Post by COULSON on Jun 6, 2023 10:58:16 GMT
"Very early on in my life there came a point where two paths stretched out before me."
JIMI COULSON stands on the porch of his parents' lush farmhouse. He stands there in a wool lined denim jacket over a white t-shirt that is one size too small, as is typical of a pro wrestler, a pair of well-worn blue jeans and secured by a tanned leather belt with a large silver buckle. His boots thud off the wooden slats of the deck as he turns to face the camera.
"I've invited a small camera crew out here to my parents ranch to demonstrate one of the two paths."
Coulson then turns back to the horizon in the east where the sun is beginning to rise behind a wall of misty fog. He gestures with a large sweep of his arm.
"Four hundred and nineteen acres out that way and about six hundred out to the west. A big beautiful house. A garage full of machinery and equipment. Thoroughbred horses. Specially made saddles by a leather craftsman out in Arizona. More money than I'd know what to do with. If I went down this path, this is what my life could've been like. My brothers took this path and I don’t blame 'em for it one bit. They're off doing their own things using the connections that parents have made over the years to help them out. They're successful because of it. And as much as I love the peace of the farm and the beauty of the country, it just weren't in my blood. Fighting? Now that's a different story. My mother always said that of the three boys I was always the most difficult. I just had that temperament about me. I didn't mix well with people. My mother calls me difficult and my father calls me stubborn. Well the apple don't fall too far from the tree in that case. See cause they tried to make me follow this path and have this life. But all I wanted to do was fight. Because while my brothers were going to school and doing their homework, I was going to school to fight and when I could I'd watch the greatest sport on God's green.”
He turns with a half smile.
“I’ve always wanted to be a pro wrestler. More than anything. Working on this farm? I love it. Being out here in the sticks? I love it. But I’d trade it all to be a professional wrestler. And I did. It was a crushing disappointment for my parents, y’know? They never denied it though. They said that if I get my foot in the door somewhere, I should pursue it relentlessly. And I have. People would say that it’s luck, but it ain’t. Fate. Destiny. Because a man saw something in me in the middle of a bar room brawl that no one had ever seen before. That was my foot in the door. That led me down this path that I dreamed of ever since I was a kid. It’s why I’m standing here right now, looking into a camera and talking about how within the next month, after damn near eight years of grinding, eight years of sacrificing, eight years of leaving my life behind, I will fight for my first ever world’s championship.”
Coulson shrugs his shoulders.
“Only there’s a problem. A rather big problem. A man stands in the way of that. A man threatens to take that from me. I know that I’ve already secured my shot, but I’ll say this.”
Coulson leans in close to the camera, stone faced.
“Cross Recoba, if I don’t beat you on the tenth, I can’t rightly consider myself next in line. If I don’t beat you, Cross Recoba, I’ll give up my shot. Because, y’see, I need to win this match. So, I’ll fly back to Cali, and I’ll walk into the Walter Pyramid, and I’ll fight like my life is on the line. Because at the end of the day? It is. This life is the life I chose to have. With all the good and bad that it comes with. I know it’s nothing new to Cross. He’s a guy that’s been up and down the trail for a good while now. He’s been at the highest of highs. He’s been a world champion many times over. He’s probably had plenty of guys come up and try and make a name off the back of his. He’s probably heard this all before. As talented as he is, he seems to me to be the type of guy who’ll blow me off as a tag team guy, or just consider me as Touchdown’s former partner. But Touchdown? He beat Recoba. Who do you think he trained to be able to do that?”
A smirk flashes across his face.
“It wasn't that little snot nosed freak that carries his bags, I’ll give ya that for free. I’ve studied Cross extensively. I know he’s gonna make me work for it, drag me into deep waters, possibly the deepest waters I’ve ever been in. I welcome it. I want him to do that. I don’t want him to underestimate me. I just outworked three of the hungriest, driven individuals I’ve shared a ring with after half a year out of the ring. Sure, Roxie got one over me at the end there, something we’ll have to revisit down the line to be sure, but it took the beating from all three of them to catch up to me. I don’t want the XHF Network bigshot who has stepped out from behind his booking desk. I don’t want the guy who lost to Touchdown. I don’t want the guy who lost to Myo at Discovery because that guy? He disappointed me.”
A glass sits on the bannister of the porch. Brown liquor rests at the lower quarter of the glass. Coulson turns from the camera and grabs it. The slowly melting cubes of ice clink in the glass as he raises it and downs the liquor in one shot. After a moment, he places the glass back down.
“I’ve held titles before. Tag titles. Junior heavyweight titles. Minor league places. I ain’t ever been a World Champion before. Cross has, I haven’t. In fact, I’ve never even had the chance to fight for a major championship, especially one as big as the IPW World Openweight Championship. Throughout my career I’ve struggled with feeling like I ain’t deserved my spot or that I haven’t worked hard enough to be where I am. The time I spent away last year allowed me to put some things into perspective and especially after Discovery, it reassured me completely. I’ve sacrificed too damn much and I’ve paid my dues. I deserve to be here. I deserve to be in this spot.”
As the sun has continued its rise, the rays from the sun punch through the leaves of the nearby trees, and the fog is beginning to clear.
“In the lead up to Discovery, I told the world who and what I was gunning for. I wanted the National Openweight title. I wanted my former partner in the ring. But when I bounced the bottom of my boot off the chin of Roxie and I looked down at her laying there, and I saw that the coast was clear, I decided at that moment that it was about damn time I took that shot for myself, and so it was. I put a nickel in the slot on that machine made of dreams and, like a one-armed bandit, I pulled on that lever. The dial spun and three sevens lined up on the screen. That’s a jackpot right there, son. I bet everything I had on myself and it paid off. Now I stand on the cusp of cashing it all in.”
Coulson runs a hand back through his hair and turns to the camera one last time, sliding the thumbs of both hands behind the buckle of his belt.
“With all that said, I’m sorry to say this, Cross. But on the tenth June? In Cali? I’m gonna lace up my boots. I’m gonna tape up my fists real tight like. And I sure as shit ain’t gonna wrestle. I’m gonna fight. I’m gonna fight you like you have a gun up to my head…”
With one hand, Coulson mimics a gun to his head with his hand.
“I’m gonna fight you like my fuckin’ life depends on it. So whether you want to or not, Cross Recoba, you won’t be wrestling me.”
Coulson moves the finger gun from his head and points the barrel of the .357 Magnum index finger down the camera.
“You’ll be fighting. Fighting to survive.”
Coulson drops his thumb, mocking that of a hammer striking a round, and raises his hand to simulate the recoil. The last shot we see is of Coulson smirking confidently.
JIMI COULSON stands on the porch of his parents' lush farmhouse. He stands there in a wool lined denim jacket over a white t-shirt that is one size too small, as is typical of a pro wrestler, a pair of well-worn blue jeans and secured by a tanned leather belt with a large silver buckle. His boots thud off the wooden slats of the deck as he turns to face the camera.
"I've invited a small camera crew out here to my parents ranch to demonstrate one of the two paths."
Coulson then turns back to the horizon in the east where the sun is beginning to rise behind a wall of misty fog. He gestures with a large sweep of his arm.
"Four hundred and nineteen acres out that way and about six hundred out to the west. A big beautiful house. A garage full of machinery and equipment. Thoroughbred horses. Specially made saddles by a leather craftsman out in Arizona. More money than I'd know what to do with. If I went down this path, this is what my life could've been like. My brothers took this path and I don’t blame 'em for it one bit. They're off doing their own things using the connections that parents have made over the years to help them out. They're successful because of it. And as much as I love the peace of the farm and the beauty of the country, it just weren't in my blood. Fighting? Now that's a different story. My mother always said that of the three boys I was always the most difficult. I just had that temperament about me. I didn't mix well with people. My mother calls me difficult and my father calls me stubborn. Well the apple don't fall too far from the tree in that case. See cause they tried to make me follow this path and have this life. But all I wanted to do was fight. Because while my brothers were going to school and doing their homework, I was going to school to fight and when I could I'd watch the greatest sport on God's green.”
He turns with a half smile.
“I’ve always wanted to be a pro wrestler. More than anything. Working on this farm? I love it. Being out here in the sticks? I love it. But I’d trade it all to be a professional wrestler. And I did. It was a crushing disappointment for my parents, y’know? They never denied it though. They said that if I get my foot in the door somewhere, I should pursue it relentlessly. And I have. People would say that it’s luck, but it ain’t. Fate. Destiny. Because a man saw something in me in the middle of a bar room brawl that no one had ever seen before. That was my foot in the door. That led me down this path that I dreamed of ever since I was a kid. It’s why I’m standing here right now, looking into a camera and talking about how within the next month, after damn near eight years of grinding, eight years of sacrificing, eight years of leaving my life behind, I will fight for my first ever world’s championship.”
Coulson shrugs his shoulders.
“Only there’s a problem. A rather big problem. A man stands in the way of that. A man threatens to take that from me. I know that I’ve already secured my shot, but I’ll say this.”
Coulson leans in close to the camera, stone faced.
“Cross Recoba, if I don’t beat you on the tenth, I can’t rightly consider myself next in line. If I don’t beat you, Cross Recoba, I’ll give up my shot. Because, y’see, I need to win this match. So, I’ll fly back to Cali, and I’ll walk into the Walter Pyramid, and I’ll fight like my life is on the line. Because at the end of the day? It is. This life is the life I chose to have. With all the good and bad that it comes with. I know it’s nothing new to Cross. He’s a guy that’s been up and down the trail for a good while now. He’s been at the highest of highs. He’s been a world champion many times over. He’s probably had plenty of guys come up and try and make a name off the back of his. He’s probably heard this all before. As talented as he is, he seems to me to be the type of guy who’ll blow me off as a tag team guy, or just consider me as Touchdown’s former partner. But Touchdown? He beat Recoba. Who do you think he trained to be able to do that?”
A smirk flashes across his face.
“It wasn't that little snot nosed freak that carries his bags, I’ll give ya that for free. I’ve studied Cross extensively. I know he’s gonna make me work for it, drag me into deep waters, possibly the deepest waters I’ve ever been in. I welcome it. I want him to do that. I don’t want him to underestimate me. I just outworked three of the hungriest, driven individuals I’ve shared a ring with after half a year out of the ring. Sure, Roxie got one over me at the end there, something we’ll have to revisit down the line to be sure, but it took the beating from all three of them to catch up to me. I don’t want the XHF Network bigshot who has stepped out from behind his booking desk. I don’t want the guy who lost to Touchdown. I don’t want the guy who lost to Myo at Discovery because that guy? He disappointed me.”
A glass sits on the bannister of the porch. Brown liquor rests at the lower quarter of the glass. Coulson turns from the camera and grabs it. The slowly melting cubes of ice clink in the glass as he raises it and downs the liquor in one shot. After a moment, he places the glass back down.
“I’ve held titles before. Tag titles. Junior heavyweight titles. Minor league places. I ain’t ever been a World Champion before. Cross has, I haven’t. In fact, I’ve never even had the chance to fight for a major championship, especially one as big as the IPW World Openweight Championship. Throughout my career I’ve struggled with feeling like I ain’t deserved my spot or that I haven’t worked hard enough to be where I am. The time I spent away last year allowed me to put some things into perspective and especially after Discovery, it reassured me completely. I’ve sacrificed too damn much and I’ve paid my dues. I deserve to be here. I deserve to be in this spot.”
As the sun has continued its rise, the rays from the sun punch through the leaves of the nearby trees, and the fog is beginning to clear.
“In the lead up to Discovery, I told the world who and what I was gunning for. I wanted the National Openweight title. I wanted my former partner in the ring. But when I bounced the bottom of my boot off the chin of Roxie and I looked down at her laying there, and I saw that the coast was clear, I decided at that moment that it was about damn time I took that shot for myself, and so it was. I put a nickel in the slot on that machine made of dreams and, like a one-armed bandit, I pulled on that lever. The dial spun and three sevens lined up on the screen. That’s a jackpot right there, son. I bet everything I had on myself and it paid off. Now I stand on the cusp of cashing it all in.”
Coulson runs a hand back through his hair and turns to the camera one last time, sliding the thumbs of both hands behind the buckle of his belt.
“With all that said, I’m sorry to say this, Cross. But on the tenth June? In Cali? I’m gonna lace up my boots. I’m gonna tape up my fists real tight like. And I sure as shit ain’t gonna wrestle. I’m gonna fight. I’m gonna fight you like you have a gun up to my head…”
With one hand, Coulson mimics a gun to his head with his hand.
“I’m gonna fight you like my fuckin’ life depends on it. So whether you want to or not, Cross Recoba, you won’t be wrestling me.”
Coulson moves the finger gun from his head and points the barrel of the .357 Magnum index finger down the camera.
“You’ll be fighting. Fighting to survive.”
Coulson drops his thumb, mocking that of a hammer striking a round, and raises his hand to simulate the recoil. The last shot we see is of Coulson smirking confidently.