Post by Patrick Jones on May 8, 2016 22:58:32 GMT -6
When people think of change, it most often carries a connotation of sudden, immediate difference. One moment something was true then the next it is not. This binary way of thinking is rarely true in reality, but it works to effectively indicate how things evolve over time. We know that most career moves are the result of much thought, yet one day you have to make the final switch. That point where a person goes from company or position A to company or position B is how the general population of thinks of change. Thinking that way can easily cheapen more difficult processes. For instance, when it comes to mastery of a skill or set of skills, a person starts out with little to no ability in the chosen field. There is no point in time where a novice becomes an expert, even if there may be a final test or result which proves the change has occurred.
Of course, it is much easier to use empirical terms like passing or failing a test. Even if the test is administered when only half the standard time to master a skill has elapsed, many would view failure of the test as a sign the skill is not being learned. It really is quite unfair to the student. And yet, so it goes. Nuance is ignored in favor of simplicity. Life becomes a string of passing or failing grades, whether on a classroom test or workplace evaluation. A human being’s status as a success or disappointment is simplified to a series of uncaring and unwavering rubrics that often have no concern for outside factors. Maybe that is a bit too harsh though.
Now, failure should never be celebrated, but it has been said that mistakes are only bad if you do not learn from them. For some of us, that means we should be receiving doctoral degrees for our lessons from losing efforts. Appreciation of progress cannot be lost, no matter how painful the loss may be at the time. It almost makes losing a close contest that much harder since the things that could have altered the outcome are generally obvious details whereas a thorough domination was likely beyond rescue. So it was at Breakthrough #43 when Patrick Jones nearly ended his losing ways against Kincaid. Of course, impatience for results can cloud judgement…
“Crux, if I had just gotten under the elbow then hit ANOTHER Zoned Out, I would have won. Ugh!”
The groan of disgust is met with a throwing of hands to the sky. John Cruxton slowly shakes his head, hoping the man across the table from him will give up soon.
“You can just keep acting like it wasn’t THAT close, but it was!”
Jones emphasizes how small “THAT” is by holding his thumb and index finger just in front of his friend’s face with the scantest of spaces between them. Cruxton nonchalantly reaches up and closes his hand on Jones’s fingers, forcing them together.
“Which is much closer than you were before. A few weeks ago, you would have gotten handled quite easily by a man of Kincaid’s abilities. His power especially would have left you without an answer. Finally, you showed that ability to outthink an opponent for most of the match again. You had been missing that instinct. Although, if you drink too many more of those, I doubt you’ll be doing that well at Breakthrough this week.”
The “drink” comment is clearly aimed at the red liquid with dark flecks in PJ’s hand. Patrick raises the glass a bit for his own inspection, as if trying to determine how potentially harmful the concoction is.
“Eh, it can’t be too bad. It is mostly tomato juice, ya know.”
With that oh-so-assuring judgement, Jones brings the glass to his lips and tilts it back to down a big gulp of the drink.
“It may be a majority healthy, but those generously portioned shots of vodka will certainly not do your reactions any favors. You’ve already had 2 doubles before this one. This should probably be your last…one.”
The final two words are separated by a pause and slight sigh. As anyone who has spent much time with Patrick Jones will know, challenging him is never going to go well. If you tell him he cannot or should not do something, odds are that he will try to prove you wrong. It has led to some of his greatest in-ring moments, but outside of the squared circle it has been known to cause some embarrassing public incidents. Fortunately, it does seem more like John is being overly cautious. Although, the fact PJ just killed his drink simply to spite his friend could be a bit of unpleasant foreshadowing. More importantly, the fact he is headed back to the Bloody Mary bar indicates that at least one more drink is in his plans, causing Cruxton to mumble to no one in particular.
“Or see if you can make your liver as tough as your skull. Sure. That will work.”
The journalist preoccupies himself with the supreme nacho variation in front of him. The large plate has steak along with lettuce, tomatoes, jalapenos, melted cheese, and sour cream all piled on top of tortilla chips. The two men have put quite a dent into the house specialty, and Cruxton seems less interested in eating more than just having something to focus on besides his companion’s decisions on what spices are garnishes should join the vodka and tomato juice in his fourth Bloody Mary.
Concentrating on the loaded chips leads to John jumping when a glass is slammed down in front of him. Jones has returned with his drink and another, presumably for the other man since it has been forcefully placed in front of him.
“Is this supposed to make me feel better, Pat?”
Jones only shrugs before nudging the glass even closer.
“It’ll make me feel better too if it helps.”
Seemingly deciding that one drink cannot hurt, John lifts the glass, giving a slight nod of thanks, and takes a drink. His eyes quickly shoot wide open and his face makes no doubt that the concoction has somehow offended him. Cruxton quickly sets the beverage down and replaces it with his glass of water, taking a series of large gulps. Jones merely stares at the drink his friend had originally partaken from then glances at the one still in PJ’s hand. The drink in Patrick’s hand is much truer to the color of tomato juice and has much fewer dark spots. That realization dawns on the Louisville native’s face and causes him to quickly swap Bloody Marys with the recovering companion.
“I…uh…think you got the wrong one. Too spicy?”
Understanding what caused his predicament, Cruxton glares daggers at Jones while sipping on the water which really does little to ease his pain except for send a momentary cooling sensation over his mouth and tongue. He coughs a couple of times with his eyes watered up a bit and an obvious excess of blood in his face due to the reddish hue of his skin. Finally, after about a minute of recovery, John Cruxton takes a sip from the glass originally intended for him. This drink clearly agrees with his sense better as he proceeds to take another, larger sip with a slight nod of approval.
“Now, Jones, what was that about not being clouded or whatever?”
The quip earns a glare. Without breaking his stare on Cruxton, PJ takes a hard drink from the beverage John could not handle without wavering in the slightest, clearly more capable of handling his spices. Cruxton rolls his eyes.
“Whatever tough guy. You’ll have to handle more than some Tobasco in the ring. Although, Spaz may well use a Tobasco-covered…”
“You can stop RIGHT there before I hold you down and pour the rest of this drink into your eyes.”
PJ’s frantic tone brings a smile from his friend. Clearly suggestions about one of his opponent’s preferred weapons is not something Jones wants to handle.
“You mean that you don’t want to think about what a HOT time that would be?”
The understood double meaning causes PJ to scowl. Nothing about Spaz really brings about great memories, much less his habit for walking around with a much too small loincloth while his junk swings about along with that gruesomely-sized dildo, often wrapped in barbed-wire.
“What are you so mad about, Pat? It’s just about all we have to go on this week. Isaac is a complete unknown as far as I can find, and it’s been quite a while since Blink competed. Her last matches were also in a much smaller promotion that often wrestled in community centers and high schools. We might as well discuss the elephant in the room…or the elephant-sized dong.”
Instead of answering, Jones finishes his drink, which is pretty surprising that he just had refilled it. The previous run-ins with Spaz must have been quite traumatic to cause some rapid consumption. Cruxton hurriedly takes a big swig of his gift before deciding it would be best to stop Jones before he gets in and drives off, both because Cruxton would like not to be left behind and because Jones probably should not be behind the wheel right now. As John moves through the door, he sees PJ looking up at the sign over the bar. It reads “Jesse’s Tavern.”
“Too damn bad the owner wasn’t actually bald enough to superkick…”
The annoyed utterance comes from PJ as he throws the keys to John and gets into their rental car for the trip to Chicago Ridge, Illinois.
