Post by Seth Iser on Jul 30, 2016 19:28:09 GMT -6
Have you ever truly suffered?
It is a question that is often thrown in my face whenever I gripe about the many things wrong with both the wrestling industry and life itself. I am often told that I am completely out of touch with life itself and that I possess no earthly idea what is going on in their lives. The dismissiveness to anything I have ever said hasn’t gone away with time no matter how many times I’ve been proven right over the years. It’s been a combination of both they don’t like my point, they don’t care for how I deliver my point, and a great majority of them have an emphatic hatred of me...because apparently I lack empathy. Or that I’m heartless or never apologized for anything in my life.
There are many things I’ve been labeled with throughout my entire life. The heartless label is no different. Just a few years ago they were throwing the word monster to me like Donald Trump throws a failed proposal. And at a different point in my life...I more than used that to my own advantage. There isn’t a lie to tell whenever I speak even if the truth is particularly damning toward my own self. Just I never did these acts of cruelty just because I felt like it. I’m not some heartless, remorseless figure who is incapable of emotion. They’re working perfectly fine.
Why are they working fine? I am absolutely livid.
When a group of people who claim themselves to be the best fans in the world send death threats to my kid...you lose whatever respect you had for those people. And all you see is the desire to maim. The need to lash out at those people so that they can feel the very same pain you just received. The sickening desire that’s in every single one of us...to get revenge on those people. But unfortunately life isn’t so simple...not in the world of wrestling.
Throughout all of history there are different teachings that talk about your center. Whether it’s specific religious passages I’ve heard in my youth as a church, theorists and psychologists both trying to dissect the mind, or even those who partake in a more physical avature such as yoga...they try to teach the mind to go against the human desire of revenge. The thing people thought Slater wasn’t fully capable of at this level until I seemed to pull it out of him. But let me put the notion of those things working to rest.
You can repress the desires all you want but regardless of your own will...or if it bubbles through in another form you will act on the desire of revenge.
And in my case it’s simple...Matt Slater has crossed many lines. He dragged my name through the mud with slanderous accusations and after he was unsatisfied with the conclusion of our match he instigated a fight with me. He manipulated everyone into believing the narrative he wanted...doing something which I’ve often been accused of. Yes, you can manipulate anyone if you know what strings to pull on...but many times people fail to learn the lessons of history time after time because they choose to believe the narrative that makes them feel good rather than the truthful one.
You either die a hero or you live long enough to become a villain. Matt Slater and I...in different ways are villains.
But I’m not facing a villain in Morgantown at all. Far from it. Heath Williams is many things in my book. A man guided by vengeance...acting upon those desires to try to stuff Tyron in that damn casket he spooked him with in the state of Ohio the last couple of weeks. The man had also endured some of the most barbaric matches in the history of the company first against Tyler Storm and Storm hasn’t been seen much since. Then the two out of three falls straight from hell that reminded me of the war I had with Mike Park that scarred my face.
But...show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy. And Heath you are a tragedy waiting to happen.
You can compare me to the Deities of the past and that’s perfectly fine. I’ve heard far worse. But Hardcore Hero...there are some things you do need to understand before you look me in the eye when the bell rings. The stories you talked about are fiction. Things we tell our kids to make us feel better about the unrelenting odds when so few honestly ever get out of that situation. Whether it’s a reality you actually believe or if it’s influenced by your substance abuse problems...or the actual truth is somewhere in between...I’ll know exactly where that stands when you look me in the eye.
Secondly...you and I do possess a similarity even if it comes off differently and you would’ve fit right in with the generation that Slater and I broke in. You’re a true blood knight...thirsting for the ultimate tests. And it might not lead to the longest career...it ensures that fireworks always happens when you’re always aiming to prove yourself. Even if you know there’s a chance you’ll never be the same after you face an English or yours truly...you’d never bat an eye. And there’s something...heroic about that. The hell of it is...you’re good enough to one day get by those names. Just not against me...on this night.
But the third point I want you to sink in real close and understand, Heath. And it’s a simple one: You’re a coward.
Yes hero...you’ve taken the coward’s way out on more than one occasion in your life. To escape the pain and the failures of your career...and to manage your successes you’ve abused drugs. In an industry still trying to escape the influence that has over many wrestlers I take that as a disgrace to the honor of this sport! As a man who had to overcome that vice myself it’s equally personal when you say YOU have looked up to me yet you have refused to learn from the biggest mistake of my personal life.
The other big part of being a coward though...you’re running away. It isn’t just running away from responsibility of your actions that helped cause that split with Tyron. No...as far as I’m concerned if you are threatening him with a casket and trying to lock him in...you’re running away from the issue. You just want to lock him away and truly forget about the whole ordeal in my mind...instead of facing him the way I want to face Slater and that’s leave no doubt who the better man is inside the squared circle.
But you want to know why I’m called the Deity of Destruction, Heath?
You’re smart enough to discover what part of the answer is...I use the one thing I’ve always had and that’s my knowledge to dissect a human being from the inside out...and there’s people that both love what I do...and many more that loathe it. But know this: I’ve kept an eye on you for a while. I know what you are capable of...and the hell of it is I’m sure you know what I’m capable of. So you should know what could end up happening in my hometown, right? You might not make it to Heatstroke at all...because of your own personal transgressions that I find offensive. As both the veteran and dean of the locker room...as well as the Deity of Destruction...it’s my job to root out and destroy bad influences whether it's within a person...or within the industry that saved my own life.
I’ve wrote enough tragedies for heroes in my career thanks to a lifetime of suffering...and Heath, you can bet I’m putting pen to paper on your own book of tragedy when we meet eye to eye in Morgantown.
The old country roads that are sung about do indeed need a fresh coat of pavement as I’m driving in. A few raindrops splatter against the windshield as the traffic is fairly steep as the interest in football season is starting to take hold. And I find myself impatiently tapping at the wheel with my left index finger about ready to do something I don’t entirely want to do as part of an...agreement to get off of suspension early. Free speech is rapidly becoming painful to the wallet in more ways than one.
“Don’t even worry about it. These are YOUR people. It shouldn’t be too bad.” Moretti barks from the passenger seat.
“Some aren’t bad. But the religious bible thumpers and the ones who just want to meet someone that made it from their own town and never let you goddamn breathe…” I sigh while rubbing my neck with my right hand, “That’s the part of performing home that I don’t like.”
“What’s wrong with some teeny bobbers trying to grab your junk because they love you?” Moretti cackles.
“Simple.” I answer plainly, “It’s an uncomfortable situation for one thing and second they’re usually the ones who have parents who want to burn me on a stake.”
“That’s the fun part. Get in...make sure they’re old enough...enjoy their company in more ways than one and then get out before they burn you to a stake.” Moretti grins that creepy cat like grin of his.
The light finally turns green and I make that left turn as I try to get that image out of my brain without vomiting on the dashboard and the windy street that leads to all of the food restaurants. There’s your usual steak houses on the left, the god forsaken shithole known as Golden Corral on the right. But none of those are any of my destinations as after I have lipped off about them in public...part of the agreement was I have to eat at Buffalo Wild Wings one time. And I just let out a second more annoyed sigh.
“Urgh…” I shake my head, “I guess I’ll have to cheat on my diet today.”
“You know Seth…” Moretti chuckles once more, “The one good thing about being retired is I don’t have to diet near as much.”
“That explains getting flabby…” I reply with a half of a smirk.
“I resent that. There was a time you weren’t so lean yourself!” he spits.
“I just take better care of myself now.” I fire back, “And never drink so much jack daniels your tongue turns black.”
“Oh fuck off. That was a glorious time.” Moretti rolls his eyes like a teenager.
Moretti even gives me a one finger salute like an immature brat as I pull into the parking lot and start to circle the lots looking for a place to park. Of course all the places up close are filled and I see a couple of people enter the building while giving me a dirty look. Thankfully there is a spot right behind the building so there isn’t too far of a walk for either of us as that means it’ll be sooner that I can get out of here. With a sigh I park the car, turn the keys to shut it off and step outside where the heat punches me in the face after being used to the air conditioning in the car.
“Jesus fuck it’s too damn hot!” Moretti shrieks.
“It’s also spitting rain…” I growl, “God damned humidity.”
The rain and the wind mess up the wavy black hair I have since I cut the length off of it. The humidity makes wearing a black and blue pinstriped suit uncomfortable as well as the heavier black dress shoes. Moretti lets out a grunt before stretching his ailing back a little as a swoop of wind blows his red tie in a few directions in his black and red styled suit. The receding but long silver hair doesn’t change though as we start walking.
“Look at this asshole.” Moretti points at a vehicle.
I glance back at my black silverado that I’ve had since I began my career in wrestling and in comparison this person is parked in the handicap section with a brand new white Toyota camry. It’s in impeccable condition compared to the occasional mud that’s on my truck. There is also two messages on the windshield that contradict each other that says Jesus loves everyone...and then a sticker to vote for Donald Trump. But on top of it all...this hypocrite doesn’t even have a handicapped sticker to park in this section!
“Love thy neighbor except when it’s convenient!” Moretti cackles, “What an ancient passage of contradictions and bullshit…”
“And people slander the term asshole by referring to me…what the hell is wrong with everyone?” I mutter before entering the restaurant.
I swing open the door and the air conditioning blasts down on my head making my black hair once again go in multiple directions. The second line of doors are already open though as two women, one smaller, petite and brunette and the other a taller, little thicker blonde, look at us and greet us with the fake smile waitresses are taught to have. Vincent, to his credit, has at least matured enough to where he isn’t completely staring at the ladies in front of us.
“Hi. Welcome to Buffalo Wild Wings.” the brunette starts, “Just two today?”
“Yes.” Vincent nods.
“Right this way.” She starts walking toward the seats while the blonde gives us a dirty look.
As we’re following the young woman who has to seat us there’s a hush in the air with some of the people as they also know who I am. There are some dirty looks I feel, the usual from those who are wrestling fans...but then I hear one drunken sod shout ‘IT’S SETH ISER!’ from the other side of the bar and I just can’t help but cringe at that. The smell of alcohol, though not as prevalent as in a major bar, is strong enough to where I feel uneasy in my stomach. I was hoping for a little more seclusion than this. And as soon as the poor brunette realizes who I am...and studies the scars on my face there’s a little bit of glee etched there. And considering the trouble I got into last time...and the fact that I’m representing the company...I have to be on my best behavior. She stops at a table where there is at least a minor level of seclusion before placing the two menus down on the table.
“You’re seated right here.” She starts before twiddling her thumbs nervously, “But Mr. Iser.”
“Just call me Seth. I got sick of formalities after I worked in Japan…” I sigh knowing where this is probably going.
“R-right. Seth. Uh...could you sign the picture so we can put it on the wall?” she asks politely.
“Oh…” I blink twice not completely expecting that twist, “It’s much better than throwing a scrap of paper at me begging for a signature. This is more...reasonable. But would you get us our drinks first?”
“Certainly. What would you like?” she grins a much more sincere grin this time.
“Water is fine here.” I calmly answer, “Plenty of ice.”
“Dr. Pepper. This guy here says no liquor today,” Moretti sneers before pointing an accusatory finger toward me.
“Coming right up,” she replies before she saunters off.
She has a skip to her step as she leaves and while Moretti lets out one last peek there my eyes dart to the many different televisions that are very sports centric. There’s a small local advertisement here for the VOW show here in Morgantown using a picture of me before I cut my hair short to try to get more people to buy tickets here in the local affiliate. There’s also a baseball station where I see a trade was made with my preferred baseball team the Pirates.
“Damn. They moved the closer…” I mutter.
“The what?” Moretti raises his eyebrow confused.
“The last pitcher in baseball you send out to try to make sure you win the game…” I turn to Moretti for the brief explanation.
“Oh…” Vincent scoffs unimpressed.
The woman swiftly brings the drinks in record time. I genuinely wish the Denny's and Waffle House both were this quick with their service whenever there’s nowhere to eat in late night travels on the road as a wrestler. While she’s also carrying a picture with one hand, the other hand she’s got the drinks and they’re uneasy and unsteady and as she stumbles just ever so slightly the Dr. Pepper in her little trey falls off and all over the lap of my friend Vincent Moretti. A little gets on the crossfire on my shoes but the look on Vincent’s face as the frigid drink is splattered over his lap is...comical. His eyes are bulging out, his hair is standing up a little as he’s shaking and shivering from the shock.
“What the hell!” he finally shrieks out.
“I’m so sorry.” the poor brunette says repeatedly.
“Get a towel.” I calmly order, “Or he’ll lose his mind.”
She hands me the picture and a pen with the water before she sprints off to get a towel. Vincent is shivering as I just study the picture that I assume is going up on the wall of other famous athletes that have come through the area and it’s a picture of me staring down at a prone Matt Slater that fateful night in Chicago almost three years ago now. The night our careers became truly interconnected. I still remember the bounce his skull made on the canvas the night he was planted there. The night his neck was ruined and brought him ever so closer to the expiration date all us wrestlers have in our career. With half of a smirk in remembrance considering he deserved every bit of agony he’s still enduring for what he’s done to me...I sign the picture and as soon as I do the deed I see the young woman coming back with the towel and Moretti snatches it out of her hands to dry himself off. She has also brought a Dr. Pepper that wasn’t spilled over his lap.
As much as I tend to mask my emotions from others though, I'd be lying if I didn't at least admit to myself...that I'm chuckling at his expense for all the times this has happened to me.
As much as I tend to mask my emotions from others though, I'd be lying if I didn't at least admit to myself...that I'm chuckling at his expense for all the times this has happened to me.
“Sucks to be you…” I offer up a full smirk in amusement before sipping the icy cold water.
“Bah...it’s happened to you enough times.” he mumbles.
“Thank you for reminding me when I already know that. The difference is in my case they usually do it intentionally because they dislike me the moment they look at me.” I sneer before turning to the waitress and handing her the picture, “I think I’m ready to order.”
“What would y’all like?” she questions with a smile.
“Small order of the hot boneless wings.” I offer with a shrug before handing her the menu without really looking at it.
“Blue cheese or ranch?” she reacts.
“Neither,” I answer on impulse.
“Uh…” Moretti pauses as he looks through the menu briefly, “Give me your burger and fries. That works for me.”
“Sorry again about the Dr. Pepper…” she pauses before she grabs the menus, “I’ll put those in right away guys.”
She starts to walk off and my mind just glances at the table next to us. There is a younger male with a beer in his hand hitting on a pair of girls at the table and that also cringes as that’s a flashback to my own youth when I was completely screwed up on drugs...and also went around sleeping with as many women as possible. I just have a contorted frown on my face as I stir the many ice cubes in my water with the straw.
“With how you are now I’m surprised you did such things…” Moretti barks up a laugh, “But I still remember you in your youth as a hell raiser.”
“Why do you think I’m so hard on the likes of Stacy and Heath with their known habits?” I reply back, “I’m not excusing anything I did in the early years. I was a real hell raiser...pissed off at everything and not caring about myself. Just now I get pissed off for better reasons rather than hair trigger ones.”
“I don’t know about that…” Vincent shrugs.
“Vincent. Priorities change. My kid is far more important as is the legacy of this sport and the legacy I want to leave behind. But listen: would you believe that I’ve gotten some calls from previous girls I had been with in my youth claiming their kid was mine until proven otherwise?” I sneer.
“That’s fucked…” Moretti shakes his head.
“I’ve gotten a few calls from my lawyer about that.” I offer a shrug, “The hell of it is...I do expect one day I’ll get that call...and it’ll be the one time where it is true.”
“Seth.” Vincent just calmly looks me in the eye, “What the hell would you tell your actual daughter if that comes to pass?”
"The truth..." I reply weakly.
"The truth..." I reply weakly.
I let out a sigh and think back not just to the various instances of Heath’s hell raising...or some of the various degrees the company likes to party and do idiotic things when they refuse to learn from my example; I’m also looking at my own instances where all I could smell was the embrace of booze, and the sin of lust. The same sin I was created from. It’s an elephant in the room that I don’t really like to think about...a thought that I’ve often repressed...but who would’ve thought it’d take coming into a Buffalo Wild Wings and seeing something like that to get that thought back out.
Even if it has been a few years since I’ve received a call pertaining to something like that…
“I have enough on my mind with both meeting Slater in another match of our destiny and a game Hardcore Hero who’d love to add me to the list of people he’s beaten.” I frown, “I just want to eat this meal...and get out so I can focus on that...so I don’t have to think about being punished for free speech...or that particular subject too much more.”
Moretti takes that cue to be silent for a while as my mind just drifts further. I get the feeling the things Tyron preaches about Heath doing on television might make some of Lexi Pearl’s damn exploits seem tame. And what better way than to teach him the error of his cowardice ways to make the profession better so one more person doesn’t follow down my old path...or Slater’s current path. And the amount of suffering you have to be in...and I was in with all those things I was doing. Those things that to this day I still feel the consequences on.
...but I still have plenty in the tank for my career. That’s something everyone will see in the square circle in my hometown in front of the religious nutcases that suddenly worship me after treating me like shit for the first half of my life.
...in layman’s terms Heath...I’m going to kick your ass in Morgantown. And there’s nothing you can do about it when you don’t get up from the Deprivation DDT. That...is a promise.