“You thought God was an architect, now you know
He's something like a pipe bomb ready to blow
And everything you built that's all for show
goes up in flames
In twenty- four frames” –Jason Isbell, 24 Frames
It’s an unseasonably warm day in a city of Chicago whose policies are as cold as the Artic circle in the spring equinox. Hoyt left a window a crack open to help him sleep as the cold pours in battling the heater. It worked. He’s out like the Patriots. It’s seasonal depression season in the Williams household as a smell of musk is evident. When you got a dead brother and his birthday is Christmas it adds layers upon an already fucked up life that lead him to witness his mother’s murder when he was 13, being abandoned for wrestling by his father “The Malice Man” Duke Williams, and losing his wife and son to a wreck at the crossroads of Substance & Desire.
In 15 seasons in the NBA Michael Jeffery Jordan hit 83.5 percent of his free throws. Considered the best basketball player to ever grace the hard wood, he still missed 16.55 percent of his throws. The only reason I mention this is because in the 2,555 mornings Hoyt’s emotional support cat Meowru Suzuki has leapt from the floor to the bed to wake up Hoyt to feed him, he’s never once missed landing on Hoyt’s balls. Today is no different.
Hoyt Williams: Ohwwwwww MEOW~RUUUUUUUUUUU!!!!
The cat leaps off the bed and avoids a pillow projected at his head at a high rate of speed by lowering his spine and sliding under the oak dresser. The pontiff of the piledriver, shirtless, lays looking wide eyed at the ceiling after retreating from his missile strikes. Thoughts of yesterdays wine flow through the pounding his head is feeling.
Hoyt Williams: Alexas Play “Burned Sugar” by Sabu Martinez.
The jazzy drum soul music from the Spanish Harlem Congo drum master is the perfect song to start any productive day. The percussions make you move while the horns bring forth your swagger and grace to meet the day and whatever melodies it brings. Sabu Martinez by the age of 11 was a master drummer. By the time he was 20 he was in Dizzy Gillespiee’s Orchestra. At 26 he kicked heroine. At 27 he dropped the album “Palo Congo” a masterpiece that ranks on the Rolling Stone top 100 albums of all time. At 48 while working on Brown Sugar he died in Sweden. Today he helps a savior rise.
Hoyt reaches over to the nightstand where he grabs what’s left of a half smoked newly legal joint. He lights it up as the judgmental glow of the cat’s eyes watches him now from atop the dresser. The holidays put the world on hold, much like Cub’s traffic in July. Now, with the new year woken the battle begins to become the best in the world as a professional wrestler. Hoyt rolls out of bed to meet the day.
Hoyt Williams: You, Mr. Suzuki, are an asshole.
The cat waves his tail with a cocky sway to confirm this opinion.
Hoyt Williams: Don’t fuck with cats.
The savior remembers what he watched last on Netflix.
Hoyt Williams: That entire documentary was fucked up. Why did you fall asleep AFTER he stopped killing cats, and moved on to people?
The cat yawns. Hoyt pours a bowl of cat food and places it on the ground. The cat leaps down making a big thud as he reaches the floor and cooley walks to his feast licking his lips. Hoyt heads for the shower turning it on to let the heat get hot.
Hoyt Williams: Alexa, Play “Hot Shower” by Chance the Rapper.
The song starts and Hoyt washes and the details aren’t needed in these times of turmoil and world disruption. It was a satisfying shower, as most are. Nothing beats those special showers that you get after being out camping or war that satisfies the soul with every drop. Hoyt thinks back to Reno, Nevada and the 2-hour shower he took at the Peppermill resort spa casino after finally getting out of a week in the desert at Burning Man a few years ago.
The savior puts on a black Nike track suit before remembering he has to cut a promo for this weeks Evolution show. He rubs his chin before remembering he has to face Freddie Styles in order to get back into the title picture and remove the title off of Silas. Freddie was everything Hoyt hated. A baseball fan. Ugh.
Hoyt Williams: Meowru we have some work to do, what do you say we head down to Wrigley?
A short trip down Addison and before you know it, we’re inside the decrepit old disgusting building known as Wrigley Field. A place where possibly the world’s most losing has ever taken place. Hoyt sits in the bleachers in the cheap seats. Meowru is soaking in the sun keeping him warm on a chilly day comfortably in Hoyt’s hand as Carl the union camera man counts Hoyt down.
Hoyt Williams: CWF it’s been a while hasn’t it. To long? While you’ve gotten fatter; opening cheap presents from “friends” and “family” …
Hoyt does the air quotations because he is that kind of asshole.
Hoyt Williams: …that feel obligated to give you crap. I’ve been on a pilgrimage. When’s the last time you’ve heard of a GREAT PLAGUE (besides Silas Artoria) or Leprosy? That’s right. Never. You’re welcome. You see, I’ve been righting the world of wrongs. Fixing what has broken. A savior of what needs to be salvaged. Your KYUSEISHU!!! As I’ve been doing all this miracle work, I’ve also pained in knowing there is one task, that due to scheduling I have to wait to fix. That is getting the CWF Championship belt off that dullard Silas Artoria. I know from the cards and letters. Millions of cards and letters. What’s that? Oh my assistant just told me Billions of cards and letters asking me to please cure cancer and kill of Artoria. They all say Hoyt, great messiah, King of Kings, Pontiff of the Piledriver, please for Christmas take the belt off Artoria. End this madness. I sat on my dead brother JESUS’s birthday in a red eyed rage knowing I let so many followers down having to wait into 2020 to get the job done. Trust me it will be 20/20 in 2020 that I am indeed savior of the CWF. Artoria I’m going to crucify you.
The camera pans over cold off-season field that is Wrigley.
Hoyt Williams: But first I have to come here to this ancient burial ground of baseball. The graveyard of many lost souls hopes and dreams watching losers after losers. Baseball. The worst sport in the history of man, in its worst team’s home field, and outside of concentration camps and other world atrocity’s probably the worst place on earth. I sit here in this negative energy and the devil’s arena to think about you Freddie Styles. Ball Game. You sound like Raiman when you say that. Ball Game. Got to watch Whopner. Ball Game. I mean mannnn the world has moved on to a game on a grid iron of inches. Football dude. It exists. You can stop watching baseball. Its ok. I know it helps people sleep. Its rating decline have also coincided with an increase in production in this great land of ours!! Boreball is the past. Its time has passed. It’s a pastime. I’m older than you, but man, I’m clearly football to CWF while you are good ole predictable baseball. Apple pie. Mom and Pop. Fly balls. Strike Outs. Peanuts. Cracker Jacks, Johnny. America doesn’t need you or your handshakes or your props to your opponents. They need a warrior. A biblical practitioner of violence. They need a Savior Johnny. The need a Kyuseishu.
Hoyt picks up a baseball and throws it onto the field he watches as it rolls and stops in astonishing boredom.
Hoyt Williams: I am what CWF needs. I am the foundation. The Father. The Son. The Holy Spirit. What nations have been built upon. Fred, you’ve served wrestling well, but this is bigger than what once was. I am going to take this company to heights equal to the heavens. Follow me. Become a believer. I know you think you’re to proud to get on your knees and worship what you know is right. False pride has led many-a-man astray from redemption and salvation. Blind faith is what it takes but I don’t think you have any of that left either. When you shook hands with Silas you showed weakness. You showed a vulnerability that will be preyed upon. I’m not here for friends, family, or fortune. I’m here to bring damnation to the damned and salvation to the believers. Silas believes, but he also knows hes damned. He fears my wrath, and you are what is preventing him from me. “Pallid Mors” Mr. Styles for you are now one of the damned simply for standing in front of me. Fear not for Hoyt is here. Praise be to Hoyt. Ball Game? HOLY COWWWWW.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."