Noite dos refletores

Noite dos refletores

Have you ever wondered what does fame feels like?

How does it feels like being under the spotlight and feeling
them burn your skin?

How does it feels to be center stage?

I know you have wondered… but that’s the closest you’ll be from
it… I KNOW HOW IT FEELS.

***************************************************

Estádio da Luz had just witnessed as one of its dearest sons
scored a goal and that sealed the deal on his team victory at this year’s UEFA
Champions League. Hordes of trash could be found under the seats and on the
field as wind had blown them there. The lights went on, late in the Portuguese
night, and a man walked on to the field wearing a #7 Real Madrid Cristiano
Ronaldo shirt. He kept walking and staring at both ends of the court, immersing
himself in the spotlight. The chants of the crowd kept buzzing on his head, it
felt like he was right in the middle of the game with the ball on his feet
driving towards the box ready to score against Atlético de Madrid.

The rush was such that the hair on his arms stood up in
goosebumps. The man continued staring at the empty seats, standing in the
middle of the field with a melancholic look on his face. It could be the last
time he would step into that field as a man only known in a circuit where the
names are almost non-existent and beauty is the be all, end all. Now it was
time to prove himself, to prove that he was capable of striving in a clutch
environment, capable of doing what so many greats have done in that very field
he was standing on… strive on the spotlight. After all… that was what he loved
most.

 
*******************************************

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure”

The newspaper headline struck him like a lightning bolt.
Suddenly he felt a rush to buy that newspaper on the airport. The JFK looked
huge and provided such a new experience for a guy that just now has felt the
ground of a new continent. Such a cornucopia of languages, people, cultures, it
was almost carnival like. But above everything else, that headline was the only
thing that mattered to this guy, after all, he would be stuck in the airport for
another six or seven hours, since he was then heading to Minnesota.

The vendor, a middle aged man from Istanbul was staring at a
girl to the right. A flight attendant probably, judging by her blue dress,
white shirt and blue scarf. Then, without turning his head to the guy grabbing
the Canadian newspaper, he spoke: “Pretty gurl right?” The man buying the
newspaper only looked sideways and said an uninterested: “Ujum”. He put the
newspaper over the counter and the amount of money that was printed over the
stand it was, roughly two dollars, and walked away to a seat nearby.

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure”

The news was from a day before. He started reading about the
race to rise awareness for patients of Cystic Fibrosis. Multinational race,
simultaneous, a lot of celebrities, trainers, people from all around the
country, headlined by a famous wrestler who ran masked flanked by an obnoxious
friend… the name, Matt Slater. His eyes rolled and a choked up laugh tried to
escape from him: “So this is what he’s doing these days”.

The man continued reading as the time passed by. The news
ended with the amount collected from all the simultaneous races, an amount that
really didn’t matter to him as much as the fact that a wrestler ran in it and
he knew that name. He then left the newspaper on the seat and walked to a
coffee shop nearby, ordered one and sat near a window watching the planes
arrive and leave in an unbreakable circuit that looked as mechanic as a runway
run. “To think… roughly 13 years ago that happened”.

 
*********************************

St. Paul, Minnesota

6 am

Monday, May 26, 2014

The alarm set off, the annoying “beep-beep” was enough to
wake him up. Not long before he was leaving a plane in the airport, now he’s
preparing himself to leave for a morning jog. His head spun out of control, it
was almost like he was drinking too much the two days before and was
experiencing the worst hangover of his lifetime. Only, that it was not the
case. He was just off two plane trips, one of almost twelve hours. The
temperature that morning was pretty nice, considering he was used to cold
weather, but the wind factor lowered temperature enough to make him wonder if
the decision of not packing a sweater was a good idea after all.

He got out of bed, staring at the blank space on the wall
right in front of his hotel room. His hair a mess, his face revealing a fact
that escaped no one, he had just slept a few hours. A relentless thought of
staying in bed for at least another couple of hours, after all, skipping
training one day wouldn’t hurt, his body needed that time, or so he felt. After
a long couple of minutes in which his body kept battling between staying in bed
and going out for a jog and cardio, he got out of bed and got into the shower.

There his naked body felt the water drops piercing into his
skin, it was almost a tradition for him, morning cold water, afternoon warm
water. But this morning made him reconsider the tradition, as the water was
colder than he expected and it was painful just to stand underneath it naked
and full of a dream not fulfilled from the night before. Even with that, he
knew he had to train, maybe harder than what he thought, since the headline
couldn’t escape his mind: “Famous wrestler runs for a cure”… “Famous wrestler
runs for a cure”… His head spun out of control and he struck the wall right in
front of him with a punch that woke him up once and for all: “Eu tenho que
treinar… Ele não é tarefa simples”.

Ever since leaving Portugal he had on his mind that he would
get a challenge suited for his talent, his rookie talent. He thought he might
get someone that was easy to defeat, someone that probably would help him get
to the level that he wanted, while he stayed on the spotlight, right where he
wanted to be. Instead he got a “Famous Wrestler” who ran marathons seemingly
just for the fun of it. He got a guy that ran said marathon while wearing a
mask, a mask that he knew the same as everyone else as why he had it, even
less. A mask that would prevent him of using some of his moves: “Maldição!” His
loud shout could be heard on the other room. He turned off the shower and got
out staring at his naked body on the mirror right in front of him, he grabbed a
towel and walked towards said mirror and stood there watching his face for a couple
of seconds. He would usually do this to admire himself in a narcissistic ritual
in which he had immersed himself since an early age. This time, he wasn’t
seeing himself or his so called beauty… no, this time he was seeing something
else, he was seeing his failures, he was seeing his lack of experience, he was
seeing everything that would mean his demise inside the ring.

Maybe that “Famous wrestler” was right, maybe he’s chewing
more than he can swallow. Maybe this is a bone he wouldn’t break. Maybe he was
on time to call it all quits and return from where he came and never try to do
too much again. Instead… it was too late. He was slated to face that guy, he
was slated to be in that match… he never no showed anything in his life, he
wasn’t going to start now. He got out of the bathroom and walked towards the
drawers and drew clothes, training clothes. He stared at them on the bed for a
couple of seconds before starting to put it on. After he was done with that he
grabbed his IPod and walked away from the room, not without checking it and
getting a long sigh out before closing the door, knowing he would run to the
unknown and every step counted from that point forward.

******

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure”

A foreign guy ran out in St. Paul, wearing grey training
clothes and an IPod. The wind kept blowing and it made him look awkward, he
clearly wasn’t used to this kind of windy punishment as every passerby looked
at him in a mix of awe and pity. He simply ignored them: “Idiotas…” He knew he
was above all of them, or so he felt. He felt like none of them knew how it
felt to be under the spotlight, knew how to handle fame, how to be anonymous even
when you are one of the most public faces in your area. None of them knew
anything… none of them knew why he was running or why he was there. They only
saw his face and stare… he stared them back with disgust, he looked at them as
they were watching him run and making fun of him.

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure”

He kept running, immersing himself into the music he was
hearing. Knowing that music will get him to a trance and he would keep running forgetting
those people are there watching him run. No one gathered to cheer for him or
push him. No one there stood to give him any kind of praise for what he was
doing. He didn’t get any publicity. It was awkward for him, not being
recognized, being new, being the guy NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT.

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure…”

There was no horizon, no place to run towards, no finish
line, no nothing. There was no annoying friend, no pretty girls running on his
side. There was no one in sight for him. Just the random passerby that looked
at his struggle with the wind and felt the same mixture of awe and pity that
everyone else had. Awe at the fact that this wasn’t the average guy, he looked
different… pity because he didn’t knew what he was doing, he just kept running
believing everyone else was just making fun of him and not really trying to
stop him and help him. He looked at them in disdain, focused on one small thing…

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure…….”

Then suddenly he stopped and shouted: “I’M ALSO RUNNING!” A
random man, about five foot eight, bald, stood at his side, grabbed him from
the shoulder and spoke to him: “We know you are running… now, you want a cookie
for that?” The foreigner turned his head towards this man and looking right
into his eyes he shouted: “Vai tomar no cu” after that he ran.

He knew that for every single one of them, he was nothing
more than a tourist, one of the many they might receive yearly. He wasn’t
famous, he wasn’t rich, he didn’t have history in the sport he was entering. He
probably would be ridiculed by everyone else for all of the above, he wasn’t
known, he wasn’t famous, he wasn’t rich, he’s foreigner, he has attitude… but
that didn’t bother him. Because he knew that in order to get where he wants to
get in this sport, he needs to have that attitude… sucking up to everyone
wouldn’t get him anywhere, except the bad side of some monster that would end
up igniting his face up and confining him to a mask for a long period of time.
At least, that would make for a great pick up story every time he would go to a
bar or a charity race for that matter. But that wasn’t what he wanted, he
wanted to get noticed and fast.

There are a lot of bad guys, or people pretending to be a
bad guy in this sport, he knew that. There was people doing the same things he
would do or pretending to be what he was, he knew that. But he wasn’t going to
be anything that he wasn’t already. He only knew one way of doing things, he
only knew one way of acting… and he knew changing that would take a hell lot
more time than simply doing the things he knew, even if that path put him in
collision course with a guy with a lot of accomplishments, a track record and
knowledge of technical wrestling as the “Famous wrestler” he was slated to face
in his debut match.

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure”

That headline, that headline didn’t want to leave his mind,
it kept creeping from behind when he thought he had another thing to focus on.
The fact is, it didn’t creep on to him because of the “ran for a cure” part…
no, it creep into him because of the first two words… “Famous Wrestler”… to be
famous in this sport you have to either be extremely good or extremely bad. To
obtain celebrity status in a world saturated with wrestlers, you had to be
extremely good… so that left no other choice than the facts… he was going to
face an extremely good wrestler in his debut and that drove him crazy.

He continued running as he was running from the fact that he
wasn’t going to be on the spotlight against a makeshift performer. He kept
running as he tried to run away from reality and didn’t want to face the fact
that his face might get shattered into pieces because his opponent needed to
send a clear message. He kept running as his life and survival depended on it….
He kept running until he got lost in a city that didn’t know him and he didn’t
know. But every step counted… counted for him getting lost. He tried to communicate,
but no one heard him, no one even looked at him, so he resigned and decided to
call a taxi: “To the Embassy Suites Hotel”

The city kept passing by him, buildings, people, traffic, it
was like home… but different. But as the taxi kept running the streets he kept
thinking the same thing, “Famous wrestler runs for a cure”…. He couldn’t get
that out his mind, he couldn’t get that headline away. He couldn’t get Matt
Slater’s name away from the phrase “Famous wrestler….” Why he had to draw a man
on a mission, why he had to draw the guy that would see Iser on him… why he had
to be the ONE guy in the whole roster to face him right from the word go. He
didn’t know the answer, he didn’t have one, he wished he had one, he wished he
knew why he had to face Slater right away, he wished he knew how to defeat the
man, but he knew nothing… except one thing… he would stand right in front of
him, wearing his mask, and he would stop at nothing before he defeated the
likes of Alexander Oliver. There was no trash talk that could bring the guy
down, there was nothing that could detour him from his path. He has one goal
and Alexander is standing in his path. He’s running for a cure… a cure for
himself… and Alexander is just a stone in his path.

The taxi stopped in front of Alexander’s hotel, he paid the
driver and stared at the building. It was eight in the morning, almost two
hours running, he had the whole day in front of him… nothing else to do, except
wait… and waiting was exactly what he didn’t want to do...

“Famous wrestler runs for a cure”

Really… a cure for what?

**********************************

(The scene opens up and it all appears to be static, a dim
light illuminates the space where the camera is standing and everything looks
to be framed in a square. The background sports a bed, a small hotel lamp and
an alarm clock, not much else. The sound of someone approaching the camera
quickly start growing as suddenly a guy stands in front of the camera and
lowers himself to sit right in front of it. The man is none other than
Alexander Oliver, who looks straight at the camera and smirks before speaking
in a Portuguese accent that becomes obvious as he pronounces his first word.)

Oliver: Sorry, I know some of you deserve better than me
speaking in front of a webcam, others simply don’t even deserve to look at me.
But the fact is the fact, I’m not as rich as many in this sport and I have to
do what I have to do. So, welcome to my hotel room here in St. Paul, I’ve been
in better rooms, but I’m not complaining. Also I’ve been in better places
shooting than this one, but once again… you got to do what you can do with
whatever you have. So, let’s do this as clearly I don’t want to waste too much
time speaking to you, fat, ugly, prepotent idiots of the internet…. Who unfortunately
are also the so called “smart fans” of wrestling… and you obviously don’t want
to spend time watching the less “famous wrestler” of the two involved in the
most important match in VOW short history.

Let’s get something straight here, just because I’m not as “famous”
as my counterpart in this match, doesn’t mean I’m less capable. You see, every
single one of you so called “smart fans”, have been trashing me, ignoring me in
favor of the guy that has been known as “The Silver Knight” and “The Suplex
Machine”. I have to say… I get it… I know why you are focusing on that guy, I know
why you look at him in awe and admiration. Just… look at his track record…

(Oliver gets a piece of paper from the left side of the desk
and shows it to the camera before he starts reading from it.)

Oliver: Let’s see…. APW Survive and Conquer top 10, Hall of
Famer, World Heavyweight Champion, Tag-Team Champion, his name was thrown in
some of the best interfed tournaments out there. He has been active for almost
ten years now. Have had feuds with some of the best names in the industry, have
been in tag-teams with some of the best names in the industry…. What else can
you say about this guy. He’s a famous wrestler who has achieved “celebrity
status” and I’m…. well I’m just the guy that will stand in front of him at the
next Breakthrough.

That, my friends, is what makes this match so interesting.
In one side we have a guy that has done everything there is to do in this
industry… on the other, we have ourselves a guy that’s looking to prove he
deserves a spot in the industry. On one hand we have a guy that will stop at
nothing to make sure the match goes according to the rules… on the other we
have a guy that will stop at nothing to steal a victory from the hands of a
more famous wrestler. Two complete opposites, two complete strangers to one
another… two guys that barely know the surface of what makes the other
dangerous… but will try to exploit every single opening they get in the match.

I have to say, I’m impressed with Slater’s track record, I’m
impressed with what he’s done so far, I’m impressed with his abilities… and
because I’m impressed is why I know I have to focus on the match. Yes, I know
that sounds weird coming out of my mouth, but, I know my spot in this match, I know
that if I want to win I have to steal one from the hands of a guy that knows
every single trick there is on the book… hell he probably even helped write
said book. There’s nothing I can say that he haven’t heard already, I could
mock the fact that he plays within the rules, but he probably have heard that
more than a million times from people more arrogant and more petulant than what
I am.

I could mock his mask and the history behind it… but he has
his friend… what was his name…. Falcon… Matt Falcon… he has him to do that. I
could said he’s a has been or a washed up veteran…. But he will prove me wrong
in the match. So… what do I have to throw at him when he has taken everything
away from my hands…

(Alexander grabs another thing from the desk, a newspaper,
he shows it to the camera… in fact he shows only one headline to the camera: “Famous
wrestler runs for a cure” He then puts the paper down and smiles before
resuming speaking.)

Oliver: Yes, Slater, I have that headline to throw at you. I
ask you…. Why were you running? Were you running away or towards? What cure?
Slater, a guy like you never does things just for the sake of doing them. You didn’t
ran that marathon just to raise some money and raise awareness for a cause… no…
there’s something more, there’s something beneath the fact that you ran. Maybe…
it was all a metaphor of you running away from your demons… or running towards
them…. Maybe you were running for a cure for yourself and your problems… maybe
you were running towards me. Every step counts when you strive to achieve
greatness, maybe you wanted to take a leap while you ran. Or maybe you want me
to be the one running.

Slater, either way you put it… your run will end the same
way. There will be no finish line, there will be no pickup line… there will be
me and you… inside that ring. The most important match in VOW short history
awaits us and I’m eager to take some classes with a “teacher”… and maybe… just
maybe… said teacher will have the honor to see his first “student” become
better than him on their first class.

It’s the night of the spotlight…. I hope you’re up for it.

(fade to black)