“Ok, we got the beard, the cape, the sandals…What did you want the donuts for?”
“If this all turns pear shaped, at least I know I’ll have something to fall back on,” I said sternly. This was serious business.
Slowly, I walked out into the daylight and away from the safety of the Church. Instantly, the crowd turned to look at me as I caught their attention for the first time. They didn’t know whether to laugh or cry judging from the expressions on their face. That was exactly how I wanted it though.
Jesus Champion had been resurrected and was wearing a fake beard, a white cape and a pair of sandals.
“Greetings, Earthlings!” I said, trying to appear as the omniscient God like figure that my clothes were so evidently portraying. “I am the son of Rod!”
I figured that perhaps your average pro wrestling fan wasn’t clever enough to catch that little slip of the tongue. Besides, my Dad’s middle name was Rod, so technically I was telling the truth.
Cries of “What the fuck?” and “Huh?” danced around and made their way into the air. Getting their attention was a little too easy for my liking. I love challenges. Ah well. Never mind.
“I have been sent here by Rod from above to explain to you that Matthew Logan is nothing more than a fake.”
My Dad did actually live above me at one point in my life, since my bedroom was downstairs back in the good old UK. There was no way that I was prepared to lie to these kids about anything given the fact we were within spitting distance of a Church. That’s not to say I’d ever spit on a Church though.
Honest!
Silence gripped the kids as they still weren’t sure what to make of me. I figured that they’d either bought the Jesus lines or they were lining me up for a stampede. Either way, I had to keep talking…
“You see, it’s pretty obvious to the rest of the world that Matthew Logan isn’t a modern day Messiah. The ‘cool’ kids know that only the Son of Rod can lay claim to that title. So, here I am! Worship me!”
I figured that the ‘cool kids’ line was a good card to play. Most of these guys were rejects of society. I mean if they were so hopelessly obsessed with wrestling that they’d turn their back on Christianity… they actually did need saving by someone.
No one had moved a muscle from the crowd. I could almost taste their fear. It needed slightly more salt.
“Do not be afraid! Repent now and you shall be saved come Judgement Day! St Peter is a pretty close friend… so if he gives you any hassle about entering the gates of Heaven, just slip me a few bucks and I’ll sort you out!” I announced in a tiger like fashion. Jesus wouldn’t have been a bumbling idiot. I had to portray myself as a great public speaker with the power to silence an entire nation.
However, before I had chance to open my mouth again, the leader of the riot team stepped forward.
He was a rather small, ugly little sixteen year old. The first thing that struck me about him was his rather odd earring. It was one of those girlie ones that dangled down and it looked rather out of place considering that this riot was supposed to be nothing short of a war. His lips began to move but no sound came out straight away. There was a three second delay… but finally…
It came.
“What the fuck are you doing? Who the hell is Matthew Logan? And for that matter, who the hell are you?”
Ok. So, that wasn’t quite the reaction I was looking for.
“What do you mean, mortal? I’m the Son of Rod and I’m here to tell you abou…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, spitting his chewing gum out onto the ground. What a disgusting habit. “Look, dude, we know that you’re not Jesus. You can drop the act now. We also don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re not here to protest against Matthew Logan at all. We’re here to protest against the priests enforcing a mandatory collection fund at every mass.”
Naturally, my eye-brows forced themselves up towards my forehead. A few winces later and my head began to look at the bigger picture that was beginning to form.
Father Johnson had called a highly paid, famous professional wrestler to stop a crew of rioters… that weren’t actually rioting. Hmm. I looked around the scene to find an army of photographers looming.
Father Johnson stood by a film crew as the media began to question him about the events of the day.
“Excuse me for a second, kid,” I said, pushing past the ugly teenager and making my way over towards the Holy guy.
Father Johnson was lapping up the attention. However, that quickly changed as the crew realised that a man posing as Jesus was slowly making his way over to them. Lights began to flash in my face as the paparazzi got their way and snapped picture after picture.
The priest didn’t look too confident as I strolled towards him. He turned away and once again began to speak to one of the local news teams. I could just about hear the conversation from my vantage point of fifteen yards away.
“Yeah, and so this crazy Jesus guy shows up outside of St John’s Church in Chicago…. That’s St JOHN’s Church in Chicago… and starts telling everyone he’s the second coming of the Christ!”
Ah. It all started to make sense to me now. Father Johnson had used me! I was nothing more than a pawn in his little game of religious chess. Well, let me assure you, pawns can be pain in the ass too…
Before I could thrust my left boot into the priest’s mid section, one of the camera crew darted out and poked a microphone in my face. Naturally, it shocked me a little, but I threw my cape over my shoulder and yanked off the beard.
“Do you honestly think I actually believe I’m Jesus? This is all that priest idiot’s idea! He’s just trying to get a cheap plug for his Church! Can’t you see that?”
“That’s slander!” exclaimed Johnson as he spun around. “I want this man arrested for breach of the peace immediately! I’m sick and tired of all these crazy fools lining up outside St JOHN’S Church in Chicago!”
It was crazy but the priest actually got his wish. Within minutes, the cops were alerted to a man pretending to be Jesus in downtown Chicago. I didn’t resist their advances though; I’d just about had enough of the place anyway. A night in the slammer would probably do me some good anyway. Well, that’s what I told myself.
