Walter Wallace - Chapter 13

The cameras flashed relentlessly. People were shouting from every angle. Walter barely noticed the security guards with Channel 8 polos manhandling the media mass as he was guided into his apartment. The man to Walter’s side was smiling warmly as they entered the apartment. He raised his eyebrows a little as a first reaction to the stud before saying curteously, “Take a seat, Walter.” Walter sat on the only chair in the room and the reporter hesitated as he looked around the tiny room. “Get another chair!” he barked before turning back to Walter with a warm expression.

The camera crew were hard pressed squeezing in through the door and had little room to set up the extravagant equipment. “It’s OK, you can use my chair and I’ll stand,” Walter offered. But as he had made to stand a rushed looking girl with a headset worked her way through the crowd like a mouse through a scientist’s maze and placed a small chair next to his. She took a moment to find the perfect arrangement: exactly 135 degrees and two hand lengths distance from his seat. She concurred briefly with the camera man, lighting man and sound man before exiting through a new path in the maze.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 12

Stevie was breathing heavily in the front seat of the cop car. He expected this fiasco to cause some problems for anyone who got themselves involved, and in his attempt to ignore the whole matter completely, he had landed smack bang in the middle of it. The weeks leading up to the night’s television event had been sickening. Every time he turned on the television he had been repulsed by advertising and excitement mongering; the clichéd “I Want you” Uncle Sam poster pointing at those vegetable-ised humans staring at the millions of screens; the slogan twisted to “Will it be you?” He assumed anyone wanting to be found the happiest person in the world would automatically be ruled out because their character is already inherently weak and dependent upon others’ approval. He also felt anyone entertained by such cheap and immoral programming would lack the depth of thought to find truth. But most of all he felt an irrepressible desire that his psychologist background would not let go: He thought, without formation or articulation, without wanting or choosing, that he deserved to be the happiest man in the world. It was a self entitlement so visceral and repugnant that it would serve as the secret weapon that any Nietzsche enthusiast could use to argue down Buddha in a debate over human nature. He was no longer out of breath from the battle with the press mob but Stevie was still breathing heavily.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 11

Boss Citadel was enjoying himself for the first time that night when he was rudely interrupted by a phone call. “What is it?” he growled into his handset.

“Hey Simommph! How you gomph?” chirped Mark in a muffled voice. “Sorry, mm just eating a pizza,” he managed, followed by a short silence as he apparently tried to swallow. Another muffled voice struggled to be heard only a few steps away. It was Not Citadel, The Boss’s lookalike. Not was currently feeling the sensation of having his eyes slowly squeezed from their socket; his cries of despair barely escaping Talk’s elbow pit. Boss smiled. “Simommphn…How you gomph?” Mark had apparently taken another bite of his pizza. Boss hung up the phone.

“OK let him breath a little,” he instructed. Talk dropped the limp body to the ground like a ragdoll. Boss walked over casually. “You think you’re still the funny guy? The cool guy? Well you’re not, Not!” Boss had been planning that line for the last two hours but it suddenly felt empty, especially since the only person around to appreciate was too dumb to acknowledge it. Maybe he should have kept Tank lingering a little longer in the house before suggesting he leave.

UFC Eulogy - 126: Silva v Belfort

There was strong possibility going into this PPV that I was going to miss out because it snuck up on me. But after reading the card and seeing some hype footage I was hooked in. It was a strong PPV overall though not up to the standard of late -we have been blessed with some high quality events lately. As I watched the fights I got to thinking (slightly annoying now that I have started writing about each PPV I have fallen into the reviewer’s trap of sacrificing the moment for a thought) that the word freak is no longer a compliment or hype building adjective in UFC, it is almost a requirement. You have Cain Velasquez with his freakish cardio, BJ Penn and his freaky elastic joints, Chris Leben and the freakish look on his face after taking a KO punch and coming back even harder, GSP’s freaky accent, the freaky skills of some of the lightweights and of course Brock Lesnar who is a freak of nature. The sport is in constant evolution, such that the freak tag is always there being justifiably thrown around. It doesn’t just sell PPVs it is often the only way to describe some of the things that happen in UFC.

126 had its fair share of freaks. The love hate relationship that fighting fans have with Anderson Silva continues (love finding a way this round); New star on the block Jon Bones Jones displayed another exhibition of sheer athleticism and power; and even Carlos Rocha was being lauded for his freakish Ju Jitsu ability which looked like poetry in the first round (so tragically absent from the next two). Anderson’s jaw dropping kick was a special thing to see (for those who didn’t blink) and he holds onto his records and number one pound for pound tag until that awesome day when Chael is allowed back in the Octagon. Bones Jones made Darth Bader look like he was wishing he could use the force (too much?) and his natural flair inside the Octagon has won him a legion of new fans to add to the other new legion and, belive it or not a title shot in the light heavyweight division.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 10

Walter was sitting in his stud apart- in his cell. It was actually very similar to his apartment: Same size, same shape, similar furnishing. The toilet in the cell had better flush capabilities but he didn’t feel the need to exploit this advantage – or the desire, considering the company he held. As for his company, the mysterious conspiracy theorist hippy who apparently liked to remain silent and pensive in shadowy corners turned out to be quite sociable and in need of a friend even more so than a bath. He talked non stop to Walter who was sometimes vaguely engaged by a recount of a dangerous protest in Ghana or a dodgy tour of a Bolivian drug prison, but most of the time it was ramblings about the government and the vile devil worshippers (which he believed to be a diversion from other grander corruption which worshipped a greater devil – Money!!!!) and Walter tried his best to be polite by nodding occasionally (mainly as he was nodding off).

They (the hippy) talked a little more of the political issues close to home. Walter couldn’t have stayed interested even if he knew of Sitwell Towers and the evil boss. He failed to register even a single letter of the website the hippy kept referencing – though he had no real use for any information if retained. He eventually settled for apologising for his inability to focus, stating that for the first time his head felt cloudy and distorted. “That’s how you know they’re getting to you, dude.” But the hippy had some positives. He noticed Walter’s stressed state and suggested that he join him for a session of Yoga. After 30 minutes of poor balance and inflexible muscles Walter felt relaxed and at ease.