Post by Seth Iser on Nov 22, 2015 22:53:12 GMT -6
We as human beings as we live our lives are going to endure suffering on some level. It’s the fact of life itself that this inevitable event happens at one point or another. There is some sort of hardship that either helps shape or challenges the very fibers that make us who we are as people. You can never truly predict when said hardships and suffering can come about...but there is always something to be said about those who go through it all with dignity...and emerge through it stronger than ever on one facet or another...without paying too heavy of a long term price.
The fact of the matter is...with the suffering that I’ve both endured and put myself through...whether I mean to or not...I really should be worm food. The same kind of worm food of the same wrestler who told me with a hint of glee that I’d never amount to anything in the industry...because I’ve done and said some equally grimy things to cause people an inhumane amount of pain. There are very few people that can honestly say that they’ve survived being shot at, the abuse from my parents and the horrendous pain of detox thanks to how deep I was in the drugs.
And much of that...I hid through a mask.
No, not the physical kind that I used to wear or the one that Ace himself has begun to wear. With what we teach kids in society today...they always tell us one thing...let the people you’re supposed to trust know that something is wrong. Then a good percentage of those said people end up demonizing you for having the temerity to take that advice. It needs to be noted that there is a distinction that some people still believe in the novel concept of keeping to their word and actually giving a damn.
Many of times they are the same people that yell about what Jesus would do and then turn a blind eye to refugees in a crisis their sorry war hawking asses helped fuel due to tribalistic beliefs. Even as we close in on ending the chapter of this year...we’ve often fallen subject to the same traps throughout history because of what is in our DNA. It’s also become our DNA, unfortunately to not only be tribalistic toward disagreement and the other...but to retreat into one of the most dangerous things imaginable...that mask.
The mental mask that tells everyone...that you’re fine when you know deep down in your very soul it’s a damn lie. You honestly want everybody on the outside to believe it because people are often ostracized if things aren’t fine. Told to move on...get over it. In the era where we have more data than ever before that it's the most unhealthy thing to tell someone...subconsciously we do it. And it scares me that if I ever do it...my daughter will turn out...like me.
Like Ace…
It’s so different when actions you and people around you take...don’t just affect you even right away. Even I’ve fallen into the trap...especially in my younger years, of not seeing how everything I do can chain an events spawned by other people that could be damning to the very things I care about the most. And there’s no doubt stepping into the ring with a man who is as desperate as Ace is as dangerous of an endeavor as any in our industry. The desperate are the ones...who have in their mind nothing to lose...and will tear away at anything for themselves. I was once like that...I know how to prepare for that...but the most jarring thing here...is that I helped create this situation. My legacy...helped create this situation because...I’ve done the exact same things...Ace is starting to do...to make a mark...and not caring who or what is affected by it.
This...is my fault. And mine alone.
For many years...even as I preached what representing this wonderful sport means...here I am seeing people make the same mistakes I have. The World Champion is someone who reminds me of chunks of my older self...for a different reason...to Ace who is reflecting the WORST aspects of myself. Especially the not caring who he hurts. He’s got the pressure of being in a wrestling family...while I tried to escape mine...yet at that point of our careers...we reached the same conclusion. And that’s mask those feelings...until it becomes that sickening fuel that creates cruelty.
The kind of cruelty that made me, the last time we were here in England, DDT Matt Slater on the floor and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him just because I let my own envy get the best of me.
Hell, it’s the kind of cruelty that made me the most...infamous in England in particular. The people that are gob smacked at what Seifer has done to Robinson have thankfully either got short memories or have blocked some of the heinous things I have done to people, especially in England. The kind of things that create the stigma...the legacy that I have in the industry. The kind of legacy...that not only has me loathed by many of the fans...but desperate or even sick people...wanting to emulate that kind of success when it’s a path that should have killed me.
People like Ace...
The thing is...similar to the vague promises of many politicians...people are very sick of words, too. What to be told things will be done...in as vague of way as possible and when put into action...the status quo often prevails. Fortunately for me...even if I’ve worn a ton of suits in my life the last couple of years...I’m not in the political field...I’m a professional wrestler...and there’s things that can be done with my actions.
For me...in this event here in England...as much as I’m dreading it in some respects because of the vulgar abuse that is going to be hurled in my direction for the things I’ve done...I can teach a lesson to both my daughter...and my opponent Ace in one fell swoop. It’s a simple one too. You can have the world...the greatest platforms in the world...but no matter how much you accomplish...it’s our actions that define us.
And I know for a fact when I harped on Ace a couple weeks ago about respect in the industry...not a damn word got through to him. He’s no different than I was...he thinks he knows everything and that his way is right. Ego and our industry go together...and while he’s good...the problem is he knows he’s good...but when he found out he isn’t as good as he thought he was. On this path he went. But...now’s the time to show him...the path he’s going down...is going to bring him nothing but pain to everything and everyone. As well as hard feelings from others. It’s misery.
And in the true form...of The School of Tradition...for the disrespect toward his own father for how he treats the industry...toward me with that damned mask and bringing in outsiders the way he does...he knows what he’ll go through. And with everything I’ve gone through especially in England...I guess it’s fitting that I have to sway someone to not go into my path.
...by kicking his ass all over the Motorpoint Arena.
It is almost impossible for me to find refuge in the United Kingdom at times...but England is by far the worst of the four ‘Kingdoms’ for me. You can’t go to the more rural areas without the threat of your rental vehicle getting annihilated in your best case scenario. Then there’s the urbanized areas where people have less to lose if they pick a fight with you. It isn’t so much worrying about guns like you would back in the States...but it’s stabbings that are the problem here. If England had the gun ‘laws’ there were back in America...I’d be swiss cheese with the stale smell of gunpowder.
Even now to those that may vaguely recognize me...I feel the death glares and their desire to do something about it. It’s the kind of hatred that can melt another human being.
London isn’t that big of a drive away to get to Sheffield so I’m crashing in the capital of the country for the time being. The busy streets have their own atmosphere even if the driving patterns are...backwards compared to back home. It’s even letting down a couple of raindrops mixed with a touch of snow from the weather but what else is new in England? The people are rushing around busy in this urban metropolis and it’s much easier to blend in here...than a smaller place. With a moment to myself I just let out a sigh as I lean against a building wall, reaching calmly into the left pocket of my grey hoodie and pull out a paper that I’ve probably read three or four times...reminding myself what I’ve gotten myself into.
“You and anyone associated with you shall die…” I read out loud though the spelling isn’t exactly perfect with a disgruntled sigh, “Including Allison, your precious little daughter. Love how he misspelled my daughter’s name and precious. Classic. The sad part is I think this was the best spelled and most nuanced threat letter I’ve gotten since my return to the United Kingdom.”
Oh yes...I don’t think the word ‘precious’ goes without a ‘c’ and my daughter doesn’t have that many ‘l’s in her name...but I am not surprised that I’d get those threats here in England once word got around that I’d be wrestling here on Pay Per View. Against an English native no less too in Ace. Talk about feeding a Christian to the Lions in ancient Rome, right? I just put that paper back into my hoodie pocket and just offer up another shake of the head. But it’s fate I suppose. Everything you do does come back to you in one form or another.
“When the hell are you going to stop beating yourself up about that shit?” Moretti’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
The no longer sick Vincent Moretti has his skin tone back with his silver hair slicked back as he wields an umbrella over his head to shield himself from the precipitation that perpetually falls in this country. The silver suit wearing Moretti just looks at me with a ton of concern, completely ignoring any potential strangers and women. I’d almost equate this for him trying to go back to Russia after the damned mobsters got to him. Though in both of our cases...I guess it was cruelly deserved considering some of the things he’s done and that I’ve HELPED him do.
“The day I die,” I finally answer his question with no real emotion behind it.
“For fuck’s sake, Seth. Sometimes people just need to learn when to move on with things in their lives. We both know that!” Vincent replies with his eyes twitching in agitation.
“You and I both know that some people aren’t capable of that. Nor should they be if they experienced certain traumas. It’s in the nature of human beings to be that way. As much as I want to accept my fate in that regard...it ain’t right that my fate would harm her and her growth,” I let out a sigh.
“Security is ridiculously high after that attack in France…” Vincent points out.
“They won’t be for their own people because they’re their own culture...not a supposed ‘outsider’...” I shake my head in disgust, “Welcome to human nature, Vincent. It isn’t so much fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?”
Vincent just looks at me with a snarl of his own while I just offer a semblance of a smirk...not of arrogance but knowing…and accepting some aspects of this fate anyhow. I unzip the hoodie a little from the heat, exposing the plain black t-shirt underneath as I put my hands in my black jean pockets. In the course of our conversation I know a couple of people recognize the same rasp that I’ve had my entire life. In fact...there’s a gentleman that has seen some milage on his face turn right toward us...and giving us that death glare. The death glare...that I’ve often received ever since my run of incidents in a particular company based in England.
“You bastard…” he glares coldly at me, “How can you live with yourself?”
“It involves breathing and…uh...” Moretti interjects, “And this whole thing about enjoying a long career to this point?”
“You’re just as guilty for enabling him to do those things…” he fires back at Vincent.
...It’s not often when someone uses one of my own well known words of attack to bring in the light of truth against me. I just glance at Vincent for a second and he looks offended that he was both confronted and spoken to in that tone. Before he can further put his foot in his mouth on my behalf I just step in front of Moretti and am just a few inches from this...well gentleman who isn’t exactly engaging in gentleman like behavior. He has a heavy top hat on with a black suit...it’s very...retro in combination with that white mustache...but the biggest thing I notice of all is those piercing blue eyes of his. I swear I’ve seen him before...but the scars just kind of...put things off for a minute.
“Think of me what you will...and on many levels, it’s justified. But you act out on this...you’re no different than I am…” I calmly reply.
“I’m far more different than a monster like you,” he snaps back.
“The biggest monsters are human beings, sir. No different than you or I...or my friend here. With all due respect…” I answer, keeping my composure, “Who else but human beings on this planet kill just for the sheer joy of it? Who else but creatures like you and me engage in superiority contests over a deity that may not exist and end up killing in the name of said things? Who else...thinks of different ways to torture something than us?”
I can tell this conversation isn’t going to dissuade any of the hatred this man has toward me but just this momentary pause...after the heat of the emotion is let out...just gave him food for thought. His face softens just that slightest little bit...but my paranoia is ready for any incident. It’s gone down that road many times...a gun in the States...a knife here. I just warily see him reach his hand back before he just shakes his head.
“No…I am different than those type of people.” he shakes his head, “As much as I’d like to see your neck snap...I’d rather you live with the shame of every foul and heinous action.”
I just uneasily eyeball him as he calmly lowers his guard and finally takes that step backward. I don’t ease up at all as long as he’s glaring at me and that’s bringing more...unwanted attention. He said his piece...but it looks like after he finally turns around now...that’s all he wanted to accomplish. Moretti lets out a sigh of relief...even if he has his fascination for violent encounters...it’s never good to get into a big one before an important event. Or in my case...a very important confrontation.
Moretti looks over in my direction and I just give him a nonverbal shake of the head. The two of us start walking down the street looking at the metro buildings...trying to get our minds off of that little confrontation. But...the hell of it is...I know he’s right in a way. I guess he’s hoping I’m paying the piper against a hungry kid and his fellow countryman who seems hell bent on repeating the mistakes I have. As well as him trying to stoke some fires.
“Let’s stop here…” Moretti points.
“Hm…” I blink before looking up, “Oh…”
Thankfully we aren’t stopping near any churches at the moment...the last thing I need is another trigger to some sort of past incident...though of all the places Vincent pulled me aside at...a damn Starbucks? I guess a Moretti with a little caffeine is significantly better than one with...a bunch of liquor but...the last time I stopped in one was just before I wrestled the first time without a mask...and then subsequently spiked Ryan Omega not once but twice in the course of our match with the now banned Black Magic Tombstone Piledriver. No wonder the two of us haven’t seen eye to eye since. That probably shortened his wrestling career further.
But again...no sense in hiding on things that have been done.
“Seth.” Vincent yells at me finally.
“Yeah...sure…” I reply cautiously.
The two of us glance up at this building, as tall as all the others, and not overly busy despite the hour here in the United Kingdom. With how my mind has been racing of late...I barge in absentmindedly...leaving Moretti to get the order and take a seat at an empty table, absorbing some of the curious glances for my nonchalant entrance. The more I thought about how large my influence roams...the more I think of not just Ace and what he’s done to the mask...but Casanova English as well. In different ways. Ace has threatened to take me to the darkness...but he doesn’t want any part of that pain.
Nobody does.
And the current and two time world heavyweight champion with how he just has the inate ability...to get under the skin of anyone...with his own message of what he proclaims as the truth. Just...like I did. What the hell have I done to this industry? I just sit at the table...letting out a sigh...knowing that my own words...that man’s words...and many other doubts...just ring true right now. And...I have to take the brunt of it.
“You SON OF A BITCH!” I hear an old lady shriek.
As soon as I look up, from deep in my thoughts, there’s a purse being swung at my cranium. Fortunately...all those years of fights and playing football have taught me to have quick hands so they go up quickly to intercept the purse...and as soon as I turn around...for the second time in just the span of a half of an hour...another angry person confronting me. And this one has already turned physical as after the blocked purse shot, she tries swinging with her free hand and I just absorb the blow with my jaw...my head turning but not feeling any pain from it.
“You broke that kid’s neck years ago with that chair shot! You ruined his life! You deserve to die for your sins toward life itself!” she shrieks.
She ends up throwing a second, more wild punch that just breezes past my hair as I finally stand up and tower over this woman. A couple of employees start sprinting as I let go of the purse and she throws a third wild swing which I calmly just move my head back and avoid entirely. The woman dressed in a green turtleneck and long pants is cursing and spitting at me. And as I look into her burning blue eyes of hatred...as those words sink in...and I just freeze.
I remember that day now.
That day whenever I’m reminded...images just flash through my eyes in slow motion. I remember that smokey arena...with a handful of these fans...not knowing entirely who I was. You hit a kid with a chair in my first night in a certain promotion in England...and he falls off the ladder. You made your statement with that. Nothing more...nothing less. I remember the chair shot too. It echoed in my brain like a gunshot...as I cracked him right across the back with that chair flush. And as he let go of the ladder and begins to flail...I smirk knowing I did my deed at the time.
Just...he falls...and falls...and lands on his neck.
I’ve forgotten many things in my life...and I hoped I would forget this one...but I remember exactly how he landed...how I heard the bones in his neck...and his head just break slowly and graphically. He let out a twitch on the mat...and I still remember the murmurs from the audience as I took my leave. And when they figured out...that he wasn’t going to get up...ever again from that blow...the boos and the debris started to fly. And it was all...directed at me.
With one move...I went from not being known at all in this country...to easily one of the most hated men...all because of an accident.
It doesn’t make anybody feel any better knowing that things like that...could happen anytime...but the fact that it did...everyone points the finger at me. It’s the popular thing to do. They forget the fact that said young man was also performing under the influence of many drugs...but things are what they are...and I truly feel horrible about that incident as well. Sweat just dumps through my body...as I’m suppressing the panic as best as I can. A few deep breaths...and it barely takes the edge off of this. Then I see Moretti...and he locks eyes with me as he’s got drinks in his hands...and he’s bugged out. And then I just remember...my daughter...and both why I can’t bring her here...and why I’ve agreed to take matches on this tour.
To face everything...I’ve created.
“Dude...what the fuck?” he finally asks.
“...Damn it…” I slowly breathe out.
Vincent ends up sprinting over with both drinks in a panic...somehow not spilling either of them. He’s bugged out as I let out a couple more breaths...my hands shaking from the anxiety...the fear...the panic as my system is bugging out. The bottle of water in Moretti’s hands I snatch as I franticly dump some of the cold water over my head and take a huge gulp of it before letting out a couple more breaths...trying to regain composure.
“What the hell happened? That lady spook you?” he raises an eyebrow.
“The very real demons...I have to face in this country...all at once…” I breathe heavily, “Bit...by bit...by god damned bit. And as much...as I’m sure some people would like me to cave…”
Vincent just looks at me as I take another deep breath...in this pubic store...and there’s no way I haven’t gotten a few odd looks but because of my six foot five height...I’ve largely been left alone other than...those who know my history anyhow…
“I won’t...and I can’t.” I reply with every bit of grit, “I know Ace wants me to crack...to snap at those demons...and as every bit as tempting...as it is to just go back to that...I won’t. Not for my daughter...and I’m going to get through...every negative experience I’ve ever had in England...by kicking his damned ass all over the place…”
“At least...you’re focused on that…” Vincent glares at me.
I finally just weakly fall back into my seat...that experience draining my energy for the moment...and I need the rest after that traumatic gut punch. But...even in my worst flashback in years...I don’t with all do respect to the desperate Ace...that there’s anything that he can do...that I can’t endure. That I haven’t...endured. And I will do...what is right by the industry...and by my daughter...to ensure...nothing like these things...ever happen again. Never running behind any mask...for my actions...but to correct as many of the wrongs that I can. Even if my damned soul can’t be saved...just so my daughter doesn’t have to deal with the after effects...of both my guilt...and what could be my...legacy.
I swear on my mentor’s grave...that I will...not...fail on this endeavor.