I didn’t need it, it needed me

I didn’t need it, it needed me

Posted on March 27, 2024 at 8:23 pm by Jace Parker Davidson

Scrap King Metro & Iron Inc
Queens, New York
Wednesday, March 27th, 2024

9 am inside a junkyard isn’t exactly in the top 100 tourist attractions when it comes to being in New York. However, this is where the cameraman found himself, his equipment over his shoulder, panning around the gruesome mess of random items that looked like a tornado had come through earlier. In front of the cameraman was the current LSD Champion, Jace Parker Davidson. He was dressed in workout gear and had the Championship belt strapped around his waist. His clothing was dirty and stained, and his hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in about a decade.

There was a thoughtful look on the man’s face as he made his way along one of the many paths in the junkyard… like it was second nature to him. The sound of pieces of metal, wires, and other discarded items crunched under his weight as he moved along the path.

“Do you know what it’s like to be the HOW LSD Champion?” Davidson asked out loud to no one but himself and the camera. “Lots of people have held the Championship belt, but there aren’t a lot of them that know what it truly means to be the LSD Champion.”

The General Manager raised his head to the sky and observed the cloudy overcast that hung over Queens.

“You have someone like Scottywood who claims he is everything the LSD Champion should be.” Jace shook his head. “Scottywood is just a man who can’t wrestle if his life depends on it. Someone who thinks professional wrestling should involve all the things that a Michael Bay movie has and then some. Scottywood has no fucking clue what being the LSD Champion is all about.”

There was a moment of silence from Davidson as the cameraman once again panned around the surroundings.

“A lot of people look back at John Sektor’s reign with the LSD Championship belt, and think that is the peak of what the entire division should be.” There was a slight curl of disgust on his lips. “John might be the Gold Standard, but he doesn’t know shit about what it’s like to be a real LSD Champion. John might have set the record for the longest reign, at the time, but the moment he won the belt, he tried to turn it into the ICON Championship. He took everything that made the LSD division special and threw it away because it wasn’t his strong suit.”

The General Manager stopped in his tracks and just glared down at the ground for a moment. After taking a deep breath, he raised his head and looked at the camera.

“And then you have the so-called LSD Legend…” The disgust that was on his lips turned into a venom that poured out with every word. “Silent Witness might have been what the standard of being the LSD Champion meant back in the fucking early 2000s, but he has no fucking idea what it’s like in 2024. It’s nothing you go and plaster on t-shirts to make a quick buck. It’s not something you can just walk through the doors and proclaim when you haven’t measured up to the new standard in over a decade.”

The LSD Champion’s hands slowly curled into tight fists.

“The only thing legendary about Witness and this belt around my waist is the fact that he took everything that it meant… and turned it into a fucking nickname.” The cameraman took a slight step back, worried that Davidson’s anger might be taken out on him instead of Witness. “Being the LSD Champion isn’t about having a badge of honor. A gold star on your chest that you can live off of for the rest of your miserable life. It’s about so much more than that.”

The two-time Hall of Famer turned around and continued along the path in silence until he reached an open space. The cameraman panned out to show an area of the junkyard that had been cleared out. There were mountains of scrap metal and other items that could be used to do some serious damage that surrounded the area, like walls. In the center of the area was a wrestling ring that had seen better days.

It was the bare bones of what once could have been a ring that sat inside a place like Madison Square Garden. The turnbuckle pads were missing, and the ropes looked worn and sagged a bit. There was no dressing around the canvas to hide what was under it. The mat was torn and stained from all the time exposed to the elements in the junkyard.

“Saturday night, I defend this belt against four other men who think they know what it means to the LSD Champion.” Davidson walked slowly around the raggedy ring. “Two of them, Scott Stevens and Evan Ward, have been LSD Champions before. The other two, Drew Mitchell and Hugo Scorpio, are salivating for their first taste of both HOW Gold and the LSD Championship.”

Jace walked over and began to dig through a pile of junk before pulling out a long lead pipe.

“Let’s start with Scott Stevens…” The LSD Champion slapped the pipe against the palm of his free hand a few times. “The man who runs his mouth more than anyone else in this company for unwarranted reasons. Evan compared you to Speed of Sound Sonic from One Punch Man. And while that’s a pretty good comparison, I see you a little bit differently. You’re more like Usopp from One Piece. A man who is a born liar, someone who boasts that he is the end-all-be-all of everything, but when push comes to shove? He’s nothing more than a weak, scared, crying coward.”

Jace takes the lead pipe and then enters the barely held-up ring.

“You’re in this match because of a technicality only.” Davidson pulled himself to his feet. “You got drafted to the weakest group in the LBI since Lee wanted Solex to have an easy ride to the finals. You’re only in this match because you blew an obvious lead to Steve Solex of all people. After all, you were too busy crowning yourself the new World Champion rather than actually putting in the work. Just like you’re only in the Hall of Fame for being a HOW historian and a fucking simp above anything you’ve ever accomplished inside the ring.”

“Just like fucking Usopp…” The General Manager chuckled for a moment. “You have all these great talents around you, but you have no business being here. You’re a one-trick pony; you’re a guy who will lose this match but then pretend like you’re still the guy. You’ll walk into War Games hoping to get drafted to the winning side, get eliminated first, and then claim that
YOU have a War Games win. You’re such a Usopp that your only chance of victory is that the other four of us all die from laughter watching you make your way down to the ring.”

Davidson spits down onto the tattered canvas.

“Moving on, we have someone who has a small chance of victory.” The LSD Champion walks to a corner and then beats the lead pipe on the metal holding up the top rope. “I’m talking about you, Hugo Scorpio. You are the biggest man in this match, but is that going to be an advantage or a disadvantage for you? The stipulation for this match is still a mystery; you have to be prepared for anything. Yet you’re too busy having an identity crisis. Traveling from here to there, asking people to tell you who you are as a wrestler.”

Jace ran his fingers through the mess that was his hair.

“I can’t tell you who you are as a wrestler, Hugo, but I can tell you one thing for sure.” He paused and raised the pipe into the air. “You’re going to know pain and suffering. In your head, all you’re thinking about is, ‘Who can I be that will help me be the LSD Champion?’ You’re thinking that winning my belt will effectively mean you belong here in this company. It’ll be the foundation of what will be a legacy here. Your problem is that you haven’t taken a moment to think about what happens after that fantasy. You haven’t realized that winning the belt is one thing, but being a good, if not great, LSD Champion is far harder than you can imagine. So, listen to me when I tell you this.”

The General Manager leaned over the top rope gently.

“I can appreciate that you have the size and the strength. And I find it commendable that you’re willing to stand up and shake my hand when the match is over.” His voice trailed off for a moment. “However, all of that is a pipe dream. Do you want to stand up and shake my hand? You should be more worried about whether you’re even able to stand at all when this match is over. You should worry about whether you still have the hand and the digits required to be able to shake my hand. If you think that half of your face being fucked up is a major concern, then you haven’t got it in the pit of your stomach to go through this division like I have.”

“You won’t have what it takes to go weeks into months, time and time again, defending this Championship belt in the most gruesome matches imaginable.” There is a growl in his tone. “Fuck worrying about who you are. When you’re trying to be LSD Champion… your main worry is figuring out how much of you is still fucking attached and functional.”

The LSD Champion lowers the pipe and moves away from the corner.

“And then there are Drew Mitchell and Sunny…” A maniacal laugh of both humor and sorrow escapes his lips. “Where do I even begin with you both? Apparently, I was wrong in saying that Drew was an MVW guy. Thank you for making such an effort to correct me on a minor detail. It’s not like Sunny isn’t affiliated with MVW. It’s not like Bergman’s Barn doesn’t train talent for MVW and other promotions. Just because you did have a match in MVW doesn’t make you an MVW guy at all.”

The deadpan look on his face gave way to the obvious sarcasm.

“Regardless of which number you pulled from the hat to give your dick a tan on Sunny days…” He began again. “You, above all the others, Drew… aren’t ready for this. Yes, you’ve been impressive. Yes, you’ve been on a bit of a roll. However, that is just the bare minimum. You can sit back and fuss over your pretty boy features and your British charm. You can let Sunny do all your important talking for you. What you need to realize is that Sunny can’t step into the ring and win the LSD Championship belt for you. All the training in the world, all the well-crafted plans you can make go out the fucking window the moment someone decides to set you on fire or cave in your skull with a sledgehammer.”

Davidson places the pipe behind his neck and allows his hands to hang over it from either end.

“Your little finisher is nice, but how effective will it be if one of us decides to break your kneecap?” He allowed the question to hang in the air. “I can see it in your eyes and in your energy that you want this… but fuck, that’s not nearly enough. Darin Zion is talented and wants it like a fat kid wants cake. He just isn’t good enough and during this match, Drew, you’ll realize it too. You’ll realize it’s hard to go out and party, pick up beautiful girls, and get your dick wet when you’re stuck in a wheelchair and neck brace. It’s difficult to get that pickup line to land when you’re missing a few teeth or your face looks like Ward’s toilet after he eats that curry. You can have your dreams and puppy dog eyes about it all you want.”

“When it comes down to it, Drew…” He lowers his head and chuckles a bit more. “All that spirit is just toilet paper for guys like me to wipe their asses with. You can show me and tell me how much you want it. You can put ‘I’m focused’ on a fucking loop from now until the end of time. None of it means a fucking thing because you’re not ready. You can’t swim in the deep waters of this division when you’re using Sunny as your floatation device. You don’t have the balls to sacrifice the things necessary to be an LSD Champion like me. Partying and drinking become a lonely thing when you can’t stand long enough to go to a bar, and the alcohol is nothing more than something you use to fool your brain into thinking you’re body isn’t dying.”

The LSD Champion plops down in the center of the ragged ring.

“You’re too young, too fucking green, and not nearly tough enough to be the kind of Champion this division needs.” Davidson spat the words in anger. “Walking into matches all the time with more than one opponent, with stipulations you won’t know beforehand, the blood, the sorrow, the mental toughness. You, by some miracle, would win this belt, and I would guarantee that you’d lose it before War Games. I’m going to give you a taste of what it takes to be in this division and then watch that ‘I really really want this’ twinkle die in your eyes.”

“And then that just leaves you, Evan.” The General Manager rocks back and forth a bit. “I’ve heard some of the things you’ve had to say, and I’m flattered by them. However, in this match, flattery won’t get you anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy to have you as an associate. And believe me, that is all you are at the moment. There is no alliance… I wouldn’t use that fucking word if you pointed a gun at my head. You said a lot of things about this match that are very true, but there was a whole lot of ‘we’ talk.”

Jace crawls to the ropes and hangs off of the middle one.

“There is no ‘we’ in this scenario, Evan.” The pipe waved back and forth in his hand. “You are as good as I say you are and then some. But just like you laid out how much has changed in a year… who is to say they won’t change again? The old Evan Ward would never be associated with me. The old Evan Ward cared more about what people thought of him than he did about being the best. That version of you was happy to ride along on the back burner as long as his friends were happy and succeeding. I’m not teaming with you or calling ourselves that silly name if that is the real you.”

“That’s why I am going to come at you the hardest of them all.” There was a twisted smile on his face, but his tone was dead serious. “I need to take this new Evan Ward and break him down physically piece by piece. I need to break your fingers, drop you on your head a few dozen times, and make you feel pain you never imagined. I need to take you back to that infirmary match at RATR we had years ago and crank that up to eleven. I want to make you bleed out in the middle of that ring this weekend. And if what is left of you… is the you that I see today? Then I will put my arm around you and your insane name for us… and I will call you my tag team partner. I will lock in everything I have and trust you not to stab me in the back…”

He paused in thought.

“But to get to that point… I have to destroy you, Evan.” His hand begins to twitch a bit. “I need to take this shiny version of Evan Ward that you’re so proud of… the one that didn’t win his group. I need to take your very best and crush you under my boot. I need you to know in the recesses of your mind that you currently aren’t where I need you to be. You can’t carry
MY belt and do it justice by just chewing off an ear or two. You think that the threat of losing an ear or a finger is terrifying for most. You’re right if you’re facing Silent Witness. Me? You can take as many fingers as you want. You can take an arm, a knee, or a vital organ if you must. What fear should be in my heart about losing a minor body part when I am willing to DIE for this belt and this division?!”

Davidson scrambled to his feet quickly. The sound of thunder echoed in the distance as a light rain began to pour down.

“For three hundred and one fucking days, I carried this belt before.” His voice boomed as long as the thunder. “Three hundred and one days where I never once knew what stipulation was going to face me next. I never knew which member of the Alliance was lurking in the shadows, just waiting to try and take me out. Three hundred and one goddamn days, and it took an entire War Games match and interference from an EPU member to pry this belt from my hands. Three hundred and one days I lasted under the thumb of Lee Best and every disadvantage he could think of to screw me. Numerous beatdowns… defending more than one title in the same night in back-to-back matches. Having a fucking boulder try and crush me like I was in a fucking Indiana Jones movie, and I survived it all.”

Another clap of thunder is heard.

“Each time I came out of it worse for wear. Every defense costs a little piece of my soul that I will never get back. Why do I do it? Why would I hold this belt yet again knowing what I’ve already gone through?”

Jace begins to slam the lead pipe into the side of his head repeatedly until a streak of blood starts to pour down his face.

I DO IT BECAUSE I FUCKING HAVE TO!!!” His chest heaved, and he started to hit himself with the pipe again. “I wasn’t born from privilege. I wasn’t a homegrown talent. I didn’t have the last name Best or the Lee Best rocket to the top shoved up my ass. Even when I was aligned with Lee Best… he put me through more difficult situations than anyone else in the history of this company. I had to work twice as hard as everyone else just to be second best.”

“There has never been a guaranteed place for me to regain the World Championship belt.” He smeared the bloody pipe across his chest. “Fuck, when I had the HOW World Championship belt… Lee Best made me enter the LBI, group stages and all, as the Champion. Even as a member of the Best Alliance, I had to win the entire fucking thing, stage by stage just to retain the title. I didn’t get months off and a cushy spot in the main event against whoever. I had to fucking
WORK my way there. And yet all you motherfuckers… you sit there and tell me that I’ve been coasting… that I don’t have it anymore.”

FUCK ALL OF YOU!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. “I’ve been held back, had my accomplishments buried, and literally been pissed on. But I didn’t quit, I didn’t make fucking excuses. I didn’t throw a tantrum backstage. And I never once demanded a shot at ANY belt. There are years in the gap of time I’ve gotten fair shots at the HOW World Championship belt. But this right here?”

Davidson pulled the LSD Championship belt from around his waist and raised it into the air.

“I took this belt right here… I made it mean more than the World title.” He headbutted the gold plate of the belt. “I took the ICON title, and I retired that fucking thing. The HOTv Championship belt? I made it something worth holding. The tag titles back in the day? They had to strip me and Tara of the belts because we beat
EVERYONE. Yet Witness will trademark what is rightfully mine. All of you in this match will sit there and talk about how you’re going to take this from me like it’s mere child’s play. You’ll criticize me and my reign like you’ve actually walked a mile in my shoes.”

“I am the General Manager of this company, and I am no longer a full-time active wrestler,” Davidson says slowly. “I don’t need to be a Champion… I don’t need more defenses or more reigns with any belt. I could lose this belt and be perfectly fine just sitting behind a desk.”

“I don’t need the LSD Championship belt belt…” His facial expression contorts into one of evil intentions and hatred. “This division and this title? It needs me! It requires someone willing to sacrifice it all just to hold it. It needs someone who won’t toss it away the moment a World title shot rolls around. None of you can do for this title what I have done for it, and that is why it and the division belong to me. I will shatter each of your dreams of winning it at March To Glory… And if that makes me the bad guy, the asshole? Then so fucking be it.”

Davidson raised his head to the sky as the rain began to pull a little harder. The blood from his face started to be washed away, down his body as the scene faded.

Like a villain, I couldn’t be
I didn’t need it; it needed me