TWENTY-SECOND WEEK Monday, December 29, 2003, 11:45 AM San Antonio, TX "Shawn? Shawn?" I began searching each of the hotel rooms wondering if anyone knew which one Shawn was in. I had no idea how I was to report to him if we were to head to the arena together. With the buses about to leave, I needed an answer. In the end, Hunter was the last person to leave. He saw me in a panicked state and confronted me. "Oh, Hunter," I said, "you're just who I wanted to see." For once. "Have... have you seen Shawn anywhere?" "He'll be with us at the arena, Christian. You know he said he was arriving on his own." "Yeah, but... he always does that. I mean, he always takes his own car from event to event and he's always with the guys anyway, so..." "No, no. He's coming in from his house. He lives here, remember?" I forgot. "Oh, right. Okay, thanks. I'll catch him there." I sheepishly got my stuff together and boarded the first bus I could find. Without Shawn's car ride to be a giveaway, I was going to have to find more subtle methods of locating who I was working with for this week -- if anyone. I felt strangely alone, even though it was something I had been for the previous two weeks. It was only while I sat on the bus that I realized that it HAD been two weeks without contact with anyone else in the living world. First, it was Ohio Valley; then, it was the McMahon family. Now, I was with the group again -- and yet, I felt more isolated than I ever had before. I needed someone to find me this time. If only I knew how... After about ten minutes of quiet, the bus arrived at the SBC Center, our home for the night. I got off the bus and waited around for Shawn to arrive. As I did, Earl Hebner, senior referee, approached me. "You lookin' for someone, Christian?" "Yeah," I said nonchalantly. "I wanted to discuss working with Shawn on the house shows this weekend. I was hoping he'd be around and I could let him know." "Ah, he'll be here soon enough. He always goes by his own drum, you know what I mean?" "I know... always takin' his own ride, livin' his own life..." "But he's a good man. He definitely is better than I remembered. Anyway, he'll be here soon enough. C'mon inside -- lunch is waiting." ***** 03:42 PM Eric Bischoff entered as he always did, smiling and hamming it up. He handed copies of the night's schedule to everyone, exchanging pleasantries as he did. When he came to me, he said, "Ooh, you're here a lot, buddy. Good luck not getting stale." I checked the list. Eric was right -- under normal circumstances, I could wear out my welcome. However, these were far from normal circumstances, I hoped. If my experience was any indication, I could fight my way through the overload and come out ahead of the game. At least, I hoped so. As I got my costume out, I looked across the way. A bag I'd never seen before was positioned, abandoned, on the bench. A giant Z was on one side of it. I approached the bag and looked inside. In addition to the standard wrestler's equipment, there was a two-piece pool cue, dismantled but sticking out like a sore thumb. That's strange -- what would a guy need with a pool cue in a wrestling environment? "Excuse me... just like to get to my stuff..." I looked over my shoulder to see a man approach the bag. His face was covered in scars from bleeding his way around the indy world. He had unusual piercings on his body, and overall he looked like he'd been through two world wars instead of one fake sport. I had to know his story. "Are you new here?" "Oh -- I'm not a part of the roster," he said. "I'm actually here to get a tryout against Tommy Dreamer. See, the group I belong to is... well, they've gone under. It's too bad, too -- we had a good fanbase and a good home. But I gotta move on. I was hoping to get me and a few of my buddies in the front door." "I see," I said, eyeing the pool cue ominously. "You know, we're not much on the hardcore style up here in the WWE. I mean, I assume you can do more, but..." "No, I understand. Actually, this is a souvenir from the last show. See?" He pulled it out and showed me. Now that I was able to see the end of it, I realized it wasn't a two- piece -- at least, not until it had been broken in half. "Whoa! How did that happen?" "Oh, it was our main event. We had this huge last match in a cage with a sh-- a lot of thumbtacks spread around. Sorry, not used to keeping it clean even now. Anyway, my champ brought this out and used it on me -- I was the owner of the company. Cracked me right over the head and gave me this." He pointed to a giant scar on his forehead, one that seemed to have stitches still in it. "Twenty-five, before you ask. The crowd loved every minute of it." "Well, that's great, but... I mean, I'm sure you realize that Vince isn't one to take just any two-bit indy group and give them a tryout." "Oh, I know -- but we have a bit of an ace up our sleeve. You see, we ran shows in Philadelphia, which as I understand it, is where the Royal Rumble is coming from. In fact, we took over the old ECW Arena for some of our shows -- awesome place, that little bingo hall. So basically, we have the name and we have a strong hardcore following." "Well, all that's well and good, but unless the scouts were watching the last few shows, I'm sure that the McMahons haven't heard of you. Still, Shane should be here -- I'd suggest talking to him." "Hey, thanks, Christian..." "Say, I feel kinda silly," I said as he turned to leave. "I don't recognize you." "That's okay. Not too many people do. My name's John Zandig. The group I ran -- Combat Zone Wrestling -- you heard of them?" "Kinda..." "Well, we tried to be ECW. I guess we succeeded -- right up to and including going out of business." Zandig chuckled. "Still, I hope that Vince will be kind enough to sign some of my boys. There's some good talent just waiting for a chance to bust out, you know." "Yeah -- I've heard of some of them. Like that Trent guy..." "Oh, Trent Acid, yeah. He's my nephew, actually. But I don't think he wants to enter the WWE just yet -- he'd prefer Japan. Still, if the money's right, I can talk to him about it. Anyway, I hope I'll be seeing more of you, Christian. It's nice to get a good conversation in a new world." No kidding -- just like I got from Paul and Lindsay. "Well, good luck, John. I hope you land on your feet." "Me too." He left to find Shane as I returned to getting in costume. Man, another tenant falls flat. I wonder if that place is cursed... ***** 09:24 PM I walked down the aisle to a cascade of boos as the match in the ring was completing. Triple H and Chavo Guerrero were meeting again, and the match was much the same as it was in El Paso. As I made it to ringside, Triple H went for the Pedigree, but Chavo backdropped out of it. He got in a flurry of offense, then went to scale the ropes for the Tornado DDT. I jumped onto the apron as he did so, getting both him and the referee distracted. I conveniently dropped the Intercontinental Title into the ring. As Chavo tried to climb the ropes, I grabbed his foot, causing him to crash off the top and have Hunter fall on him in a form of spinebuster. The referee told me to leave, and while he did, Hunter Pedigreed Chavo on the belt and discarded it. I picked it up as the ref counted three. Motorhead's "The Game" played as Hunter went through his celebration. I climbed into the ring behind him and began to taunt Chavo. Hunter left, putting the spotlight directly on us. I kicked Chavo a few times, but when I went to whip him into the ropes, I got it reversed. He hit me with a rana coming out, then a flying forearm that sent me bailing from the ring. I landed at the feet of Chris Nowinski, who was coming out for the next match, and Teddy Long, who was coming out to be a nuisance during the next match. Chavo bounced off the ropes and landed a pescado on all three of us, delighting the crowd. As he got up, he demanded a mic. "Hey -- hey Christian," he said. "I had you beat last time -- I want another shot. You and me, Christian, at the Royal Rumble -- well, if you get there with the belt, that is. What do you say? You wanna do it?" I slowly rolled into the ring as he awaited my answer.