Post by Craig Anderson on Apr 24, 2016 20:53:15 GMT -6
~ I want to be like you
~ Off camera
“We’d be delighted to have you on our books, master Anderson. We’ve been very impressed by what we’ve seen of you.” He places his blazer jacket onto the back of the chair and takes a seat, shaking hands with both myself and my uncle, Randall. “Not too talkative, I see. That’s okay.”
I arch an eyebrow as he slides a clipboard across the surface of the mahogany table. “We’re willing to offer you a five year deal to join the Liverpool academy, after which we hope to promote you to a professional contract.” I look at the contract that has been presented to me, quickly flicking between the pages. I ball up my first and rest my chin upon it; a look of disinterest appearing upon my face.
“I’m sorry, sir. Is there a problem with the terms we have offered you?” He asks, beginning to sweat. “I’m sure we could adjust them. It’s not everyday that a youngster with as much talent as yourself becomes available, so we’d be willing to make an exception to our structure.” I get it - Liverpool Football Club want me to join their academy. Join the list. So do a dozen other teams: Arsenal, Aston Villa, Everton, Manchester City, Southampton and Tottenham Hotspur to name but a few. I’ve no shortage of potential suitors, and clubs all over the country are aware of that. But it just doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel that joining Liverpool’s youth set-up is a good move for me.
“With all due respect, mister Marshall, I don’t think my nephews really too concerned with the terms on the contract.” Randall speaks up, noticing that I’m apprehensive to even consider the offer on the table. “Craig’s very loyal to his heart, and he’s a supporter of Chelsea Football Club. His hero is Gianfranco Zola, so you can surely understand his reservations to signing for a fellow Premiership side.”
“Of course. It’s only natural to want to play for your boyhood club, but it’s not a sin to play for another team. Take Jamie Carragher, for instance. He grew up a huge supporter of Everton, but now plays for their fierce rivals. Several Liverpool legends were Everton supporters during their childhood: such as Ian Rush and Steve McManaman.” It’s a fair argument to make; but one which I had already taken into consideration, especially as Chelsea’s own Frank Lampard grew up as a supporter of West Ham United. “Look, Craig. In my opinion, you are the best young winger in the country at the moment; and being left footed makes you even more of an asset. You have the potential to go right to the very top; all you need is the right support and guidance. We can offer you all of that, and more!”
It’s a great pitch, I’m not going to lie. But nothing he says is going to change my mind. My gut is telling me to decline, and my uncle always told me to trust my gut. “Take a look at the contract. I’m sure you’ll find it’s a very generous offer”, he adds. I open it up and read the first page extensively. Most teenagers would say yes in a heartbeat, but not I. I have other plans.
“So, what do you say? We’re really looking forward to working with you!” He confidently slides a pen across the table as I turn to the second page. “The Liverpool fans will adore you!”, he expresses desperately.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a stick of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum, which I quickly place onto my tongue. I grip the pen in my hand as I slowly raise my gaze from the page and to the representative opposite me. “I appreciate the offer, but…” I sigh, knowing that there’s a chance I’ll live to regret this decision. “I just can’t accept. I’m sorry.” My apology is a sincere one, because the offer was genuine and one only offered to an elite group of young players. The expression on Randall’s face said it all. For a boy so obsessed with football to turn down such an amazing opportunity is downright idiotic. At least, if football truly is what he wants to do.
“Craig, are you sure? It’s an amazing offer” Randal exclaims, almost pleading with me to reconsider. He picks up the contract to read through it himself, in disbelief that I declined the offer. “I’m positive”, I retort. “I really cannot do this.”
“Is it the length of the deal that’s concerning you? We can offer three years instead, if you wish. Or we can put in a clause that ensures you will be offered a professional deal at the end of it. We’ll do anything!” His pleas almost make me feel guilty, but I don’t have any problems with the deal that has been offered to me. “We would be devastated to let such a good young talent slip through our fingers.”
I sigh and put my hands over my face, trying to avoid eye contact as I turn him down once more. “No, really. I can’t do this.” I was about to get interrupted, but raising my index finger is enough to allow myself the opportunity to continue. “I don’t mean play for Liverpool. I mean, I really cannot play football as a career.” All of a sudden, the jaws of both gentlemen drop. I love football; it’s all I ever talk about. “Who do you think will win the League next season?” is the only way I know how to start a conversation. But I can’t do it. I just can’t.
“What are you talking about, Craig?”, Randall asks in a state of shock. “Football is all you ever think about!” I nod my head, agreeing with him. “It is, but…” “But what?”, Randall asks aggressively. “Don’t ruin your dreams just because you’d rather play for one particular team!”, he adds emphatically, still with the contract in his hand.
“I won’t have any time to play football any more.” It seems an outlandish claim to make, seeing as my spare time consists of playing ‘heads and vods’ and/or Pro Evolution Soccer. “I’ll be far too busy and too tired”, I add with sincerity.
Randall goes to speak, but I rudely interrupt him. “I don’t want to be like Gianfranco Zola anymore. I want to be like you!”, I say as I point towards Randall. His eyes widen, not entirely sure if I’m being serious. I put his mind to rest by my following statement. “I want to be a wrestler!”
It’s an announcement met with mixed reactions; mister Marshall places his hands on his head in disappointment while Randall rips up the contract, not sure whether he’s more shocked or honoured by my decision. It’s been made, though, and it’s too late to go back on it.
~ Old friends make great rivals
~ On camera
“Alright. Hit record”, I yell across the room. My sister needs to create a documentary for her final unit, so she asked for my help. Not everybody has a wrestler for a brother, so I doubt anybody else in her class would have anything even remotely similar to present. I stand at one end of the room, gazing out of the window.
“I wasn’t always supposed to be a wrestler, you know.” I turn around, my arms behind my back. “Growing up, I always wanted to be a professional footballer. Just think; Bonnie’s documentary could have been titled ‘My Brother: The Football Star’, but instead it’s about a poxy wrestler.” I chuckle, as I boot a small foam ball against the wall. “It wasn’t until Liverpool offered me a contract, aged thirteen, that I switched my mind to wrestling.”
“I could have been the new Gianfranco Zola; but instead I became the first Craig Anderson. My idol went from being a small, Italian magician to a tall, hard working English brawler. My uncle was proud when I decided that I wanted to follow in his footsteps; especially as it seemed so likely that I would be firing England to glory at the European Championships in just a few months time. But that’s not going to be the case now, unless they are really struck down by last-minute injuries.”
I walk slowly towards the camera, before eventually sitting on the couch just five feet away from it. “I had trained so damn hard, and I had gotten really good. But then, my uncle passed away. It hit me hard - really hard. I was almost back to square one; I had so start all over again. So I did. I reinvented myself and, in 2012, made my competitive debut in the now-defunct Bebo Wrestling Network. It was a great place to compete, filled with many great competitors. I made lots of friends there, many of which knew my uncle for the great man he was.”
I wipe a stray tear from my eye; thinking about my uncle so fondly often makes me emotional. “Randy Evans, or Randall as we would call him, was a proud man. If there’s one thing he taught me, is to remember that old friends make great rivals. He’s right, too.” I sit upright in the pseudo-leather sofa, propping my neck up with a folded-over cushion. “I have signed a contract with Visionaries of Wrestling, and I find there a few familiar faces. But the one I know more than any other? Jamo. I have a rich history with that man, dating back to my reign as OWA World Heavyweight Champion. We fought a tough battle, and I gained huge respect for the man that night.”
“I’m not alone, either. When you think of the Bebo Wrestling Network, you don’t get very far before you think of Jamo. He’s often considered as one of the mainstays of the BWN. Not necessarily spectacular, but always reliable. Ask anybody who ever had the pleasure of working with him, and I’m sure they will all tell you that Jamo was one of the toughest people that they had ever shared the ring with. He fights with honour and he fights with pride. He’s got nothing to lose, and a man with nothing to lose is capable of anything!” I have many memories and stories to share involving Jamo, but we’d be here all day.
“He’s yet to win in VoW, I’m aware of that. But the thing about Jamo is, you see, he doesn’t care about wins and losses. He’s a complicated person to figure out; I’ve known him years and I’m still learning new things about him. He’s gone through the Grim Reaper stage, the beast stage, the mercenary stage, and whatever this current stage is. The odd thing is, though, that people still love the guy no matter what he does. For instance, he helped me end Zack Richard’s second OWA Championship reign after just twelve minutes. That alone should be the defining moment of the BWN, and it’s only fitting that it involved the man who ate, slept and breathed professional wrestling. It’s an honour to get to face Jamo again, in my VoW debut no less. But please, forgive me. I can’t allow myself to lose, not in my first match. Even if I do respect Jamo and would even go as far to consider him a friend, I’m not going to take it easy on the basis that we’ve a huge amount of mutual respect. If anything, it makes me even more determined to win. As the late, great Randall Evans said: old friends make great rivals!”
That’s another scene recorded for my sister’s documentary. All she needs now is footage from my match against Jamo and she’ll be pretty much finished. I expect nothing less than an A* out of her, and she expects me to get nothing less than a victory. Neither of us plan on letting the other down!
~ Off camera
“We’d be delighted to have you on our books, master Anderson. We’ve been very impressed by what we’ve seen of you.” He places his blazer jacket onto the back of the chair and takes a seat, shaking hands with both myself and my uncle, Randall. “Not too talkative, I see. That’s okay.”
I arch an eyebrow as he slides a clipboard across the surface of the mahogany table. “We’re willing to offer you a five year deal to join the Liverpool academy, after which we hope to promote you to a professional contract.” I look at the contract that has been presented to me, quickly flicking between the pages. I ball up my first and rest my chin upon it; a look of disinterest appearing upon my face.
“I’m sorry, sir. Is there a problem with the terms we have offered you?” He asks, beginning to sweat. “I’m sure we could adjust them. It’s not everyday that a youngster with as much talent as yourself becomes available, so we’d be willing to make an exception to our structure.” I get it - Liverpool Football Club want me to join their academy. Join the list. So do a dozen other teams: Arsenal, Aston Villa, Everton, Manchester City, Southampton and Tottenham Hotspur to name but a few. I’ve no shortage of potential suitors, and clubs all over the country are aware of that. But it just doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel that joining Liverpool’s youth set-up is a good move for me.
“With all due respect, mister Marshall, I don’t think my nephews really too concerned with the terms on the contract.” Randall speaks up, noticing that I’m apprehensive to even consider the offer on the table. “Craig’s very loyal to his heart, and he’s a supporter of Chelsea Football Club. His hero is Gianfranco Zola, so you can surely understand his reservations to signing for a fellow Premiership side.”
“Of course. It’s only natural to want to play for your boyhood club, but it’s not a sin to play for another team. Take Jamie Carragher, for instance. He grew up a huge supporter of Everton, but now plays for their fierce rivals. Several Liverpool legends were Everton supporters during their childhood: such as Ian Rush and Steve McManaman.” It’s a fair argument to make; but one which I had already taken into consideration, especially as Chelsea’s own Frank Lampard grew up as a supporter of West Ham United. “Look, Craig. In my opinion, you are the best young winger in the country at the moment; and being left footed makes you even more of an asset. You have the potential to go right to the very top; all you need is the right support and guidance. We can offer you all of that, and more!”
It’s a great pitch, I’m not going to lie. But nothing he says is going to change my mind. My gut is telling me to decline, and my uncle always told me to trust my gut. “Take a look at the contract. I’m sure you’ll find it’s a very generous offer”, he adds. I open it up and read the first page extensively. Most teenagers would say yes in a heartbeat, but not I. I have other plans.
“So, what do you say? We’re really looking forward to working with you!” He confidently slides a pen across the table as I turn to the second page. “The Liverpool fans will adore you!”, he expresses desperately.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a stick of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum, which I quickly place onto my tongue. I grip the pen in my hand as I slowly raise my gaze from the page and to the representative opposite me. “I appreciate the offer, but…” I sigh, knowing that there’s a chance I’ll live to regret this decision. “I just can’t accept. I’m sorry.” My apology is a sincere one, because the offer was genuine and one only offered to an elite group of young players. The expression on Randall’s face said it all. For a boy so obsessed with football to turn down such an amazing opportunity is downright idiotic. At least, if football truly is what he wants to do.
“Craig, are you sure? It’s an amazing offer” Randal exclaims, almost pleading with me to reconsider. He picks up the contract to read through it himself, in disbelief that I declined the offer. “I’m positive”, I retort. “I really cannot do this.”
“Is it the length of the deal that’s concerning you? We can offer three years instead, if you wish. Or we can put in a clause that ensures you will be offered a professional deal at the end of it. We’ll do anything!” His pleas almost make me feel guilty, but I don’t have any problems with the deal that has been offered to me. “We would be devastated to let such a good young talent slip through our fingers.”
I sigh and put my hands over my face, trying to avoid eye contact as I turn him down once more. “No, really. I can’t do this.” I was about to get interrupted, but raising my index finger is enough to allow myself the opportunity to continue. “I don’t mean play for Liverpool. I mean, I really cannot play football as a career.” All of a sudden, the jaws of both gentlemen drop. I love football; it’s all I ever talk about. “Who do you think will win the League next season?” is the only way I know how to start a conversation. But I can’t do it. I just can’t.
“What are you talking about, Craig?”, Randall asks in a state of shock. “Football is all you ever think about!” I nod my head, agreeing with him. “It is, but…” “But what?”, Randall asks aggressively. “Don’t ruin your dreams just because you’d rather play for one particular team!”, he adds emphatically, still with the contract in his hand.
“I won’t have any time to play football any more.” It seems an outlandish claim to make, seeing as my spare time consists of playing ‘heads and vods’ and/or Pro Evolution Soccer. “I’ll be far too busy and too tired”, I add with sincerity.
Randall goes to speak, but I rudely interrupt him. “I don’t want to be like Gianfranco Zola anymore. I want to be like you!”, I say as I point towards Randall. His eyes widen, not entirely sure if I’m being serious. I put his mind to rest by my following statement. “I want to be a wrestler!”
It’s an announcement met with mixed reactions; mister Marshall places his hands on his head in disappointment while Randall rips up the contract, not sure whether he’s more shocked or honoured by my decision. It’s been made, though, and it’s too late to go back on it.
~ Old friends make great rivals
~ On camera
“Alright. Hit record”, I yell across the room. My sister needs to create a documentary for her final unit, so she asked for my help. Not everybody has a wrestler for a brother, so I doubt anybody else in her class would have anything even remotely similar to present. I stand at one end of the room, gazing out of the window.
“I wasn’t always supposed to be a wrestler, you know.” I turn around, my arms behind my back. “Growing up, I always wanted to be a professional footballer. Just think; Bonnie’s documentary could have been titled ‘My Brother: The Football Star’, but instead it’s about a poxy wrestler.” I chuckle, as I boot a small foam ball against the wall. “It wasn’t until Liverpool offered me a contract, aged thirteen, that I switched my mind to wrestling.”
“I could have been the new Gianfranco Zola; but instead I became the first Craig Anderson. My idol went from being a small, Italian magician to a tall, hard working English brawler. My uncle was proud when I decided that I wanted to follow in his footsteps; especially as it seemed so likely that I would be firing England to glory at the European Championships in just a few months time. But that’s not going to be the case now, unless they are really struck down by last-minute injuries.”
I walk slowly towards the camera, before eventually sitting on the couch just five feet away from it. “I had trained so damn hard, and I had gotten really good. But then, my uncle passed away. It hit me hard - really hard. I was almost back to square one; I had so start all over again. So I did. I reinvented myself and, in 2012, made my competitive debut in the now-defunct Bebo Wrestling Network. It was a great place to compete, filled with many great competitors. I made lots of friends there, many of which knew my uncle for the great man he was.”
I wipe a stray tear from my eye; thinking about my uncle so fondly often makes me emotional. “Randy Evans, or Randall as we would call him, was a proud man. If there’s one thing he taught me, is to remember that old friends make great rivals. He’s right, too.” I sit upright in the pseudo-leather sofa, propping my neck up with a folded-over cushion. “I have signed a contract with Visionaries of Wrestling, and I find there a few familiar faces. But the one I know more than any other? Jamo. I have a rich history with that man, dating back to my reign as OWA World Heavyweight Champion. We fought a tough battle, and I gained huge respect for the man that night.”
“I’m not alone, either. When you think of the Bebo Wrestling Network, you don’t get very far before you think of Jamo. He’s often considered as one of the mainstays of the BWN. Not necessarily spectacular, but always reliable. Ask anybody who ever had the pleasure of working with him, and I’m sure they will all tell you that Jamo was one of the toughest people that they had ever shared the ring with. He fights with honour and he fights with pride. He’s got nothing to lose, and a man with nothing to lose is capable of anything!” I have many memories and stories to share involving Jamo, but we’d be here all day.
“He’s yet to win in VoW, I’m aware of that. But the thing about Jamo is, you see, he doesn’t care about wins and losses. He’s a complicated person to figure out; I’ve known him years and I’m still learning new things about him. He’s gone through the Grim Reaper stage, the beast stage, the mercenary stage, and whatever this current stage is. The odd thing is, though, that people still love the guy no matter what he does. For instance, he helped me end Zack Richard’s second OWA Championship reign after just twelve minutes. That alone should be the defining moment of the BWN, and it’s only fitting that it involved the man who ate, slept and breathed professional wrestling. It’s an honour to get to face Jamo again, in my VoW debut no less. But please, forgive me. I can’t allow myself to lose, not in my first match. Even if I do respect Jamo and would even go as far to consider him a friend, I’m not going to take it easy on the basis that we’ve a huge amount of mutual respect. If anything, it makes me even more determined to win. As the late, great Randall Evans said: old friends make great rivals!”
That’s another scene recorded for my sister’s documentary. All she needs now is footage from my match against Jamo and she’ll be pretty much finished. I expect nothing less than an A* out of her, and she expects me to get nothing less than a victory. Neither of us plan on letting the other down!
