North board, roleplay 11

Ever had the burning sensation in your crotch? It tingles, but not in a good way. You constantly dig at your genitalia like there’s something hidden down there, but there’s not. You look at it; the skin is raw. Is it dry or wet? Who knows? The skin feels dried out on your inner thighs, but just beside each teste the skin is moist and looks like a cherry blow pop (but with this condition, looking like a blow pop is as close as you’ll get). Then you can’t help but to wonder, what does it smell like? You really don’t know, but curiosity has gotten the better of you. You look to your left, you glance to your right, no one will notice. If they do, it’s not like they would believe it anyway. A grown man sniffing his own crotch? Get real. So you reach down, rub the tender skin and just as you have hit rock bottom (or at your finest, depends on how you look at it), your fingers inch closer to your nostril as you get a whiff of musty sweat and jock rot, you jerk your head to the side, but then you go back for me. You think to yourself, it’s not THAT bad, honestly, it’s not. You grab the Johnson and Johnson baby powder and douse yourself in it. Your crotch now looks like an albino midget, but you don’t really care, you just want to cure this damn thing before it gets out of hand. There’s no pay off in jock rot.

This is why I joined Wrestling God. I’m tired of the soreness, the irritating burn, the musty smell that you totally ignore because you don’t want to believe it, because you want everything to be a bed of damned roses and tulips.

This has been a metaphor for my career. Sure, I’m accomplished in my own rights. Hell, Tony Field is a household name. But I’ve never got the big payoff and I can never get over the hump from superstardom, the legendary status. Hence, I can never get rid of the jock rot in a sense.

I’ve always been told all my life that if you try something, you put one hundred and ten percent into it, and you do it right. That’s where I’m at right now with this tournament.

A total change of attitude, a total change of priorities, it’s a make over of the soul of sorts.

The first change came in my attitude. I’ve been playing to fans as of late. For the past three years I’d been the hated heel who didn’t give two shits about anything or anyone but myself. But then I was thrust into a position and I suddenly gained a conscious. The more I reflect though, it was bullshit; I did have some valid points, as in the fans pay our checks, their appreciation keeps this business thriving, but then I also realized that every good must have an evil. Every light must have a dark. In order for the fans to have someone to cheer, they must have someone to hate. That’s what brought me to the show, being the man they hated. That’s what thrust me into the spotlight, the jeers of the crowd, and that’s what’s going to carry me through this tournament is their hatred for me.

The other change isn’t my attitude, but in my career. This is the one Anne disagrees with. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife dearly, but sometimes it’s a bitch being married. So what I made the mistake of making a decision without her, but I don’t really care. I needed to focus on this tournament so I withdrew myself from uWa, and I gave up my part in Tremor. It may sound crazy, as a matter of fact, I’m still trying to convince myself I did the right thing, but I need this tournament. I need this path to glory. My whole career I’ve known I was the best, my whole career I’ve wanted to dominate this sport like none before me. Now’s my chance, now I can throw my name in with the likes of Michael Trey and Chris Bagwell when I win this damn thing. And if I don’t win, it’s a fluke and a travesty.

The past three days I’ve been training diligently. I’ve always been one to be in shape and to be on top of my game, but this tournament, the third installment of Wrestling God, I have to be in better shape than ever before. It’s been damn near suicide training that no one else would subject themselves to, but I got that determination most don’t have. That’s what sets me aside and puts me in a league of my own. I have the talent, the charisma, and I go that extra mile. Nothing makes me sick, nothing makes me puke like these guys who have no desire to better themselves. I k now I’m the best, yet I thrive to constantly improve. I’ll never settle, while others do.

Now though, time to relax and take a break.

“Pass me another cold one, Ash.”

Ashton Crowley, too many a menace, a redneck-gone bad who loves his beer cold and his women fast. To me, he’s an all around great guy who is much like myself. Crowley is the one steady wrestler in my career. Everyone experiences a small disagreement, that’s expected. Ash and I, we trust no one other than each other when it comes to business. We’re two of a kind, what else can I say.

Ash reaches down into the cooler at his side and tosses me a can of the silver bullet as I like to call it. Coors Light, a man’s beer that just soothes your throat as it runs down the gullet. I love it; the breakfast of champions, the feast of legends.

“So when do you head out?” he asks in between drinks.

I scrape my thumb-tip across the tab on the beer, the hell of not having fingernails, I can never open these damn cans. Many times I’ve had blood drizzling from my thumb after a few of these things. That’s why I usually spring for bottles, but Ash bought and beggars can’t be choosers.

”To hell if I know. I never deal with that shit. Anne takes care of travel arrangements.” I glance in the patio door to Anne, who’s fumbling through the dishwasher. God bless her little heart, trying to do the dishes. She’s lost as to what to do, but at least she’s trying. And people wonder I very rarely give the maid the day off. “Honey, when do we leave for LA?” I call out to her.

Anne and I are coming up on our three year anniversary. We married in July of ’99, but I’ve known for much longer. I think it was something like the winter of ’97 when I met Anne, back when she was still Anne Chantraine, the red headed beauty who’s family roots were Belgium. I had fled from wrestling and was doing a bit of modeling in Europe, not to mention some low budget movies that pops hooked me up with, when I met Anne. We just hit it off immediately; it was almost like lust at first site. Not really love, I just wanted to get in her panties and spread those thighs like they had never been spread before. But somewhere along the line, I fell in love, go figure.

“Tomorrow afternoon. The limousine will be here noonish I believe.”

”Did she get me a ticket?” Ash asks as he fold his beer can up in his mammouth hands and tosses it at the trash barrel on the patio.

”Babe, did you get Ash a ticket?”

She kicks the machine as she grows frustrated. “Yeah, I got four tickets to LA. You’re brother is going, too.”

“Luciendo is going? But aren’t you two….”

I know before he even asks. “Yeah, we are, so your guess is as good as mine.”

I turn my attention from Ash back in towards Anne, who continues her assault on the dishwasher. Poor machine, it never had a chance. Of course, neither did she. I rise from seat and a few steps towards the machine. I glance over the controls. “Try this.” I pull the lever out and the machine kicks on. She glares at me as I can help but to get kick out of it. But Anne has never been the domestic type.

Without saying a word I walk back out to the patio and glance over the Field Estates the acres upon acres of land I own. “This tournament is already unpredictable enough,” I begin, “but if Luciendo is going along for the trip, the ante just went up. It should be interesting to say the least.”