Driving at 55 mph is something I’m used to by now. Anderson demands that we hit the arena at least 2 hours before the start of each show unless there are some special circumstances. I’m always on the last minute too. That’s why I’ve become accustomed to driving at fast speeds. That’s why I know when to grind that pedal into the ground.
This was nothing more than a Church call though and it didn’t require speed.
After about twenty minutes of casual cruising, I arrived at the battlefield. That’s right. I said battlefield. You see, judging by the amount of people that had gathered and the abusive gestures that they flaunted… you couldn’t really draw any parallels to a place of religious worship.
“Thank God you’re here!” exclaimed Father Johnson as I slammed shut the door of my Ferrari with a passionate aggression.
Thank God? I’d just heard a priest blaspheme. It wasn't the first time that I’d ever heard the Lord’s name taken in vain... but by a man of the cloth? Jesus H Christ! However, my first thought wasn’t one of disgust. No. I was more concerned about telling the boys down at my local boozer what I’d heard! Fuck! They’d love it.
God, I am an asshole.
“So, do you want to tell me what’s going on now then?”
I didn’t need any bullshit answers remarking on floods of people marching through the streets in some kind of disgruntled rage either. That was already perfectly obvious to me. All I wanted was to return to my little garden bench. Please, Father. No bullshit?
“Basically, this Matthew Logan guy presents himself as a Christ like individual, doesn’t he? Well, these people think that the man is an accurate reflection of Jesus himself! After all, there’s no way that pro wrestlers would ever lie to their fans!” said the priest as he stopped every now and again to catch his breath. “They’re so sick and tired of him moaning that they’re actually turning against the Church now! They believe this man is the true Messiah! You’ve got to either shut Logan up or explain to these people that Matthew Logan is nothing more than a fake!”
What the hell? It took a few moments for me to actually digest the facts. I’d never realised that pro wrestling fans were this stupid. Sure, if they’d cheer people like Jon Fuller then I’d always feared the worst… but this just beyond all logical comprehension.
“So, let me get this straight… These guys are all pro wrestling fans and they think Matthew Logan is the reincarnation of Jesus, simply because he tells them that he is?” I inquired with a beaming grin on my face. “And they’re pisse…annoyed, sorry Father, with the Church because they’re tired of hearing their Messiah talk absolute tripe?”
The priest nodded.
I tapped my feet as Father Johnson looked at me anxiously, waiting for something to happen. I knew there was no chance of shutting Logan up… at least until Sunday. I had to figure out a way of stopping these people destroying my local Church…
The idea didn’t come to me immediately. In fact, it took several minutes of foot tapping before it did. However, as the light bulb inside of my head suddenly switched on… I knew that everything would work out alright. So, you’ve got to understand that, as I turned to Father Johnson and said…
“Bring me a white cape, a fake beard, some sandals and a tin of donuts,”
…That I had every confidence in my ability to get the job done.
I’m not just Chris Champion. I’m an icon. I’m a pirate. I’m…I’m…
