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HWF-online.com | Board of Education | Layout When I sing along with you If everything could ever feel this real forever If anything could ever be this good again Foo Fighters – Everlong ‘And I wonder’
I’ve had a lot of time to wonder recently. The days drag more than usual when you’re sat at home watching re-runs of the Simpsons. As much as Bart and Lisa do make me laugh, my eyes can’t help but wander around the room, search for the grandfather clock and count down the minutes before bedtime. Well, that’s what I had been doing… until those bastard thieves decided to burgle me.
With no TV to keep me occupied, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. That’s probably why I’ve rediscovered my ‘attachment’ to Georgina. Well, actually, there’s no ‘probably’ about it… That is the reason. I guess it doesn’t really matter though. Crying never solves anything.
That doesn’t mean to say I’ve cried, of course.
Aside from her, my family has been at the forefronts of my thoughts. It’s been eight months since I left England to join the HWF. I remember promising my Mum that I’d call her every week to inform her of my progress – that never really materialised though. I don’t think I’ve phoned her more than 5 times since arriving in America.
Is that some kind of indicator as to the person I’m becoming? Maybe even the person I’ve become?
Fuck it. I wonder about things too much sometimes. Still, at least I know that my imagination and creative juices are both in good working order.
I wish the rest of my life would follow suit.
I’ve not been able to sing properly for several years now aside from the odd Beatles song in the shower. However, even then I’ve not been able to stay in key all the way through. In days gone back, I used to belt out tracks like ‘Back in the USSR’ at the top of my lungs without fault. Even Helter Skelter wasn’t too much for my vocal range to deal with.
Now though, I croak. I stutter.
It’s not through any lack of talent either. Over the past few weeks, I’ve started to regain control of my voice. Just when I thought that I was ready to belt out another classic and return to my glory days, I develop a cold.
She’s like some kind of contagious disease on so many grounds though. Well, disease sounds a little too harsh. It’s probably better if I liken her to a drug. Ecstasy. Coke. Heroin. I can’t get enough of her.
I need my fix.
I struggle to come to terms with what’s real and what’s not these days. Is it fact or fiction, Chris? Black or white? True or false? Reality is such a confusing dimension for me. It’s all my fault though. I’ve confused myself, no doubt about it.
Am I really going to face Jake Reed this weekend at Indecent Exposure? I’ve no reason to hate him really. Sure, I found his little ‘I’m going to make you tap’ speech a tad annoying… but this is pro wrestling. There are annoying characters everywhere. However, once again I find myself heading into a pay-per-view match against someone I have no real beef with. This can’t be real. My imagination is working overtime.
What the fuck is ‘real’?
Real is…well, it’s…Georgina. She’s real. Or, at least she was real. The past tense… that’s real. In fact, everything about the past is real. Nowadays? I can’t decide whether my life is real or not. My conscious traps me and pulls me from side to side.
No. Stop. She loves you. You used to feel that way. Is ‘real’ waking up at 7 am each morning, smiling at the prospect of facing a new day and accepting that you’ll never see life beyond the confinement of a 9 to 5 job? Is ‘real’ walking through that curtain each week to the roar of 20,000 people before kicking Michael Trey’s ass? Maybe The Matrix is ‘real’. I don’t know. I don’t care. Maybe that’s my problem. When I first joined the HWF, I didn’t care. I was always the guy that’d waltz around backstage with a chip on his shoulder, yelling at anyone that crossed my path. Then, Collins came along and told me to relax. I did. That still didn’t work. Now, instead of trying to be the monster heel that everyone else wants to be and the chilled out fun guy that Collins wants to see, I’m just going to be me. I’m going to be real for a change. Whether or not my new-found attitude will last ‘forever’ remains to be seen. Forever is an awfully long time. I’m not going to sit here and try and kid you all into thinking I’m a stable man. Far from it. Sometimes even the Oatmeal guy drives me insane. I change from one day to the next. That’s why I don’t know what tomorrow man will bring… Or what kind of man I’m going to grow into. ‘If anything could ever be this good again’
Nothing could ever be that good again. As I pinned his shoulders to the mat and listened the referee’s count – a state of euphoria swept my body. The count became a tribal war chant and the drums banged louder than ever. 1,2,3. 1,2,3. Primitive emotions that date back to the days of cavemen were evoked as raw passion reared its fearsome head and seized control of my body.
Beating Trey is probably the highlight of my career thus far. He’s a supposed legend, after all. That’s why it’s still difficult to believe that I’ve actually pinned him. I remember waking up on a Monday morning after matches against Logan and Pericolo, looking in the mirror and asking myself not when my next victory would come… but if it would come at all. Now, I’m on top of the world. Trey can’t stop me. Azure can’t stop me. I’m willing to bet Jake Reed can’t either. That’s the power of confidence, ladies and gentlemen. Which is why I feel so strange because… wrestling is the only thing I can feel confident about at this moment in time. Women? Lack of confidence. Healthy eating? Lack of confidence. Hell, home security? Lack of fucking confidence. There was a time when I feel that I could have fallen asleep, left a sign on my front door saying, “come on in! The TV is free!” and no one would have robbed me. Now though, my world is changing… and for the worst too. It keeps me up at night every now and again. Nobody really knows all this though. So, why share it now? Because I have to. If I want to beat people like Michael Trey every week, if I want to feel that good again… I’ve got to remain true to myself. Now, you can throw all the wrestling jargon at me if you want; heel, face, goodie, baddie. I never asked to take on anyone else’s character. I never asked for wrestling fans to define me with one simple word. I am more than one fucking word. I’m a complex problem. A problem that could take years to fully understand. So, when people shrug me off and tag me along with true villains of the world… It makes me sad. Is it, then, any wonder that I go mental on National TV and scream obscenities? I don’t think so. You don’t know me. You probably never will. But, hey, at least give me the chance to tell my story… I’m not good. I’m not bad. I’m not a hero or a villain. I’m just plain old me. And that’s who I’ll remain to be. It’s the only chance I have of feeling that good again. I am Chris Champion. I will always be Chris Champion. Everlong.
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