LIES AND THE HEARTSTRINGS ALONG THE WAY
It’s not The Garden, nor is it The House That Ruth Built, but as ReVival 43 is in the throes of its final stanzas, one thing is for sure; The Barclays Center is in the midst of an already epic night. It’s about to get even more outrageous. In the way leading to the Argyle Position, Brandon Youngblood power walks, dressed to compete for the first time since Colossus, and for the true first time since triceps surgery. As the PRIMEView shows his approach to the audience, they grow raucous. There’s a palpability tonight. The Tower of Babel is there to get them lathered up.
Then, The Dragonslayer will take them home.
A storybook ending? Perhaps. And, as Youngblood is about to stomp his way up the steps to Argyle, his ascent is stopped. The hand and the arm that it belongs to had their own storybook ending in The City That Never Sleeps. A shower of confetti. A changing of the guard. Until it was violently jerked away from him.
Just as violently as The Event Horizon is jerking the man who tarnished that dream.
Hayes Hanlon: Did you believe me?
Doing this right before a match. Bold. But Hanlon isn’t dumb. He knows EXACTLY what he’s doing. The Tower of Babel snarls, his shoulders tensing, ready to fight,.
Hayes Hanlon: When I said I’d be proud to lose the belt to you?
If looks could kill. Youngblood doesn’t say anything, merely staring a predator missile through Hammerin’ Hayes.
To Youngblood’s chagrin, Hammerin’ Hayes burns lasers in response, and leans in close.
Hayes Hanlon: Because, man…I really hope you knew I was lying.
Youngblood turns his head, spitting off to the side before his glower returns in kind.
Brandon Youngblood: No you weren’t.
His statement is so matter of fact, it’s almost sinister how casual it is.
Brandon Youngblood: But you said that shit knowing…knowing…in your heart…that you weren’t losing that night. And then you did.
What is with these two and wanting to get so uncomfortably close?
Brandon Youngblood: You don’t tug at my heartstrings, boy. Don’t you come around here spouting off bullshit. I could hit you between the eyes saying I didn’t mean a goddamn when I said you had the chance to be the best. But that’d be horseshit. Just. Like. This.
Hayes Hanlon: Then do it. Hit me.
Speaking of getting uncomfortably close, The Comeback Kid leers in down the steps, hands on the railings, mustache curling.
Hayes Hanlon: Between. My goddamn. Eyes.
Tempting. So tempting. But if Hanlon was going to try such games, Youngblood wasn’t against doing the same.
Brandon Youngblood: Sorry you couldn’t hang with the ReVolution.
A tilt of the head.
Brandon Youngblood: Sorry you weren’t the head of my ReVival.
A smoldering, burning stare from the younger man. Poisonous, daggering words from the Pariah driving into his ears. Close to forcing a brash, immature, reckless decision.
Instead, a sneer, painfully forced.
Hayes Hanlon: Buddy, I’M the fucking ReVival.
His torso retreats back, and Hayes lets go of the railings.
Hayes Hanlon: But I’ll be its ReVolution if I have to.
With a sniff of a nostril, Hayes back-pedals from the top of the stairway, and escapes into the halls beyond the Argyle position.
More than a threat. Intention. But it would have to wait, for Daytona Diamonds awaits.
We cut elsewhere.