't want the kid to succeed at all. No wonder he didn’t tell anyone he was your son. The EWA was gonna eat him alive, Grady. You saw how things started out...and, well… I couldn’t let him drown like that. Once upon a time, Grady, I was that kid. Only I didn’t have the benefit of a famous father and some of the best wrestling DNA around to get my foot into the door. None the less, I arrived in Albany like a freight train - all talent, and no intelligence. I didn’t know my way around a locker room either, Grady, because I’d never had the benefit of a veteran taking me under his wing. One chance meeting in a hallway later, it became painfully clear that veteran wouldn’t be you. That’s the day I met Grady Smith. The REAL Grady Smith. Not 'The Paragon of Virtue'...a hilariously ironic name for one of the most notoriously volatile men to deal with in our industry. Not 'The Rock'...who the fuck thought that nickname would ever get over? No, not the man behind all seven hundred and twelve awful nicknames... No, I met the actual Grady Smith. Marty talks about confusion, Grady. About how his dad was always on the phone from Whogivesafuck, Pennsylvania, telling him to say his prayers, eat his vitamins, and play fair and everything else in life would fall into place. Success would come naturally. But when he saw you on TV, or 'Daddy Time' as he called it, since it was the only time he actually got to see you...he saw a different man. A man who did not display those same virtues he preached week after week to his son when the lights and cameras were on. You want to blame me for corrupting your precious child, Grady? For turning him against you, and for teaching him the ways of this business. How to make it through a career without getting fucked over by the likes of promoters and...well...people like you. Maybe Martin was already broken when he came to me, Grady. Maybe I fixed him. Look at your boy now, Grady. Longest reigning Network Champion of all time. Defending the title left and right against all comers. Winning WITHOUT my, or anyone else’s help. Sure seems like someone who needs saving, doesn't it? So how about a thank you, huh? How about an invitation to dinner with Jeanette or whatever the fuck your wife's name is? Does she like you anymore than your kid does? No, instead, I get you...back in my life, once again, trying to hold Marty and I down from reaching new heights in this business. Trying to shove the younger generations out of the spotlight, just old times. Just like Grady Smith. You really are a piece of work.” Another joint is produced from the pocket of the jacket, and the Zippo lighter springs to life once again. As he inhales, Haven pulls a small rolled up eight by eleven piece of paper from his jacket. Reaching for the bottle, he takes a sip, finds it empty, and throws it over his head where it shatters against a gravestone. “Honestly, Grady - ask yourself what your motivation is in returning to this ring nearly a decade after you retired in that shit federation the NWF. Ask yourself honestly. Are you here to repair a fractured relationship with your son, or are you here because you just can’t stand the thought of the wrestling world existing without you standing in it’s biggest spotlight?” Haven holds up the piece of paper, and unfurls it. The image is grainy, and difficult to read...almost as if it was created in 1999 Microsoft Paint. Oh wait, it probably was. ![]() “Feast your eyes on this, Grady. It’s a poster I had on my wall back in my parents house. I know, not very impressive, but we had a shitty color printer and not a lot of money, so...you make do. I found it on my wall this week, when I went to clean out my room at my parent’s house. Still looks like it did in 1998. It’s hard to read, so let me spell it out for you. 'Wanted: Dead or Alive'...and sadly, you’re still with us, unlike my selfish prick of a father. And that’s you, isn’t it, Grady, in that awful photo? Although, younger...and much more pixelated. It says…'For the perpetration of such vile acts that have prohibited the development of younger wrestling talent in the wrestling industry from ever obtaining a level of excellence that Grady Smith has achieved.' First of all, you need a marketing team...because this is an honest to god official piece of Grady Smith merchandise. Is that one sentence? Is English your first language, or do you only speak Asshole? Ironically, it may also be the most truthful statement you’ve ever made about yourself. In a way, Grady, I guess I should be thanking you. I did a lot of soul searching after I left the business. After I was ready to have my run on top back in New York, and you came waltzing back in because you missed the feeling of your nuts slapping against Corey Collins’ chin. With a fancy new contract stipulation...what did Corey call it, again? Oh, a 'contractually obligated title reign.' I call it the “Fuck Alexander Haven Right In His Stupid Ass Clause”...but I guess that's not as catchy. 'We’ll make it up to you in the future.' 'Alex, I really need you to play ball on this one…' 'It’s for the best. They’ll be other opportunities.' It was best for one person, and one person only. Moments. That moment when you were supposed to pass the torch to me...when you were supposed to do the right thing for this business and think of somebody other than yourself for once in your goddamn life...that’s a moment I’ll never get back. That’s who you are, Grady. Tigers don't change their stripes. You take other people's moments, and you collect them. All those title reigns. All those crowds. All that adoration. You're too insecure and addicted to the limelight to even be sustained by the memories of all your accomplishments. No, not you, Grady. You need more. Does it help replace the moments you missed in your child’s life? The first time he walked. The first word he said. His first home run in little league. His first date. Prom. High school graduation. All those times he needed you to be there for him. All those times he needed your advice, and you were on the road wrestling yet another match so he could have an extra pair of $200 sneakers. Those Jordans didn’t teach him how to be a man, Grady. Only the attention of a father can do that. Maybe Grady Smith has spent his whole life collecting moments that, as it turns out...didn’t matter all that much to him, at the end of the day, when the spotlights went off. Maybe now he’s too afraid to let them go, because it represents his failure. Maybe this is his last ditch effort to create a relationship with his son. I know one thing for sure, Grady. For me, this isn’t about Martin. For me...this is about you, and you alone. You took that moment from me, all those years ago in New York. I’m not waiting to collect my debts anymore. This old bastard, my father, got out of this life without ever having to face the music for what he’d done. Without ever having to be accountable for his actions and the effect they had on his only son’s life. Without ever having to look me in the eyes and admit that he was wrong. You, Grady...you still have a chance to make it up to your son. To give him his moment. Maybe I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to the Smith family. Bringing people together. I seem to have a knack for that, don’t I? But what about my moment, Grady? What about my happy ending with my father? That moment is gone. If I’ve learned one thing from this all, is that you shouldn’t wait for life to give you the moments you deserve. You’ve gotta take those moments for yourself. You, of all people, certainly can appreciate that attitude, right? I’m taking what I'm owed from now on, one way or another....and you owe me a whole lot, old man. Blame me for Martin, if you’d like. It’s always easiest to blame others for your own shortcomings and failures. Look out for yourself first, right? We learned it from you, Grady, only we built a family around it. A real family. The family we deserve.” |
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10:51 AM Jul 11