Post by Patrick Jones on Aug 13, 2014 23:04:48 GMT -6
Four losses in a row is certainly not a record. Losing streaks are all too common for me and the profession in general. Wrestling is a sport where when you are off then things can go badly quickly. Luckily, I have a friend along for the ride. Jenny seems to think she has an idea to help me out. She will not tell me what the plan is or where we are currently going. Personally, I am not a fan of letting her drive my Camaro. Jen still has some issues with that whole “right side of the road” thing that us Americans do differently than the British. Luckily, there had been no mishaps…yet.
“Are we close?”
Without a verbal answer, Jen just waves a hand at me. She is probably tired of answering the question. I would stop if she gave me a real answer. Okay…I MIGHT. If the answer was good enough. Patience is certainly something with which I struggle. I like to know things. Why do women struggle with the idea that guys just want to know things?
Looking out the window, we are crossing a bridge over the Mississippi River on I-94. In fairness to Jenny’s stubbornness, we had only been in the car about 20 minutes. My questioning is quite childlike. She is usually the one with good ideas. Although, there was that one time in the woods not all too far from here where I almost got gored by a bull. This adventure could not be a repeat of that unless she decides to go into some really rough parts of town. Staring down the blade of a knife or barrel of a gun would be about the only thing worse than staring that bull in the face.
“What is wrong with you? Cold?”
The memory had triggered a shiver.
“No, I was just thinking about the time you almost got me turned into a bull’s horn ornament.”
She averts her eyes from the road just long enough to smile mischievously at me. Oh no, maybe she DOES have something crazy in mind.
“Are you that worried about what I have planned?”
“No, but it doesn’t mean I can’t think about bad ideas you have had before.”
Without looking, she rolls her eyes.
“Because all of your ideas are so brilliant?”
She has a point. Not one I like, but she definitely has one. Hell, I had once tried to rob a man who had training akin to a ninja and went by the name The Red Dragon. It had ended quite poorly. I had learned a lesson from that stupidity. Road rash does not heal quickly. I suspect whatever Pezzini has in store for me or us is going to be much less dangerous.
“Why do you always have to treat me like I’m dumb?”
“Well, did you know that your opponent is on the edge of a mental break?”
Huh? Of course I knew Carson has been teetering on the edge of sanity. Since his loss to PKA, his head has been out of whack. Brett had not gone murderous psycho, but he was clearly struggling with his mental balance. Why would Jen bring that up though?
“Yeah. What’s new? This business drives lots of people to the edge…or off it. I seem to attract them though. Two of my closest friends have well known issues. After Dave and Drake, I think I have seen it about as bad as it gets.”
Shrugging to concede the point, Jen falls silent again. As I look back out of the window, she takes the next exit. The road we get off onto leads into the heart of downtown Minneapolis. The destination must be close. Nothing obvious presents itself through the windshield. At least I will know soon.
“Just because Brett has not become a murdering clown or started to draw his only joy from causing pain does not mean he is not dangerous. He is called the ‘Next Level Athlete’ for a reason. Someone having a mental break is…”
“Is always more dangerous because he is not rationally thinking like a normal person. I know. Trust me, I know.”
I had cut her off because I knew exactly what she would say. My experiences in wrestling had taught me that lesson before. She is right though. No matter what the reason for the instability is and what effect it has, a wrestler who is not fully in control or viewing the world within acceptable bounds of sanity always presents an extra threat. It is similar to someone with an atypical style of wrestling. The normal reactions the opposition makes to your actions are not the same. Their offensive ideas can also be greatly affected by the reality disconnect. All of this talk of mental issues are making me think of her cousin and my friend, Dave. Wait! Is that the reason for her questions?!
“Are you taking me to an asylum? Did they find Dave?!”
Jen sighs and slowly shakes her head.
“No. To both.”
Her lips are drawn into a tight line. At the next red light, she closes her eyes and lets out a deep breath. Damn it. That nerve had been struck hard. Strike one, Pat. We both drop into silence for a few minutes. After a few moments, Jen pulls off into a parking garage. She has to navigate up a few levels to find an empty spot which does not involve scraping the paint off the side of my car to make it fit. Thankfully, no paint is removed.
After exiting the car, we take the elevator back to ground level. Turning right out of the large structure, I see a large, light brown façade. The sandy stones are speckled with darker colored ones. A sign on top of the structure states we are just outside of “Target Field.”
“Twins stadium? There isn’t even a game today. Now what?”
“I want to show you something. Luckily, I was able to use your celebrity status to get us some special access.”
The very vague answer leaves me with no clue as to what she is going to do. I have zero connection with the Twins. I am not even a big baseball fan. The only gave we have gone to was a Vanderbilt game. I had watched their run to the national title this year, but she knows that baseball is not a primary sport for me.
Wordlessly, she walks up to the gate where others are standing. A sign reads “Stadium Tours” over the entrance. What is inside of Target Field that she could want to show me? With me in tow, she walks right up to the ticket office.
“Yes, I talked to someone about special access for a Patrick Jones. The man I talked to in your public relations department granted that access after we came to a deal.”
A quick radio call is made from the person behind the counter. A deal? Okay, this cannot be good. Did she sign some promotional deal for me? Jenny really did not have any authority to set things up for me, but I had let her arrange some things in the past few weeks.
“I need to see your idea, Mr. Jones.”
Shrugging, I reach into my pocket and retrieve my wallet. I show her my driver’s license. Seemingly satisfied by my identity and whatever had been arranged, she motions us through the gate.
“Jen, what are…”
Shaking her head, we turn and take another elevator down below the concourse and into the belly of the stadium. The doors open into a player’s area. No one is around since it is an off day.
“What do you see?”
It is a standard workout area that most MLB teams have. A row of batting cages with one bullpen area at the end fill the area with the locker room on the other side.
“Uh…training area for the Twins?”
“And how good are they?”
My MLB knowledge is pretty slim, but I know the Twins are definitely not great.
“Uh…average?”
“Actually, they’re terrible. They have finished last or next to last in their division for 4 years running. They lose. A lot.”
Where is she going with this?
“So…they should be training?”
My apparently wrong observation makes her shake her head.
“No. They train as hard as anyone. It’s about management. The management cannot bring in the right players. The same goes for you. Your physical tools are good enough to compete, Jones. You have just been out of it. Brett Carson thinks calling you average is a compliment. Prove him wrong.”
Well, damn. Jenny just dropped a bombshell. She looks…intense. Just as quickly as she amps up, she calms down though.
“Oh, and sign some autographs while I try to learn how to swing a baseball bat. I told them you would sign some stuff for their charity if they let us try batting practice. Thanks.”
What the hell? Carson is losing it, but is Jenny? That was just downright strange. Maybe she is right though. I have been close lately and not finished the job. Maybe Carson’s mental instability is just the one to turn that around against.
