Post by Patrick Jones on Nov 23, 2015 0:01:02 GMT -6
We have all seen this movie before. Patrick Jones finds his way to a big opportunity then falls flat on his face. Just when he seems to get everything going his way, he finds a way to throw it all away. However, it seems Jones has decided to start the fall before he even nears the peak of the mountain. With a 2-8 record since beating Ziu Zhong at Fate of the Gods, how has PJ found his way into a title match? The truth may simply be that not many are willing to step up to the buzz saw that has been Ryder Blade since April of this year. In essentially the same span where Patrick has gone only won 2 matches, Ryder has found every way to win 11 matches and retain his Xcel Championship.
After taking the title from Stacy Jones on the 8th of June, Blade has defended it twice. Jones unfortunately could not even defend the Zero Gravity Championship that he took from his protégé Zhong at Fate of the Gods once. A rather embarrassing defeat to Lexi Pearl started the downward slide. Something is to be said of a man who can find opportunity in a dark place though. One might even say that a maneuver like that proves “Impossible is nothing.”
Lame slogans aside, the momentum certainly seems to be all in favor of the champion. Jones will have to beat Ryder outright while The X simply needs to not lose. In fact, he could have his hired help get him disqualified and slink away with the title while Jones is pummeled by the henchmen. Blade would certainly find some way to justify such an underhanded tactic while chalking it up as a success and somehow find a way to convince himself it should count as part of his win streak. Although, sacrificing that streak would certainly be worth it if Ryder could outdo the aforementioned Zhong’s record for longest title run. It would be an interesting bit of irony if the Xcel Champion could almost assuredly write himself into the record books by beating the former record holder’s mentor.
Luckily for Jones, the role of the underdog is one he has embraced his entire career. He has been down many times but never out. His body has been beaten, most recently by the combined assaults of Seth Iser and Dathyn on his elbow, but the spirit has never broken. Patrick has watched friends succumb to inner demons more terrifying than any horror film. Yet here he stands in Sheffield. Darkest Hour may not be for a few days, but the setting sun has left the shadows pretty long. He is standing inside an outdoor arena and seems to be murmuring to himself…
“What have I gotten myself into? This is stupid.”
As my words trail off, my eyes flick up to glance around the surrounding stands. The dying light does help a bit, but the age of the ground is still not all that apparent in full daylight. Hillsborough Stadium, home of the Sheffield Wednesday Football Club, was opened in 1899. The idea of using such an old stadium is foreign to most Americans. However, football clubs in England have found ways to renovate instead of rebuild. In many places, the stadiums have been woven within the fabric of the city they occupy. Building a new stadium would almost be a betrayal of the immediate surroundings. Another factor is that cities often have multiple professional teams. Sheffield has both Sheffield Wednesday and Sheffield United. Their home grounds are less than 4 miles apart. Trying to build a new, modern stadium while staying within the confines of your club’s end of town is often more hassle than updating the current ground.
Walking over to the West Stand, I shake my head. This place had been where the Liverpool supporters had been during the infamous Hillsborough Disaster where 96 people died due to overcrowding and infrastructure failure. To add insult to injury, the Liverpool fans were blamed for many years before official reports were unsealed that laid blame on security and police forces failing to follow protocol and properly control the numbers in standing areas.
“It may be called Darkest Hour, but it’s just wrestling. It isn’t life or death.”
The introspective moment about how my career stacks up to the loss of nearly a hundred fans is sobering. Questions about me being prepared to face Ryder Blade are laughable when I stand on the spot where other professionals were unprepared in a way that led to death. Of course, the perspective does not mean I will not do everything in my power to walk into the Motorpoint Arena fully geared up for battle. However, in a way, the stark contrast helps me keep myself balanced. Too often, battles for titles are hyped up until neither competitor has any perspective left on life.
The two competitors get pulled so deeply into the conflict that they lose their sense of self. I have seen close friends fall down that hole and never fully recover. Somehow, I have never been there. Maybe it is because I like to remind myself of other things which hold more weight than even gold. To some, the influence of opportunity might even be enough exploit such incidents as this for a shameless plug. I cannot bring myself down to that level though. The tragedy is simply something I can focus on without trying to use it to garner support or sympathy.
Moving back to the other end of the pitch, intentionally not wanting to use the West Stand as my backdrop, I setup a small camera on a tri-pod. I turn it on to check that it can record properly in the low-light situation while also taking a moment to make sure the cold has not had too much negative effect on my appearance. Mucous running from my nose while I shake like a leaf would be a far from positive message to send.
Thankfully, the camera is being kind. The inspective eyes staring back at me are not yet bloodshot by the wind. The flesh of my cheeks has reddened a bit but not to the point of making me look frail. My hair is a bit windblown but no more than it will be in the ring at Darkest Hour. The black leather jacket I have donned to fight the chill in the air makes me feel more confident somehow. Everything has checked out, so I set the camera down and press record before moving to take my place just in front of the advertising boards, which have been tastefully covered by a tarp to prevent inadvertent advertisement. A smile pulls the corners of my lips up a bit as I turn to face the camera. The seriousness of my self-discovery and what I have to say to Ryder may not seem to belong in the same person, but recognizing the seriousness of other incidents lets me have more fun with my career.
“I want to start off by apologizing for not having the production value of my opponent. There is no multi-million dollar company paying me to run my mouth. I do not have lackeys here to cut and edit the video if something goes wrong. Hell, I bet you even have a teleprompter, Ryder. Or do your bodyguards just hold up cue cards? It’s alright if you do. Admitting that you’re used to working off a script could actually help you. It might keep you from having to come up with excuses over and over about that whole shoulder and elbow mix up. Everyone else had forgotten about it, but you had to bring it up again. Don’t worry though, every joint on my body is ready for our match.”
As if to prove my point, and mostly to poke more fun at Ryder’s silly mistake that he cannot seem to let go, I roll my shoulders by doing some arm circles then bend and rotate my arms to show everything is fine. As a laugh bursts through my lips, the cold air causes it to leave a foggy trail.
“I also don’t have anyone telling me not to film outside at night in England during the end of November. That should probably be elementary, but that’s alright. Although, you keep going back to that joke about butts being hurt, so you don’t really have much room to speak in that department. For someone who has so many ways to win in the ring, your jokes really seem to be lacking depth. Maybe you should have taken a few moments while your goons did your dirty work against Owen to figure some new material out. I was kinda disappointed you went back to the PB&J thing too. Dude, I had a fat bearded redneck who knew worlds more about being butt hurt…or did he just do the butt hurting?”
My inadvertent and unplanned veer off into the past causes me to pause. It really had been a strange situation between him and his tag partner. Although, the exact details are more the stuff of nightmare than anything, so it is probably best they are unknown. Holding my hands in front of myself as if physically stopping myself from going down that rabbit hole, I refocus.
“Whatever the case, it’s older than me failing at the last. You are absolutely right that it has become a calling card of sorts. I am glad your buddies at Sprintex paid someone to do the research to find that info on me. When they were digging, there should have been a note right under that though. Your fact finder should have listed all of the times Patrick Jones was scared of anything. That would be the easiest list ever made. It would consist of exactly 0 items. I have had 7 foot tall, moonsaulting monsters break my nose with steel steps then kicked his face in for fun just seconds later. You may be great in the ring, but I’m damned sure not scared of you or your henchmen. I just can’t find it in me to be scared of anyone who loves hashtags as much as you. Or who can’t count to 0.”
I hold up my right hand in with the fingers curled down to meet the thumb in the shape of the letter.
“You keep talking about a winning streak, but King of the Cage had a winner not named Ryder Blade. That streak is over, pal. Of course, you’ll find a way to qualify it to say your VoW streak is intact. So what happens when you lose at Darkest Hour? How do you change the wording then? We all know that YOUR Darkest Hour is when you have to hear someone else announced as the winner of a match while you are on your back in that ring. And as the song says, ‘the darkest hour never comes in the night.’ Your Darkest Hour comes with the lights on bright. You will not be able to hide what happens when we meet. So when ya gonna wake up from this fantasy land where your streak can’t be beaten just because you say it won’t be? When you gonna wake up…wake up and fight?”
