Post by Mike Musket on Jul 6, 2018 20:12:16 GMT -5
Mike stands with the MAX Heavyweight Championship around his waist... he raises the J1 SUMMIT trophy into the air...
... the fans cheer his name...
... and it all dissolves away.
Mike wakes up from his cot. He is sweatier than a hog on the doorstep of a slaughterhouse. It is nighttime and the campfire is still going strong through the night.
“Damn dreamin’ again.”
Crazy Dog wakes up and pads over. Mike pats him on his head.
“Hey there, boy. Didn’t mean to startle ya. I just been thinking bout the good ole days…”
Mike laughs.
“We been livin here on Fuji Mountain for bout a year now. I damn barely trekked outta the Rocky Mountains ‘fore hopping a freighter to Japan. A man’s gotta take stock in his life sometimes…”
Mike puts on his suspenders and sits on a tree stump. He looks into the fire.
“We started big, Crazy Dog. J1 Summit and the big ole gold belt. But lately here sumthin changed. Don’t feel right.”
Shadows of the campfire dance upon his bright bearded face.
“But I got the remedy.”
He looks down at his hands, thick workin man’s hands.
“When the bossman asked me if I wanted to wrestle all sport-like, I gave him a ‘hell yeah!’ And you know why, Crazy Dog? Cause to get back on track, a man’s gotta feel it in his hands. He gotta feel the push and pull of his opponent, he gotta get that sense when the hook is gonna open up, and then them hands gotta have the gusto to crank that bad boy hellfire-like for the tapout!”
He laughs as he gets excited.
“But see here, Crazy Dog, this ain’t gonna be no sprint. No sir, we gotta marathon. I mean I got lil Matt Pulver – he’s a goddamn jiu-jitsu spider monkey if ya ask me. And then we get big fella comin down the road. Son, they just call him Mountain and I tell ya what, he could win a damn game of charades. Sumbitch bigger than a country manor.”
His face becomes serious again as he stands before the campfire.
“Pulver’s got me on speed. Mountain’s got me on size. But what do I got?”
He looks down again at his open hands.
“I got these damn hands.”
He leaps onto a nearby rock.
“I got more hooks than a pirate convention, I can sweep an opponent’s leg faster than the fastest broom, I can slither outta every hold like a snake dipped in oil, and after it’s done… these hands…”
He gives ‘em that Big Ole Country smirk.
“These hands gonna raise that trophy to the sky.”
He jumps down from the rock and sits in front of the fire.
“Yeah, I been thinking bout the good ole days…”
He pats Crazy Dog on the head and looks up into the nightsky.
“And they ain’t shown no signs of stoppin’.”