THE IMPERFECT GRIND
WRITTEN BY ZARIUS
The dreamer can daydream for so long before the sands finish slipping through the hour glass, and the dream is over.
The dream had seemingly passed, but he knew the opportunities had not yet ceased to settle
As he stormed into Vince McMahon’s office, the dreamer focused on adjusting his vision, fixated on the road signs that led to the grand event known as Wrestlemania, and the prize at the end of the rope.
He had champions in his corner, a slew of Youtube vloggers who had made their case for what was due him. He would plead his case to the Authority. He felt certain that this time were more clear on who they wanted to headline the grand stage against the beast incarnate Brock Lesnar
All they needed to hear were the voices of the disenchanted. Of the people.
Those in attendance in Philadelphia had made their voices heard too. They had rejected the sultan of ‘suffering succotash’, the man who could make even a crowd deeply entrenched in appreciation of wrestling lore boo a run-in and endorsement by the People’s Champion. The crowd had rejected Roman Reigns, and would hopefully continue to reject him
He opened the doors of Vince’s office. He was met with cold, dead stares. There was a creative meeting in place. Some demanded to know what the dreamer was doing here unannounced.
Some burst into fits of laughter, knowing exactly why the dreamer was doing here.
“This is no laughing matter” said the dreamer. “No matter what you and some opposed to me on the internet may believe, to most of those who pay good money and indulge in great appreciation for this art form, I am professional wrestling, I was cheated out of the rumble, the people all know it, they want me dead centre in the main event of Wrestlemania, I just know it”
“Curtis, do you remember the “genesis” speech you cut on NXT years ago? That alone makes Roman look like Edgar Allan Poe in terms of precision promos”
“But…I…was an intercontinental champion, I have beaten the likes of Wade Barret and The Miz”
“Barret loses every week and Miz is a loser every year”
“I teamed with Ryback”
“And he’s barely recovered from THAT” pointed out a writer.
“I was a Heyman guy”
“Paul E is the kiss of death for anyone who isn’t Lesnar, just ask Cesaro”
“These are all credentials you can’t diminish with a few minor ‘buts’ in the details” replied Curtis
“We can dismiss them when we see how many butts in the seats those accolades generated, ZERO” snapped back Michael Hayes
“My point I was unjustly denied my Rumble entrance by Eric Rowan, I have a legal right to the championship, this has happened before and been approved”
“Oh yeah?” said a writer, “Who else?”
Curtis twiddled his fingers apprehensively, “Maven” he said.
The uproar of laughter was enough to send the dreamer well on his way out of the door
Curtis Axel, the dreamer, thought back on his career, and how much he had gone up against the day to day politicking of the professional wrestling world
How much of it could he still take?
He took a photograph out from his jeans and looked on it fondly.
He looked to his blood. He looked to his family, and to his father.
His perfect father.
“How did you manage it Dad?” Curtis asked the kind hearted soul in the photo.
Curtis Axel, a Henning, lifted up his head and walked back down the corridors, and thought ahead to another day. Be it another edition of Main Event, be it another outing on Superstars, he would work against the Imperfect Grind, he would be the canary in the coal mine, and he would make as few butts in the seats as possible marvel at the diamond detail he would craft in the ring.
He would earn his respect. If not from the writers, if not from Vince, if not from fans, then for himself and his own family
And that would be enough