For My Peeps

An underrated wrestler constantly overlooked by the promoter remembers why he got into the business in the first place.

The ringing pierced through the warm silence at 9am.  Achy from the night before, he was weary to move after answering the automated message.  He tried to stretch out while still lying in bed but to no avail.  The aches immediately stabbed like knives throughout his whole body and he wondered if he might have hyper extended his elbow.  Rubbing the sand from his eyes, he recalled his "match" with Ryback the night before at Monday Night Raw.  The Chicago crowd, as usual, was raucous and exploded when Ryback made his entry.  Barely a match, he was defeated in under 90 seconds after Ryback hit his version of the "muscle buster", nothing more than a delayed vertical suplex.  He had been in this all-too-familiar position before.  Once again, after being given a bit of a push, Christian then fell back to the bottom of the ladder to be used as fodder for other talent.

Still feeling groggy and lopsided, he crawled out of bed so he could take a shower.  Keeping his potentially injured arm close into his body, he turned on the shower and hopped in; his usual wake-up routine. The surprisingly hot water shocked his body into attention as he held himself steady under the shower head.  The aches felt like a taser.  After those first few moments of shock, he realized that he had some time to himself before he needed to hop into a cab to O'Hare for his 2:40 flight to Des Moines.  Great, Des Moines, not the most exciting of cities.  Couple that with the fact that he's booked to lose to Mark Henry in what will probably be another squash and all of a sudden, today just became another day in a long stretch of s****y days. 

As the water poured over his head, he wondered again, for the upteenth time, why this was happening again.   Barely two years ago, he was finally getting the push he deserved.  He had been wrestling for eighteen years and while he had won twenty championships, he was never given a long singles title run or any major run as "the top guy".  Most people will remember him as one half of Edge and Christian.  Seven times WWE World Tag Team Champions, they had helped lead the tag team renaissance with the Hardy Boyz and the Dudley Boyz.  Their 3-way Tables, Ladders, and Chairs matches were the stuff of legends and would forever cement Christian's legacy in tag team lore.  But what about his solo career?  What would his legacy be?  Edge had gone on to be a ten-time World Champion and a Hall of Famer one year after his retirement.  And while Christian did have four runs as Intercontinental Champion, no reign was more than a few months long and were mostly to advance the legacy of the new champion, like Edge or Rob Van Dam.  Two years earlier, a silver lining appeared in what was otherwise a very sad time, and he would finally be rewarded for all his hard work, sacrifice, and dedication.

One night after Wrestlemania XXVII, on Monday Night Raw, Edge had given a heart felt retirement speech due to chronic neck injuries which left everyone in the locker room with a tear in their eye.  Christian, of course, was no different.  Being best friends since childhood, it was a sledgehammer to the gut to hear that Edge had to retire early due to injury.  They had both joked that they would wrestle until their twilight years, but definitely not pull "a Ric Flair".  Christian had given Edge all the support he could, even reminding him that he was going out "his way," as World Champion, and having won every major title and accolade there was to win.  A grateful Edge cited those words in what would help him deal with the sudden retirement. 

The vacancy of the World title left a frustrated, Number One contender Alberto Del Rio in its wake. In the "sympathetic friend" angle made famous by World Title victories by Ronnie Garvin (when Magnum T.A. was seriously injured) or Rey Misterio (when Eddie Guerrero suddenly passed away), Christian had finally been given his chance to win the vacant World Title against Del Rio in one of the matches made famous by Christian himself, the ladder match.  Although a now retired Edge provided a distraction allowing Christian to retrieve the "Fourteen pounds of gold" hanging from the ceiling at the Extreme Rules Pay Per View, the match itself was a classic and appeared to be jump off point for a decent run as champ.  But as Mr. McMahon had done plenty of times before; Mr. McMahon giveth, Mr. McMahon taketh away.  Once again, Christian was to be a "transitional" champion, a mere placeholder for the next guy to cement their legacy.  In this case it would be Randy Orton.  And while he bared no ill will at all for Randy, the title change would happen a mere two days later, at the Tuesday night Smackdown taping.  Two days!  No title defenses.  No return match with Del Rio.  No media shots with the belt around his waist.  Randy's eighth title run would begin two days after Christian won his first. 

He reached for his trial-size shampoo and began to wash his thinning, blonde hair as he bitterly recalled that frustrating summer of 2011.  He and Randy feuded all summer long but Christian would never get the clean win for the title.  Randy would successfully retain the title at the Over the Limit and Capitol Punishment Pay-Per-Views.  A heel turn by Christian would grant him one last title shot at Money in the Bank.  He would be booked to actually regain the title that night but under the least credible way possible; by disqualification. 

The stipulation for the match was that if World Champion Randy Orton was disqualified for any reason, the title would change hands and Christian would win.  Conventional rules for title matches were that you had to either pin the champion or make him submit.  Mr. McMahon wouldn't even let him pin Randy's shoulders for the 1-2-3.  The only other time he could recall this angle ever happening was when Abyss won the NWA World title from Sting via disqualification over in TNA a few years back.  This angle was to make the outgoing champion still seem strong while a sneaky, underhanded, undeserving contender escaped with the title.  Christian wasn't sure which of his two title reigns were worse.  Although he wouldn't lose the belt in two days, he would drop it back to Randy at Summerslam in a No-Disqualification match, still never having successfully defended the belt.

To add insult to injury, a surprise appearance by Edge before the match at SummerSlam resulted in him calling Christian "a b***h" for the way he regained the title.  When Christian first agreed to go along with the plan, he did not envision that he would be kicked out of title contention so soon after.  He regretted his decision only days later.  His quick descent down the ladder made the friendly insult sting all the more.  What was to be the best summer of his life ironically turned out to be the worst. 

He turned off the shower, toweled off and stared into the mirror.  What am I doing? he thought, I'm going to be forty and Vince is always pushing the younger guys.  Edge had to f'in retire for him to even look my way.  The anger boiled up inside.  This was also an all-too-familiar conversation he has had with himself before.  He throws me another Intercontinental Title when I came back from shoulder injury but then makes me hand it over to Miz two months later?  What is that s**t?  Couldn't even give me a few months as a fighting champion?  Where do I fit in? 

He toweled off and got dressed.  The sky was gray with overcast and darkening quickly, which did not help his mood at all.  He laid back down on the bed, still feeling tired, and stared at the ceiling.  His right elbow was feeling really sore and he popped six Ibuprofen and a Vicodin.  Hopefully, this will help, he thought.  Last thing I need is for Mark to land his four hundred pounds on my possibly hyper-extended arm.  Then Vince might never call me.

He checked the Pro Wresling Torch app, like he did after all his shows.  "Ryback squashes Christian.  Targets Cena."  In the comment box, he saw it again, the comments.  "Damn, whatever happened to Christian?  Gone the way of the jobber," from ultmacho3.  "Capt Charisma should retire!" from nwoking85.  "Too bad Edge isn't around anymore," from jasonwarrior90.  He dropped the phone onto the floor as he closed his eyes.  Is it time?  Has my career run its course? he thought.  There were good times, he remembered.  Having his own talk show, "The Peep Show."  His vignettes with the Rock.  His title winning latter match with Alberto.  His performance in his title-losing No-Disqualification match with Randy.  All the TLC and Tables matches with the Hardys and the Dudleys.  A far cry from getting squashed two nights in a row on television.  Could I hold my head up high if I retired?  Has Vince given me everything he wants to give me?  Is this as far as I'm going to go?  The questions raced through his head.  The pain in his elbow throbbed as he dozed off.

He was climbing the ladder again.  There it was, looking fifty feet high in the sky.  The World Title, glistening brilliantly for all to see, hanging from the ceiling.  He had just pushed a distracted Del Rio off the ladder, who was caught looking at Edge, taunting at him on the mic, from the top of the ramp.  As Christian made his way up, rung by rung, it felt like he was climbing through molasses  It seemed like hours before he reached the top, the title mere inches away.  After years of work and frustration, he was going to finally claim it.  Only inches away, he extended his arm to retrieve it but somehow he lost his balance!  He started to fall off the ladder, for what seemed like an eternity, the title belt never in his grasp, disappearing like a star in the sky!  He saw it getting further away as he plummeted toward the mat below.  How did this happen?? 

He sat upright, heart racing, his palms sweaty.  What happened?  He never fell off the ladder.  This was all wrong.  He looked around and saw his gym bag, gear, and boots on the floor.  He was in his hotel room.  He dozed off, but for how long?  He laid his head back down, feeling empty.  Catching his breath, he wiped his sweaty hands on the covers and looked at the clock.  S**t!  1:30!  His plane was leaving in a little over an hour.  The last thing he needed was to be late to Smackdown, squash match with Mark Henry or not.  He quickly threw his gear into his gym bag then scooped everything off the bathroom sink into the bag in one fell swoop.  He scanned the room quickly to see if he missed anything and then sprinted out the room.  He ran past the front desk and then outside.  It was pouring.  The rain was coming down in huge droplets.  He made sure not to look up lest one drop put out his eye. He glanced down at his watch, 1:34.  He would need a cab now if he was going to make his flight in time.

He flailed his arms around like a madman, hoping any one taxi would see him and stop.  So far, only the full ones zipped by.  An empty taxi started to drive by as Christian jumped up and down screaming, "Here, here!".  The taxi drove by and the cabbie looked over and shrugged his shoulders.  "What the hell?!?" he screamed.  It was now 1:46.  The desperation started to sink in.  He flailed around a bit more but to no avail.  His mind raced again.  What was the big deal if he was late?  Would anyone care?  He was getting squashed anyway.  He didn't have to meet with the agents beforehand.  He was not involved in any kind of angle.  If he no-showed, they would probably just put Zack Ryder in for him and Mark's push wouldn't miss a beat.  He was about to give up and head back to the hotel for a drink when all of a sudden, a silver SUV pulled up.  He saw the driver, a guy in his mid 30's, reach over and fling open the passenger door.  "Hey! You're Christian right?  You want a ride?" Christian, soaked to the bone, with no other options, replied with uncertainty, "Sure". 

"Thanks for picking me up.  I need to head to the airport," Christian said. 
"I know.  Smackdown is in Des Moines tonight.  Good thing you're flying and not driving.  The rain supposed to get worse," the driver said.  "My name's Alex, by the way".
Christian was a surprised.  Someone recognized him, in the pouring rain, on a very dark, stormy day.  He might get recognized sometimes before or after a show, especially when he was dry and in his best.  John Cena or the Rock would get recognized in the rain.  Not him.  Feeling a bit of pride and gratitude that this "Alex" had recognized him, he said, "My flight leaves at 2:40."  As if finally waiting for his big moment, Alex burst out, "Captain Charisma!".  The jubilant outburst made Christian uneasy.  He wasn't quite sure how this car ride would go.  He wasn't known to accept rides from fans.  You hear stories from time to time.  "Sorry.  I don't mean to seem weird or stalk-y or anything, but you've always been one of my favorites," Alex confessed, grinning ear to ear, while glancing at Christian.  Not knowing exactly what to say, Christian merely responded with a "thanks" as he stared out the passenger window. Christian knew it was always a crapshoot with fans.  The ones who pronounced a disclaimer before revealing their level of wrestling fandom tended to skew more towards the "odd" side of the spectrum.  He quickly wondered if he could hurl open his door and only sustain limited damage if he needed to make a quick exit.

"Sorry.  I know that sounds weird.  Let me elaborate.  I've always enjoyed your ring and mic work and I always felt that you were never really given your fair shot.  I've been a fan since I was seven and I like to think I have a good amount of wrestling IQ, from a fan's standpoint.  I've literally watched your entire career from the moment you made your first appearance with Gangrel during one of Edge's matches on RAW.  I respect a good worker when I see one," he calmly said.  Perhaps Alex had sensed Christian's unease and needed him to not consider jumping out of a moving vehicle.  Feeling a bit relieved at the calm, well-thought response this time around, he replied with his standard, "Well, thank you for that.  I appreciate the support from true fans, like yourself."  Christian felt a bit more at ease.  Out of the corner of his left eye, he looked over at Alex.  Clean cut, groomed, jeans, simple long sleeve shirt.  He didn't look like he lived in his mom's basement.  He gave the car a once over.  It was nice.  Leather seats, all the new tech-y stuff, GPS, touch screen, XM radio.  He let out a big breath that he didn't know he was holding.

"How far away is the airport?" Christian asked.
"About 15 minutes.  That's why I got All Wheel Drive.  To handle this dogshit Chicago weather," Alex answered.  Not knowing what to say, Christian said, "cool."
After a few minutes of weaving in and out of traffic, Alex said," I know it must suck to be getting beat by Ryback last night and have no angle."  Not wanting Alex's pity, Christian replied, "It's fine."  It was not fine.  "I apologize if I seem forward but I can't imagine that you are really into how they are using you currently.  You were World Champ two years ago and won an awesome Ladder Match to win the title.  I thought that this was your time, at least to ride out through that summer," Alex said.  "I haven't even seen you mention your Peeps or your Peepulation in God-knows-how-long.  You haven't seemed like yourself in the ring for a really long time."  Alex was right.  Christian hadn't mentioned his Peeps or Peepulation in over a year.  He wasn't getting pushed and just didn't have the motivation to mention anything.  Nowadays, all he wanted to do was get his squash matches over as soon as possible.

"Are we almost there?"  He was getting annoyed.  Hearing someone else say the words that he's been thinking for months was really getting to him.  Alex sensed this but continued on with his captive audience, "Look.  I just want you to know that your Peeps are still out there, rooting for you.  We feel you're frustration and will always cheer you on.  F**k Vince!  He doesn't know s**t, only dollar signs.  That's why no one over twelve or with a shlong roots for Cena.  We with shlongs root for you."  Christian smirked and then gave a chuckle.  "Thank you.  I appreciate that.  It's good to know that fans with shlongs still root for me."  He chuckled again. "I'm not hitting on you or anything.  I have a fiancee.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  You can freely talk schlongs with me," Alex joked.  They both laughed.  Maybe Alex wasn't too bad after all.

They pulled up to O'Hare at 1:58.  Christian hopped out with his bag and leaned over the rolled-down window.  "You coming to the show tonight?" he asked.  "Yeah, but I'm driving.  Got to pick up my fiancee.  Should be there by 7pm.  You might here me screaming 'Yeah Christian' from the crowd, in a non-gay fashion" he answered with a smirk.  "Thanks again for the ride.  And thanks for the support," he said.  He meant it this time.  He started to walk into the airport but quickly turned around before Alex had a chance to drive off. "I f*****g hate where Vince has me.  I'm f*****g pissed about it."  And just as quickly, he turned back around and stormed inside.

Two minutes and thirty five seconds had gone by.  His reception at the beginning of the match was lukewarm. The crowd knew this wasn't a highlighted match on the show and there was no build-up preceding it.  Christian had dragged out the match a bit longer than expected but Mark didn't mind.  They had worked before and Mark trusted Christian.  He was beat down for about a minute before he started to rally.  He had given Mark chops and punches followed by a flying forearm and finally a dropkick, which finally brought Mark down to one knee.  He was supposed to try for a Kill Switch which Mark was going to reverse into a World's Strongest Slam, but Christian wanted to try something different.  With Mark staggered, on one knee in the middle of the ring, he climbed up the turnbuckles and perched himself on the top rope, facing out to the audience.  He steadied himself and took a deep breath.  He slapped his chest with his right hand twice and screamed as loud as he could, "This is for my Peeps!"  The crowd stood up from there seats and started cheering and he thought he heard a "Yeah Christian" under the roar, over by the production area.  He was halfway through attempting and completing his first ever Moonsault  when he noticed all the flashes going off in the audience.  He landed perfectly into Mark's waiting, gorilla-like arms and was then World Strongest Slammed into a three count.

The wind was knocked out of him as he watched the referee raise Mark's arm in victory.  He decided he would lay on his back for thirty seconds more just to get his bearings and so Mark could leave the ring, the victor.  Christian was slowly making it to his feet when he heard it.  "Christian, Christian!" the crowd was chanting.  The replay of his move was being shown on the Titantron and the crowd cheered just as loudly for the replay as they did for the real thing.  The flashes were still going.  And there it was.  The appreciation and respect.  They were cheering him and his efforts, as they always had.  F**k Vince!  Who cares what he thinks?  He still had his Peeps.