Post by BRADDOCK on Nov 11, 2023 17:10:09 GMT -5
August 14, 2006. Fresno, California.
Up the street from the group home BRADDOCK and his foster brother, Tyler lived in, stood a mom-and-pop grocery store/mini-mart. You could buy anything you might need one day from super glue to food to brake fluid. What they sold the most, besides snacks and ice, was beer. They had almost every kind under the sun, American, Mexican, and even some from Australia! (They thought it was a big deal as a kid.)
But that store doesn’t have much to do with this detour into the Outcast World Champion's past. Rather, the empty field that stood behind it. It was an empty lot between a Trap house and the store. Only the concrete foundation of where a home once stood is left of the original home that once stood here. Now the lot had a few wayward grocery carts filled with trash, (someone else’s treasure,) used needles, empty nickle baggies, and old condoms strewn in the weed and tall grass like sunbaked eels.
BRADDOCK had been sitting at home, waiting on his brother because he had finally been able to borrow “Madden ‘06" from a schoolmate and really wanted to play against him. He finally went looking for Tyler at the store. As he approached the sun baked building he heard his brother scream.
He ran around the side of the building and, scanning the empty lot, he saw an older boy from up the street. The boy kicked at something on the ground, obscured by the tall grass, while holding something in his hand. As BRADDOCK approached he can see another boy kneeling on Tyler’s back, pinning him belly first to the ground like a bug stuck by a push pin. The boy doing the kicking knelt down and shoved his hand in Tyler’s face.
”Eat it! Eat the dog shit, bitch!”
The sound of a shoe dragging on the ground caught his attention and he turned in time to catch a chunk of pinwheeling cinderblock in the mouth. The impact threw the bullies head back, making a wet “thwop!” sound, and both splitting his upper lip as well as shattering seven of his front teeth instantly. Pain exploded in his face and he collapsed to the ground, hands scrabbling at his broken mouth, while blood cascaded from his ruined maw.
The boy pinning down Tyler saw the damage his brother took and his eyes went the size of saucers. He pushed off of Tyler and was on one knee, attempting to stand up, and didn’t see the empty forty ounce bottle in BRADDOCK’s hand as it arced through the air. It burst into dozens of pieces upon impact, slicing open the back of the kids head while delivering a concussion to him as well.
The boy crumpled like a cheap suit and it took every ounce of strength Tyler had in him to pull his brother away from the two boys. After his initial assault, he began stomping the Hell out of the two. Both boys spent several days in the hospital and BRADDOCK was arrested in his group home.
When the time for court came, BRADDOCK’s state supplied Public Defender insisted the boy plead out rather than fight the nearly bakers dozen amount of charges. So he took a plea deal where he plead guilty to assault and assault with a dangerous weapon. He was ordered to spend the next four years in the custody of the state of California and was shipped off to the Sierra Boys Farm.
It was far from a farm; it was a few cinderblock barracks around a larger cinderblock building. Institutional gray is the color scheme and a ten foot tall fence, topped with razor wire, completes the nightmare version of a “farm” dreamed up by Norman Rockwell.
It was at this institution that BRADDOCK got into lifting weights and working out, tattoos, and fighting. Due to the amount of fighting he engaged in, BRADDOCK ended up spending an extra three years at the farm. Fighting, he discovered, got him higher than any drug he had ever tried (before or since!)
Upon being released, he had his G.E.D. as well as a couple years of tattooing under his belt. He had also bulked up quite a bit (though nothing like he is now.) His body naturally loved bulking up and once he was able to access a real gym, his muscles grew much like the Grinch's heart.
Tyler had graduated high school at this point, having been shuffled from one group home to another and then a third before he moved out on his own. Oddly enough, he had started learning how to tattoo as well and was a year into his apprenticeship when his brother was released. Both young men were nineteen, angry, and Tyler was entrepreneurial enough to capitalize off of his brothers anger and fighting prowess.
This is when BRADDOCK started fighting in backyards, bars, abandoned homes, and empty parking lots. Before too long he started competing in deathmatch wrestling events in backyards and empty lots. Using winnings from these fights got the two their tattooing licenses as well as BRADDOCK ‘s doublewide. BRADDOCK and Tyler have always watched out for each other and continue to do so even today.
Sometime over this past week
When the shot opens, a camera is focused on Hazel Harper who is sitting in a black and gray overstuffed chair in a studio somewhere. Shadows obscure the background and a table sits next to her chair witch a carafe of water and an empty glass within her arms reach. She is all smiles and is wearing an O.C.W. tank top and tight black jeans with a pair of those knee high Converse. Her eyes sparkle to match her smile; her happiness is genuine.
”Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for tuning in and joining me today! My guest is the current Outcast Championship Wrestling, World Heavyweight Champion and friend of mine, BRADDOCK!” she motions with her left hand as the cameras shot widens to show BRADDOCK is sitting opposite of her. He is wearing and old pair of jeans and the Dirtbag Clothing “Octoskull" t-shirt and a battered pair of Doc’s.
”How ya doin, Hazel?” her smile widens to the point she is close to resembling one of those ladies who died in Tim Burtons “Batman.” You remember? Comically large, toothy grin… yeah, that’s Hazel right now.
”I’m sure you have seen the promotional video each of your opponents has put out ahead of your match this week on Battleground. In both instances, they have accused you of being an unfit Champion, even an embarrassment to the Company, due to your drinking. I have personally been around you when you have been drinking and –“ he cuts her off.
”It’s a fact I enjoy drinking. It’s a fact I have a tattoo of the word ‘DRUNK' on my belly. Everything else those two dumb bitches said was a f(bleep!)kin lie…” he says, matter of factly.
”So-" he cuts her off again.
”Hazel, they both know they can’t beat me. Toxi knows I learned from my loss to Mika and won’t be overlooking her because of her size. She also knows she can’t beat me. She knows she can’t put me down for the three count so she resorts to bullsh(bleep!)t like this?!
Same with Lilith! I know what she knows, and what the World is about to find out, and that is that her Monster is a weak little boy in a mask. Take the mask off of that dumb bastard and I bet he looks like that ‘Machine’ guy did in that sh(bleep!)ty old Nic Cage movie, ‘Eight Millimeter.’ Big intimidating guy with the face of a pudgy twelve year old. Unable to scare a fly, let alone someone like me.
Facts are this, Hazel; I have never been drunk during a match since I’ve joined this company. I may not be a self-righteous Straight Edge Saint nor am I a mask wearin bitch, but my drinkin doesn’t effect my performance in the ring. What are you two f(bleep!)kin idiots gonna say next? That I’m on steroids? Look up the word ‘Original in the Oxford English Dictionary and take it to heart.
Another important fact; you’re both lucky you’re not in my preferred style of match. I’d carve you both up like a Thanksgiving turkey.” he says while reaching down towards the floor on the side of his chair, off camera. He sits up with a beer in hand and takes a swig.
Hazel smirks and shakes her head. ”You just gotta poke the bear, don’t you?” she says with a little laugh. Her eyes have remained on him the entire time so far. ”In Philadelphia, as we know, you face the Fight4 Champion as well as the masked behemoth, Leviathan. Those are some steep odds you’re looking at.”
BRADDOCK nods, taking another swig from the can of Pabst, before clearing his throat. ”I don’t give a f(bleep!)k. I am facin the both of them. She is facin the both of us. And the masked man-boy is facin me and the Straight Edge pixie. Because, believe me, Hazel; they won’t be takin me out long enough for one of them to pin the other. I’m the World Champion for a reason!”
She perks up when he mentions being the World Champion. ”Speaking of being the Champion; who would you rather face at ‘Ashes to Ashes?’ Blake Anderson or Casus?”
BRADDOCK takes in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh. He opens his mouth to speak but then stops, closing his mouth and furrowing his brow while he thinks about it. His eyes squint a little and his right eyebrow arches. Finally, after some consideration and thought, he nods while both eyebrows raise up.
”That’s an excellent question, Hazel. I initially thought one thing but then reconsidered it for a moment. I have come to the conclusion that I was right all along; I don’t give a f(bleep!)k. I really don’t. And do you know why, Hazel?”
She shakes her head. ”I don’t know? Uhm, because they –“ again he cuts her off.
”Because I have already handed Blake his ass. If that dolt thinks he’s gonna step up and take my belt away from me then this company needs to get his head examined. He is showin signs of C.T.E.
And Casus? He might be taller than me, but all that means is the Mansfield Curse will be even sicker against his Redwood lookin ass. Someone needs to tell him ‘Sons of Anarchy’ hasn’t been cool in a decade…” he says as he leans back in his chair.
”You certainly keep our censors busy, don’t you?” she says with a laugh, batting her eyes at him but he remains unfazed. ”Well, thank you for joining me, BRADDOCK. The World Champion will be in action, along with many other Outcast Superstars, live from Dallas, Texas on November fifteenth! Be sure to tune in and not miss any of the action including Donnie Harris versus Alexandra Calaway for the Anarchy Championship! For our World Champion, BRADDOCK, I’m Hazel Harper and I’ll see You at Battleground!”
The camera stop rolling and BRADDOCK pounds the rest of the beer before pushing himself out of the chair. Hazel sidles up next to him, a smile on her face, flashing her best doe eyes. But he remains unfazed.
”Want to go out for a drink, or something?” she asks, running a hand through her hair. But before he can answer, a raven haired beauty steps out of the crowd of crew behind the camera. While the interview was being filmed, she sat in the shadows, watchin with a smile parting her luscious lips. She slips her arm around BRADDOCK’s waist and kisses him on the cheek.
”I don’t think so, Hazel.” he says before the two take their leave, leaving Hazel watching them walk away, fury burning in her eyes.
Up the street from the group home BRADDOCK and his foster brother, Tyler lived in, stood a mom-and-pop grocery store/mini-mart. You could buy anything you might need one day from super glue to food to brake fluid. What they sold the most, besides snacks and ice, was beer. They had almost every kind under the sun, American, Mexican, and even some from Australia! (They thought it was a big deal as a kid.)
But that store doesn’t have much to do with this detour into the Outcast World Champion's past. Rather, the empty field that stood behind it. It was an empty lot between a Trap house and the store. Only the concrete foundation of where a home once stood is left of the original home that once stood here. Now the lot had a few wayward grocery carts filled with trash, (someone else’s treasure,) used needles, empty nickle baggies, and old condoms strewn in the weed and tall grass like sunbaked eels.
BRADDOCK had been sitting at home, waiting on his brother because he had finally been able to borrow “Madden ‘06" from a schoolmate and really wanted to play against him. He finally went looking for Tyler at the store. As he approached the sun baked building he heard his brother scream.
He ran around the side of the building and, scanning the empty lot, he saw an older boy from up the street. The boy kicked at something on the ground, obscured by the tall grass, while holding something in his hand. As BRADDOCK approached he can see another boy kneeling on Tyler’s back, pinning him belly first to the ground like a bug stuck by a push pin. The boy doing the kicking knelt down and shoved his hand in Tyler’s face.
”Eat it! Eat the dog shit, bitch!”
The sound of a shoe dragging on the ground caught his attention and he turned in time to catch a chunk of pinwheeling cinderblock in the mouth. The impact threw the bullies head back, making a wet “thwop!” sound, and both splitting his upper lip as well as shattering seven of his front teeth instantly. Pain exploded in his face and he collapsed to the ground, hands scrabbling at his broken mouth, while blood cascaded from his ruined maw.
The boy pinning down Tyler saw the damage his brother took and his eyes went the size of saucers. He pushed off of Tyler and was on one knee, attempting to stand up, and didn’t see the empty forty ounce bottle in BRADDOCK’s hand as it arced through the air. It burst into dozens of pieces upon impact, slicing open the back of the kids head while delivering a concussion to him as well.
The boy crumpled like a cheap suit and it took every ounce of strength Tyler had in him to pull his brother away from the two boys. After his initial assault, he began stomping the Hell out of the two. Both boys spent several days in the hospital and BRADDOCK was arrested in his group home.
When the time for court came, BRADDOCK’s state supplied Public Defender insisted the boy plead out rather than fight the nearly bakers dozen amount of charges. So he took a plea deal where he plead guilty to assault and assault with a dangerous weapon. He was ordered to spend the next four years in the custody of the state of California and was shipped off to the Sierra Boys Farm.
It was far from a farm; it was a few cinderblock barracks around a larger cinderblock building. Institutional gray is the color scheme and a ten foot tall fence, topped with razor wire, completes the nightmare version of a “farm” dreamed up by Norman Rockwell.
It was at this institution that BRADDOCK got into lifting weights and working out, tattoos, and fighting. Due to the amount of fighting he engaged in, BRADDOCK ended up spending an extra three years at the farm. Fighting, he discovered, got him higher than any drug he had ever tried (before or since!)
Upon being released, he had his G.E.D. as well as a couple years of tattooing under his belt. He had also bulked up quite a bit (though nothing like he is now.) His body naturally loved bulking up and once he was able to access a real gym, his muscles grew much like the Grinch's heart.
Tyler had graduated high school at this point, having been shuffled from one group home to another and then a third before he moved out on his own. Oddly enough, he had started learning how to tattoo as well and was a year into his apprenticeship when his brother was released. Both young men were nineteen, angry, and Tyler was entrepreneurial enough to capitalize off of his brothers anger and fighting prowess.
This is when BRADDOCK started fighting in backyards, bars, abandoned homes, and empty parking lots. Before too long he started competing in deathmatch wrestling events in backyards and empty lots. Using winnings from these fights got the two their tattooing licenses as well as BRADDOCK ‘s doublewide. BRADDOCK and Tyler have always watched out for each other and continue to do so even today.
Sometime over this past week
When the shot opens, a camera is focused on Hazel Harper who is sitting in a black and gray overstuffed chair in a studio somewhere. Shadows obscure the background and a table sits next to her chair witch a carafe of water and an empty glass within her arms reach. She is all smiles and is wearing an O.C.W. tank top and tight black jeans with a pair of those knee high Converse. Her eyes sparkle to match her smile; her happiness is genuine.
”Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for tuning in and joining me today! My guest is the current Outcast Championship Wrestling, World Heavyweight Champion and friend of mine, BRADDOCK!” she motions with her left hand as the cameras shot widens to show BRADDOCK is sitting opposite of her. He is wearing and old pair of jeans and the Dirtbag Clothing “Octoskull" t-shirt and a battered pair of Doc’s.
”How ya doin, Hazel?” her smile widens to the point she is close to resembling one of those ladies who died in Tim Burtons “Batman.” You remember? Comically large, toothy grin… yeah, that’s Hazel right now.
”I’m sure you have seen the promotional video each of your opponents has put out ahead of your match this week on Battleground. In both instances, they have accused you of being an unfit Champion, even an embarrassment to the Company, due to your drinking. I have personally been around you when you have been drinking and –“ he cuts her off.
”It’s a fact I enjoy drinking. It’s a fact I have a tattoo of the word ‘DRUNK' on my belly. Everything else those two dumb bitches said was a f(bleep!)kin lie…” he says, matter of factly.
”So-" he cuts her off again.
”Hazel, they both know they can’t beat me. Toxi knows I learned from my loss to Mika and won’t be overlooking her because of her size. She also knows she can’t beat me. She knows she can’t put me down for the three count so she resorts to bullsh(bleep!)t like this?!
Same with Lilith! I know what she knows, and what the World is about to find out, and that is that her Monster is a weak little boy in a mask. Take the mask off of that dumb bastard and I bet he looks like that ‘Machine’ guy did in that sh(bleep!)ty old Nic Cage movie, ‘Eight Millimeter.’ Big intimidating guy with the face of a pudgy twelve year old. Unable to scare a fly, let alone someone like me.
Facts are this, Hazel; I have never been drunk during a match since I’ve joined this company. I may not be a self-righteous Straight Edge Saint nor am I a mask wearin bitch, but my drinkin doesn’t effect my performance in the ring. What are you two f(bleep!)kin idiots gonna say next? That I’m on steroids? Look up the word ‘Original in the Oxford English Dictionary and take it to heart.
Another important fact; you’re both lucky you’re not in my preferred style of match. I’d carve you both up like a Thanksgiving turkey.” he says while reaching down towards the floor on the side of his chair, off camera. He sits up with a beer in hand and takes a swig.
Hazel smirks and shakes her head. ”You just gotta poke the bear, don’t you?” she says with a little laugh. Her eyes have remained on him the entire time so far. ”In Philadelphia, as we know, you face the Fight4 Champion as well as the masked behemoth, Leviathan. Those are some steep odds you’re looking at.”
BRADDOCK nods, taking another swig from the can of Pabst, before clearing his throat. ”I don’t give a f(bleep!)k. I am facin the both of them. She is facin the both of us. And the masked man-boy is facin me and the Straight Edge pixie. Because, believe me, Hazel; they won’t be takin me out long enough for one of them to pin the other. I’m the World Champion for a reason!”
She perks up when he mentions being the World Champion. ”Speaking of being the Champion; who would you rather face at ‘Ashes to Ashes?’ Blake Anderson or Casus?”
BRADDOCK takes in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh. He opens his mouth to speak but then stops, closing his mouth and furrowing his brow while he thinks about it. His eyes squint a little and his right eyebrow arches. Finally, after some consideration and thought, he nods while both eyebrows raise up.
”That’s an excellent question, Hazel. I initially thought one thing but then reconsidered it for a moment. I have come to the conclusion that I was right all along; I don’t give a f(bleep!)k. I really don’t. And do you know why, Hazel?”
She shakes her head. ”I don’t know? Uhm, because they –“ again he cuts her off.
”Because I have already handed Blake his ass. If that dolt thinks he’s gonna step up and take my belt away from me then this company needs to get his head examined. He is showin signs of C.T.E.
And Casus? He might be taller than me, but all that means is the Mansfield Curse will be even sicker against his Redwood lookin ass. Someone needs to tell him ‘Sons of Anarchy’ hasn’t been cool in a decade…” he says as he leans back in his chair.
”You certainly keep our censors busy, don’t you?” she says with a laugh, batting her eyes at him but he remains unfazed. ”Well, thank you for joining me, BRADDOCK. The World Champion will be in action, along with many other Outcast Superstars, live from Dallas, Texas on November fifteenth! Be sure to tune in and not miss any of the action including Donnie Harris versus Alexandra Calaway for the Anarchy Championship! For our World Champion, BRADDOCK, I’m Hazel Harper and I’ll see You at Battleground!”
The camera stop rolling and BRADDOCK pounds the rest of the beer before pushing himself out of the chair. Hazel sidles up next to him, a smile on her face, flashing her best doe eyes. But he remains unfazed.
”Want to go out for a drink, or something?” she asks, running a hand through her hair. But before he can answer, a raven haired beauty steps out of the crowd of crew behind the camera. While the interview was being filmed, she sat in the shadows, watchin with a smile parting her luscious lips. She slips her arm around BRADDOCK’s waist and kisses him on the cheek.
”I don’t think so, Hazel.” he says before the two take their leave, leaving Hazel watching them walk away, fury burning in her eyes.