Post by Tyler Bradford on Mar 10, 2021 23:41:24 GMT -5
Stanford University
Sophomore Year, 2009
I was twenty years old, staring at my computer screen into the wee hours of the morning. The glowing from the other computer across the room was the only other illumination besides my own screen. The clacking of the keys as my roommate tended to his studies and projects with enhanced industry as I sat in front of a blank notepad file.
Stanford was going to be difficult everyone back home in Cleveland had said, it was my third choice. I had wanted to go to MIT or Harvard, but clearly I did not score well enough on entrance exams, or my essays weren’t all that interesting. I choose to believe the latter, being a geek cramped in his bedroom playing Starcraft until your eyes bled wasn’t exactly a polarizing and compelling story of hardship and determination.
By Cleveland’s meager standards I was highly intelligent. A once in a generation mind, but coming out of a public school like Strongsville. I was unbelievably bored. School didn’t stimulate my mind, the college classes they thought would challenge my sixteen year old brain didn’t excite me. It was all elementary, studying was an unheard of practice. See, everything was easy for me. Tyler Bradford walked in and wrote his name, received an A and walked out. That was the state of things my entire life.
Until now.
Stanford was an entirely different animal, some of my fellow students were on my intellectual level. Some of them were far more intelligent and advanced than I was, they had been challenged at a young age and had developed skills and tools to push themselves to a higher level of understanding.
What’s this have to do with anything?
Trust me, I’m getting there.
See, my roommate Aarav was absolutely out of his mind brilliant. He did things for fun, that I couldn’t comprehend. It was almost comical as I would struggle debugging a project or an algorithm and Aarav would have an answer in under a minute. The man was a savant of computer generated code, MIT really fucked that one up by not taking that dude. If they had let me have a conversation with Aarav as my rejection letter, I would have completely understood the situation.
So when I heard Aarav begin cackling to himself in the middle of the night I was naturally curious. It was probably something he would probably have to explain in intense detail to me, but I’d eventually understand and find it equally hilarious. I wasn’t a complete fucking muppet after all. So I approached Aarav’s screen, and leaned over as he continued to point and cackle like a small child.
Aarav took his headset off, he was smiling ear to ear. “Ty, look at this shit.” He said as he pointed to his Facebook feed on the screen. Now, see I never talked about Aarav’s major flaw as a human being. Aarav absolutely loved drama, he lived for it. I’m not talking about some movie starring Ben Affleck and Matt Damon level drama. The guy scheduled his classes around The Young and The Restless, he lived for the constant bickering, deception, and confrontation.
How this genius found that driveling shit show fascinating was beyond me. But I digressed, Aarav wasn’t looking at a normal Facebook feed. This gigabrain motherfucker had managed to write an algorithm to review his news feed and find the most controversial topics. It scanned for multiple responses, key words, reactions, no longer was his feed devoid of interest. It had morphed into all interest. This was amusing, we had a good laugh reading through his feed and I asked him to make one for mine.
We cracked up laughing at the baby dad drama, the senseless fights and arguments. Parents and Children bickering in the open for everyone to see. It was truly beautiful, and turned our Facebook feeds into exactly what captured Aarav’s imagination. It was fantastically magnificent, the stock content didn’t interest Aarav but he had found a way to curate the content to his needs.
I watched the website infect Aarav’s mind over the semester. I thought it would be a phase, but soon The Young and The Restless didn’t do it for him anymore. He lived his life combing through social media, consistently adding more and more friends. Anyone he thought would have the slightest speck of drama. I watched my genius friend fall off the wagon completely. As the end of the year approached I found him quietly sobbing in his bed. The algorithm he had created for his own amusement, that we had shared great times laughing at had ruined his life.
Aarav clutched the notice in his hands, his academic assistance had been terminated. He’d have to return to India a failure. I myself couldn’t even predict what would happen next. That morning I woke up to police and my RA banging on my door. The news they carried hit me like a truck. They’d found Aarav dead in the showers. The smartest human being I had ever met in my life couldn’t see past his grief, his sadness, and instead took his own young brilliant life. Aarav would have changed the world, that I’m positive of.
Well actually, Aarav kind of did.
See, that little program he had created had ignited my own brain on a totally different track. While Aarav created it for his own enjoyment, watching his downward spiral had shown me something. The potential greatness of what Aarav had created. He hadn’t known, but I had made a few small connections around Stanford and had managed to make my way into a conversation with a Freshman girl who’s brother happened to know a few people at the old Facebook.
I used her, she was a hideous troll, but she had what I needed. Family dinners turned into discussions about business, and the brother thought the idea was absolutely brilliant. Suddenly my life turned into a whirlwind of presentations and testing. See, every great businessman makes sacrifices and decisions a sane person might eventually regret. My sacrifice was peddling my deceased friends program to every social media platform in silicone valley. Hell, I even had a meeting with that Tom guy from MySpace offering to save his dying company.
Once word got back to the Facebook people that I was shopping the formula I had conveniently patented they came at me with a plethora of lawyers. See, major corporations have entire buildings full of lawyers for times exactly like this. I filled out a small list of my absurd demands, partial ownership of the company, stock options, a job forever, one hundred and thirty one million dollars, a house for my parents, a yacht, a helicopter, a Baskin Robbin’s franchise, twenty seven Siberian tigers, part ownership of the Sand Diego Zoo. Literally, it was the most absurd list of shit I’ve ever seen put to paper.
I figured they’d get the point that I wasn’t going to just sell this thing off. I had started seeing the potential in licensing the product, getting paid for every potential click, every moment of screen time that the algorithm increased. I told everyone I could find on my way out of that conference room that I was going to change the world. The second meeting was pretty interesting.
Listening to a very rich sophisticated lawyer list off the myriad of things they weren’t going to do had me on the verge of tears with how hysterical it was. Each absurd thing that they were excluding from the offer was progressively more hilarious. But then the realization hit me, they hadn’t said anything about the money…
So when they slid the contract across the table with one-hundred and thirty-one million dollars scrawled on it, and a ten year non-disclosure and no compete agreement my jaw hit the fucking floor. Right there in that absurdly nice conference room, I stood up, danced in a fucking circle like a child and signed my name on both lines.
Why is this important? Why does this all matter? See, I’ve been studying for my first ever professional wrestling match. Against a fucking time traveler, and the one thing they can’t change are fixed moments in time. Would myself receiving one-hundred and thirty-one million dollars classify as one? Surely not, but what that beautiful bastard Aarav had created and the havoc it wrought on the United States of America had to be.
I’m sorry about the 2016 presidential election, that’s 100% my fault. I’m sure Aarav wanted nothing to do with that. The brilliant genius from India just wanted a few laughs, but what the algorithm had managed to do was absolutely, conclusively, a Fixed Point In Time.
——————————————
My brain felt numb as I continued to stare at the screen from my aged leather couch in the conference room. I’d watched seven episodes of Doctor Who so far that day, and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Up next was the WB Series ‘Legends of Tomorrow.’ I was so excited that I was going to put my own dick in the doorframe of my office and repeatedly slam the door. I was almost convinced it was the only way to make the mindless entertainment stop.
“Interesting way to prepare for a match? Especially our first one?” I smirked at first, then broke into a chuckle. I hadn’t heard Bill Novak enter the conference room of the gym. I stood up, listening as my bones cracked. Bill was right though, this did require some explanation.
“While it might appear odd Bill, I believe understanding Miss Granger’s delusions imperative to my success in the ring. Did you know The Excellence strangely resembles both the phone booth from Bill and Ted, and Doctor Who?” I said, the cocky smirk maintaining its presence on my face. Bill rolled his eyes as he set up his laptop on the conference table.
The room became more crowded as I watched Cindy Bartholomew careen into the conference room. Her cellphone on her ear, her arms full of notebooks and and a laptop. “Listen, Tyler is absolutely prepared to make an impact in Project Honor, we understand Betsy Granger is an incredibly talented and veteran talent compared to my client. However, Tyler’s been preparing by…”
She looked at me searching for the words that would make what she had walked into the room witnessing make sense. “Studying Miss Granger’s delusions Cindy.” I responded, she was a brilliant wordsmith. Her ability to sell ideas is why I had brought her onto the team.
“Mister Bradford has been studying the delusional Betsy Granger incessantly since the match was initially announced. He’s been working diligently…” she rolled her eyes at me, putting her hand over the phones microphone and mouthing ‘yeah right.’ Just as she was about to put the finishing touches on her statement my best friend exploded through the door.
“WE GETTIN’ PUMPED TODAY TY?!” Steve roared in the middle of Cindy’s very serious conversation. Cindy was stunned, and excused herself from the room. I noticed the look of pure shock and horror she managed to maintain all of the way back out of the room. As Cindy exited, Bill, Steve, and I started laughing, almost putting ourselves into hysterics. The three of us cackling like a group of hyenas caused Cindy to poke her head back into the room angrily.
“Yes that’s all…” she clicked the phone shut with incredible force as she approached the table, addressing the three of us. “You three are worse than my children sometimes…” Finally the meeting room begins to settle down as the four of us sat at the conference table. Cindy was quick to take the lead.
“Did you decide on the black and gold or blue and gold trunks yet?” She asked me pointedly. She was going to be upset by my answer. “Cindy, I can’t wear Black and Gold… I’m from Cleveland for fucks sake.” Steve smacked the table to agree as Cindy stared a hole through my soul. I loved when she did that.
“What color did you pick Tyler?” She quizzed me sarcastically. I hadn’t been talked to like this since I was in the second grade… “Black and Gold it is after all…” The smart ass in me couldn’t help itself. It had to make trivial events into battles. She rolled her eyes and immediately began talking about marketing strategy.
In a blur she was standing with her red hair pulled back, talking about focus groups and the results we had seen in testing the various colors. I examined the temperature of the room, Steve had begun to fall asleep and Bill’s eyes had started to glass over. “Cindy, I appreciate the hard work on the color scheme. I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you for the help, without you my debut couldn’t be a success.”
Sometimes people need to hear nice things about themselves. Sometimes people need to be told when to shut up, being able to achieve both at the same time was an art form. Cindy wasn’t the only wordsmith on the team and she knew I was just as cunning. “Well then, what do the three of you need to talk about?” She asked as Bill took back the conversation, making sure to nudge Steve awake as he got up out of the chair.
“We need to talk about Betsy Granger,” Bill said as he began to plug his laptop into the center of the table. Quickly his screen was on the wall and we were all analyzing the first page of Bill’s powerpoint.
“Betsy has a number of moves at her disposal,” Bill said pointing to the long list of names with the move description listed beside it. This time Steve’s eyes lit up with intrigue. I watched as he sounded out the names of each move.
“This chick speaks in tongues…” Steve said, out of pure frustration. “Is she some type of time traveling demon?”
I shook my head and responded “Steve she’s intelligent. People like her, the misunderstood geniuses of the world don’t think like the rest of us. She’s a linguist.” You had to really lay it on thick for Steve sometimes. The man was a meat head through and through, he had been my best friend for the better part of 18 years. I was always the brains of the operation, Steve… was normally the brawn.
Our relationship worked similarly even now. Steve’s primary job was to make sure I was in peak physical condition. When it came to dietary nutrition, Steve was on another plane of existence. Nobody understood supplements the way Steve Davis did, his enormous frame clearly showed that trait off. But when it came to the things regular people worried about, Steve’s brain wasn’t quite there.
“You mean she’s into chicks?” I roared in laughter with Bill and Cindy. I watched the brief moment of terror in the hulking mans eyes as he scanned the room, and quickly began laughing along. As the room finally calmed down again I sighed.
“She likes foreign languages Steve, I know linguist and cunnilingus somehow sounded similar in your head… It’s okay big fella.” I said as I stood up from one of the office chairs wrapped around the conference table.
“Miss Granger is intelligent, she’s a formidable opponent. The company she keeps is exceptional, James Raven, Shawn Warstein, they are all incredible talents in the industry we plan to step into on the 12th. She’s not going to be a pushover, and we may need a secret weapon to achieve the victory we so desperately need to set off our Iconic rocket ship,” I said, my thoughts trailing back to the television shows I had watched earlier. “You want me to hit her with a kendo stick?”
“No.”
“You want me to throw salt in her eyes?”
“No”
“You want me to slip you a roll of quarters to hit her with?”
“No. No. NO!” Bill wasn’t getting the point and I was going to have to explain it in exquisite pain staking detail to him. “See Bill, while I’m okay with all of these things, and I fully hope you do manage to achieve all three of these in the ring on Friday, I believe we have to make sure I’m fully prepared for Miss Granger.”
“That’s the point of the meeting Ty…” Bill stammered out to me.
“Don’t interrupt me Bill.” I almost hissed the words out through my clenched jaw. “We have to create an event, and I believe we are well on our way to achieving the goal. My debut has to be such a powerful moment on the timeline, that even Miss Granger’s time travel is mute to stop the event. My debut has to be a literal cataclysm, it has to inspire awe, it has to be such a fantastic pivotal moment that it cannot be changed. I don’t mean just with Project: Honor, no my dear friends. My debut has to change the world.”
“Hell yeah! We’re gonna change the world!” Steve shouted, truly inspired while the other two sat with their jaws agape. “God dammit Tyler…” was the only phrase Cindy could muster. I know her and Bill wouldn’t take me seriously. That was fine, the two of them were dedicated to their craft, I believed they could achieve the desired result. Steve was the one I had to worry about.
“What’s on the schedule today?” Bill asked as Cindy quickly agreed to the topic change. Exactly what I needed them to do.
“Looks like it’s all on you boys today. No photo shoots or anything in my wheel house. Just sparring, preparation, and working out. Ty, can you do me a favor? Lay off the shitty TV shows about time travel,” Cindy said to me as she closed her notebook.
“Sure,” I said. I was half telling the truth, I had heard some good things about Legends of Tomorrow, at least the first few seasons were decent, so I wasn’t entirely lying.
————————————————
Miss Granger…
I apologize. I haven’t had the common courtesy to introduce myself. My name is Tyler Bradford, and I am Iconic. Many of my foes in Project Honor will ask why I have decided to label myself as Iconic, having achieved so little, some would say actually nothing in the sport of professional wrestling.
Betsy, it’s because everything comes up Bradford.
I could not have asked for a better situation, I could not have begged for a better first opponent. Am I selling you short with that remark? Of course not Miss Granger, I respect what you’ve done in the squared circle. I assume that you will be a worthy competitor. Your history, the plethora of anticipation that follows you Bets, that’s why I could not have picked a more fitting adversary.
Iconic Tyler Bradford is here to earn the name, I’ve just called my shot. A famous sporting individual once called his shot, and do you know what became of him? Joe Namath is now an icon in professional football. Sure, he’s also a womanizing piece of shit, but that moment infatuated the American Psyche. The legend of the underdog believing in himself so much, that he willed a victory into existence. A self fulfilling prophecy, for the next four decades we’ve been blessed with Joe Namath wearing fur coats assaulting sideline reporters, smoking cigars, and drinking margaritas until the sun comes up.
That’s what it means to be Iconic Miss Granger.
When I beat you Betsy, not if, but when I beat you. When I cave your skull in with my fucking knee, it will set a series of events into place that would have me earn my nickname. When I break you in half, and James Raven or Shawn Warstein take notice, suddenly, and assuredly Betsy I’ll have all eyes on me.
I believe Tu-Pac wrote a song about that, by the way, could you go back in time and save Pac and Biggie? Ya know… fix the disaster that rap music has turned into? Thanks.
Did you know I’ve planned this moment for eight years? Eight years of painstaking planning, of building the right team, of perfecting my body. I spent eight years preparing to take this industry and grab it right by the testicles. You’re just the first of a hundred conquests on my march to glory.
See Betsy, I have a lot of money. A gross amount of money, I could have most things in this world. I want an island? I can have it. I want a skyscraper? I can have it. I want a plane? I can have it.
Do you know what can’t be bought? What has to be earned?
It’s the clout Miss Granger. I could put Bradford on the fucking ring apron here, I could buy every seat in the arena, hell I could buy the damned arena. But I couldn’t fill it.
Not yet.
But I will. Because when I want something, much like Mr. Namath, I can will it into existence. I wanted to be rich, here I am, I wanted even more money, here I am. I could be Elon Musk sending rockets into space, I could be trying to change the world for the better…
I’m just not that type of guy.
I’m the type of guy that sells his dead friends invention for one hundred and thirty one million dollars, and gives his friends parents one million dollars. I’m the type of guy that chastises my friends when they are idiots and it displeases me. I’m the type of guy that beats the brakes off of delusional people like yourself.
Did you think I actually believed you Betsy? Did you think I was preparing for one thousand battles with the same person, stuck in an infinite time loop ala Doctor Strange? No Miss Granger, I believe that yourself, and your friends feed into your sick fantasies, they feed into your need for self-esteem. For self importance. Instead of fixing the problem, instead of encouraging you to seek help they abuse it for their own personal enjoyment. I’m sure they have conversations about you when you run into your magic phone booth like Miss Frizzle running onto the magic school bus.
What do you do during your self made illusions? Are you sitting quietly in the phone booth? Do you act out the journey like a mime in central park? Twisting and pulling in the cramped space?
Do you see it yet Bets?
You’re suffering, and I’m going to be the first person to help you.
Goodnight Miss Granger.
After Friday Night I’m sure we’ll be better acquainted, but just a reminder for you. Once again, my name is Tyler Bradford, and I am Iconic.
Sophomore Year, 2009
I was twenty years old, staring at my computer screen into the wee hours of the morning. The glowing from the other computer across the room was the only other illumination besides my own screen. The clacking of the keys as my roommate tended to his studies and projects with enhanced industry as I sat in front of a blank notepad file.
Stanford was going to be difficult everyone back home in Cleveland had said, it was my third choice. I had wanted to go to MIT or Harvard, but clearly I did not score well enough on entrance exams, or my essays weren’t all that interesting. I choose to believe the latter, being a geek cramped in his bedroom playing Starcraft until your eyes bled wasn’t exactly a polarizing and compelling story of hardship and determination.
By Cleveland’s meager standards I was highly intelligent. A once in a generation mind, but coming out of a public school like Strongsville. I was unbelievably bored. School didn’t stimulate my mind, the college classes they thought would challenge my sixteen year old brain didn’t excite me. It was all elementary, studying was an unheard of practice. See, everything was easy for me. Tyler Bradford walked in and wrote his name, received an A and walked out. That was the state of things my entire life.
Until now.
Stanford was an entirely different animal, some of my fellow students were on my intellectual level. Some of them were far more intelligent and advanced than I was, they had been challenged at a young age and had developed skills and tools to push themselves to a higher level of understanding.
What’s this have to do with anything?
Trust me, I’m getting there.
See, my roommate Aarav was absolutely out of his mind brilliant. He did things for fun, that I couldn’t comprehend. It was almost comical as I would struggle debugging a project or an algorithm and Aarav would have an answer in under a minute. The man was a savant of computer generated code, MIT really fucked that one up by not taking that dude. If they had let me have a conversation with Aarav as my rejection letter, I would have completely understood the situation.
So when I heard Aarav begin cackling to himself in the middle of the night I was naturally curious. It was probably something he would probably have to explain in intense detail to me, but I’d eventually understand and find it equally hilarious. I wasn’t a complete fucking muppet after all. So I approached Aarav’s screen, and leaned over as he continued to point and cackle like a small child.
Aarav took his headset off, he was smiling ear to ear. “Ty, look at this shit.” He said as he pointed to his Facebook feed on the screen. Now, see I never talked about Aarav’s major flaw as a human being. Aarav absolutely loved drama, he lived for it. I’m not talking about some movie starring Ben Affleck and Matt Damon level drama. The guy scheduled his classes around The Young and The Restless, he lived for the constant bickering, deception, and confrontation.
How this genius found that driveling shit show fascinating was beyond me. But I digressed, Aarav wasn’t looking at a normal Facebook feed. This gigabrain motherfucker had managed to write an algorithm to review his news feed and find the most controversial topics. It scanned for multiple responses, key words, reactions, no longer was his feed devoid of interest. It had morphed into all interest. This was amusing, we had a good laugh reading through his feed and I asked him to make one for mine.
We cracked up laughing at the baby dad drama, the senseless fights and arguments. Parents and Children bickering in the open for everyone to see. It was truly beautiful, and turned our Facebook feeds into exactly what captured Aarav’s imagination. It was fantastically magnificent, the stock content didn’t interest Aarav but he had found a way to curate the content to his needs.
I watched the website infect Aarav’s mind over the semester. I thought it would be a phase, but soon The Young and The Restless didn’t do it for him anymore. He lived his life combing through social media, consistently adding more and more friends. Anyone he thought would have the slightest speck of drama. I watched my genius friend fall off the wagon completely. As the end of the year approached I found him quietly sobbing in his bed. The algorithm he had created for his own amusement, that we had shared great times laughing at had ruined his life.
Aarav clutched the notice in his hands, his academic assistance had been terminated. He’d have to return to India a failure. I myself couldn’t even predict what would happen next. That morning I woke up to police and my RA banging on my door. The news they carried hit me like a truck. They’d found Aarav dead in the showers. The smartest human being I had ever met in my life couldn’t see past his grief, his sadness, and instead took his own young brilliant life. Aarav would have changed the world, that I’m positive of.
Well actually, Aarav kind of did.
See, that little program he had created had ignited my own brain on a totally different track. While Aarav created it for his own enjoyment, watching his downward spiral had shown me something. The potential greatness of what Aarav had created. He hadn’t known, but I had made a few small connections around Stanford and had managed to make my way into a conversation with a Freshman girl who’s brother happened to know a few people at the old Facebook.
I used her, she was a hideous troll, but she had what I needed. Family dinners turned into discussions about business, and the brother thought the idea was absolutely brilliant. Suddenly my life turned into a whirlwind of presentations and testing. See, every great businessman makes sacrifices and decisions a sane person might eventually regret. My sacrifice was peddling my deceased friends program to every social media platform in silicone valley. Hell, I even had a meeting with that Tom guy from MySpace offering to save his dying company.
Once word got back to the Facebook people that I was shopping the formula I had conveniently patented they came at me with a plethora of lawyers. See, major corporations have entire buildings full of lawyers for times exactly like this. I filled out a small list of my absurd demands, partial ownership of the company, stock options, a job forever, one hundred and thirty one million dollars, a house for my parents, a yacht, a helicopter, a Baskin Robbin’s franchise, twenty seven Siberian tigers, part ownership of the Sand Diego Zoo. Literally, it was the most absurd list of shit I’ve ever seen put to paper.
I figured they’d get the point that I wasn’t going to just sell this thing off. I had started seeing the potential in licensing the product, getting paid for every potential click, every moment of screen time that the algorithm increased. I told everyone I could find on my way out of that conference room that I was going to change the world. The second meeting was pretty interesting.
Listening to a very rich sophisticated lawyer list off the myriad of things they weren’t going to do had me on the verge of tears with how hysterical it was. Each absurd thing that they were excluding from the offer was progressively more hilarious. But then the realization hit me, they hadn’t said anything about the money…
So when they slid the contract across the table with one-hundred and thirty-one million dollars scrawled on it, and a ten year non-disclosure and no compete agreement my jaw hit the fucking floor. Right there in that absurdly nice conference room, I stood up, danced in a fucking circle like a child and signed my name on both lines.
Why is this important? Why does this all matter? See, I’ve been studying for my first ever professional wrestling match. Against a fucking time traveler, and the one thing they can’t change are fixed moments in time. Would myself receiving one-hundred and thirty-one million dollars classify as one? Surely not, but what that beautiful bastard Aarav had created and the havoc it wrought on the United States of America had to be.
I’m sorry about the 2016 presidential election, that’s 100% my fault. I’m sure Aarav wanted nothing to do with that. The brilliant genius from India just wanted a few laughs, but what the algorithm had managed to do was absolutely, conclusively, a Fixed Point In Time.
——————————————
My brain felt numb as I continued to stare at the screen from my aged leather couch in the conference room. I’d watched seven episodes of Doctor Who so far that day, and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Up next was the WB Series ‘Legends of Tomorrow.’ I was so excited that I was going to put my own dick in the doorframe of my office and repeatedly slam the door. I was almost convinced it was the only way to make the mindless entertainment stop.
“Interesting way to prepare for a match? Especially our first one?” I smirked at first, then broke into a chuckle. I hadn’t heard Bill Novak enter the conference room of the gym. I stood up, listening as my bones cracked. Bill was right though, this did require some explanation.
“While it might appear odd Bill, I believe understanding Miss Granger’s delusions imperative to my success in the ring. Did you know The Excellence strangely resembles both the phone booth from Bill and Ted, and Doctor Who?” I said, the cocky smirk maintaining its presence on my face. Bill rolled his eyes as he set up his laptop on the conference table.
The room became more crowded as I watched Cindy Bartholomew careen into the conference room. Her cellphone on her ear, her arms full of notebooks and and a laptop. “Listen, Tyler is absolutely prepared to make an impact in Project Honor, we understand Betsy Granger is an incredibly talented and veteran talent compared to my client. However, Tyler’s been preparing by…”
She looked at me searching for the words that would make what she had walked into the room witnessing make sense. “Studying Miss Granger’s delusions Cindy.” I responded, she was a brilliant wordsmith. Her ability to sell ideas is why I had brought her onto the team.
“Mister Bradford has been studying the delusional Betsy Granger incessantly since the match was initially announced. He’s been working diligently…” she rolled her eyes at me, putting her hand over the phones microphone and mouthing ‘yeah right.’ Just as she was about to put the finishing touches on her statement my best friend exploded through the door.
“WE GETTIN’ PUMPED TODAY TY?!” Steve roared in the middle of Cindy’s very serious conversation. Cindy was stunned, and excused herself from the room. I noticed the look of pure shock and horror she managed to maintain all of the way back out of the room. As Cindy exited, Bill, Steve, and I started laughing, almost putting ourselves into hysterics. The three of us cackling like a group of hyenas caused Cindy to poke her head back into the room angrily.
“Yes that’s all…” she clicked the phone shut with incredible force as she approached the table, addressing the three of us. “You three are worse than my children sometimes…” Finally the meeting room begins to settle down as the four of us sat at the conference table. Cindy was quick to take the lead.
“Did you decide on the black and gold or blue and gold trunks yet?” She asked me pointedly. She was going to be upset by my answer. “Cindy, I can’t wear Black and Gold… I’m from Cleveland for fucks sake.” Steve smacked the table to agree as Cindy stared a hole through my soul. I loved when she did that.
“What color did you pick Tyler?” She quizzed me sarcastically. I hadn’t been talked to like this since I was in the second grade… “Black and Gold it is after all…” The smart ass in me couldn’t help itself. It had to make trivial events into battles. She rolled her eyes and immediately began talking about marketing strategy.
In a blur she was standing with her red hair pulled back, talking about focus groups and the results we had seen in testing the various colors. I examined the temperature of the room, Steve had begun to fall asleep and Bill’s eyes had started to glass over. “Cindy, I appreciate the hard work on the color scheme. I couldn’t do it without you. Thank you for the help, without you my debut couldn’t be a success.”
Sometimes people need to hear nice things about themselves. Sometimes people need to be told when to shut up, being able to achieve both at the same time was an art form. Cindy wasn’t the only wordsmith on the team and she knew I was just as cunning. “Well then, what do the three of you need to talk about?” She asked as Bill took back the conversation, making sure to nudge Steve awake as he got up out of the chair.
“We need to talk about Betsy Granger,” Bill said as he began to plug his laptop into the center of the table. Quickly his screen was on the wall and we were all analyzing the first page of Bill’s powerpoint.
“Betsy has a number of moves at her disposal,” Bill said pointing to the long list of names with the move description listed beside it. This time Steve’s eyes lit up with intrigue. I watched as he sounded out the names of each move.
“This chick speaks in tongues…” Steve said, out of pure frustration. “Is she some type of time traveling demon?”
I shook my head and responded “Steve she’s intelligent. People like her, the misunderstood geniuses of the world don’t think like the rest of us. She’s a linguist.” You had to really lay it on thick for Steve sometimes. The man was a meat head through and through, he had been my best friend for the better part of 18 years. I was always the brains of the operation, Steve… was normally the brawn.
Our relationship worked similarly even now. Steve’s primary job was to make sure I was in peak physical condition. When it came to dietary nutrition, Steve was on another plane of existence. Nobody understood supplements the way Steve Davis did, his enormous frame clearly showed that trait off. But when it came to the things regular people worried about, Steve’s brain wasn’t quite there.
“You mean she’s into chicks?” I roared in laughter with Bill and Cindy. I watched the brief moment of terror in the hulking mans eyes as he scanned the room, and quickly began laughing along. As the room finally calmed down again I sighed.
“She likes foreign languages Steve, I know linguist and cunnilingus somehow sounded similar in your head… It’s okay big fella.” I said as I stood up from one of the office chairs wrapped around the conference table.
“Miss Granger is intelligent, she’s a formidable opponent. The company she keeps is exceptional, James Raven, Shawn Warstein, they are all incredible talents in the industry we plan to step into on the 12th. She’s not going to be a pushover, and we may need a secret weapon to achieve the victory we so desperately need to set off our Iconic rocket ship,” I said, my thoughts trailing back to the television shows I had watched earlier. “You want me to hit her with a kendo stick?”
“No.”
“You want me to throw salt in her eyes?”
“No”
“You want me to slip you a roll of quarters to hit her with?”
“No. No. NO!” Bill wasn’t getting the point and I was going to have to explain it in exquisite pain staking detail to him. “See Bill, while I’m okay with all of these things, and I fully hope you do manage to achieve all three of these in the ring on Friday, I believe we have to make sure I’m fully prepared for Miss Granger.”
“That’s the point of the meeting Ty…” Bill stammered out to me.
“Don’t interrupt me Bill.” I almost hissed the words out through my clenched jaw. “We have to create an event, and I believe we are well on our way to achieving the goal. My debut has to be such a powerful moment on the timeline, that even Miss Granger’s time travel is mute to stop the event. My debut has to be a literal cataclysm, it has to inspire awe, it has to be such a fantastic pivotal moment that it cannot be changed. I don’t mean just with Project: Honor, no my dear friends. My debut has to change the world.”
“Hell yeah! We’re gonna change the world!” Steve shouted, truly inspired while the other two sat with their jaws agape. “God dammit Tyler…” was the only phrase Cindy could muster. I know her and Bill wouldn’t take me seriously. That was fine, the two of them were dedicated to their craft, I believed they could achieve the desired result. Steve was the one I had to worry about.
“What’s on the schedule today?” Bill asked as Cindy quickly agreed to the topic change. Exactly what I needed them to do.
“Looks like it’s all on you boys today. No photo shoots or anything in my wheel house. Just sparring, preparation, and working out. Ty, can you do me a favor? Lay off the shitty TV shows about time travel,” Cindy said to me as she closed her notebook.
“Sure,” I said. I was half telling the truth, I had heard some good things about Legends of Tomorrow, at least the first few seasons were decent, so I wasn’t entirely lying.
————————————————
Miss Granger…
I apologize. I haven’t had the common courtesy to introduce myself. My name is Tyler Bradford, and I am Iconic. Many of my foes in Project Honor will ask why I have decided to label myself as Iconic, having achieved so little, some would say actually nothing in the sport of professional wrestling.
Betsy, it’s because everything comes up Bradford.
I could not have asked for a better situation, I could not have begged for a better first opponent. Am I selling you short with that remark? Of course not Miss Granger, I respect what you’ve done in the squared circle. I assume that you will be a worthy competitor. Your history, the plethora of anticipation that follows you Bets, that’s why I could not have picked a more fitting adversary.
Iconic Tyler Bradford is here to earn the name, I’ve just called my shot. A famous sporting individual once called his shot, and do you know what became of him? Joe Namath is now an icon in professional football. Sure, he’s also a womanizing piece of shit, but that moment infatuated the American Psyche. The legend of the underdog believing in himself so much, that he willed a victory into existence. A self fulfilling prophecy, for the next four decades we’ve been blessed with Joe Namath wearing fur coats assaulting sideline reporters, smoking cigars, and drinking margaritas until the sun comes up.
That’s what it means to be Iconic Miss Granger.
When I beat you Betsy, not if, but when I beat you. When I cave your skull in with my fucking knee, it will set a series of events into place that would have me earn my nickname. When I break you in half, and James Raven or Shawn Warstein take notice, suddenly, and assuredly Betsy I’ll have all eyes on me.
I believe Tu-Pac wrote a song about that, by the way, could you go back in time and save Pac and Biggie? Ya know… fix the disaster that rap music has turned into? Thanks.
Did you know I’ve planned this moment for eight years? Eight years of painstaking planning, of building the right team, of perfecting my body. I spent eight years preparing to take this industry and grab it right by the testicles. You’re just the first of a hundred conquests on my march to glory.
See Betsy, I have a lot of money. A gross amount of money, I could have most things in this world. I want an island? I can have it. I want a skyscraper? I can have it. I want a plane? I can have it.
Do you know what can’t be bought? What has to be earned?
It’s the clout Miss Granger. I could put Bradford on the fucking ring apron here, I could buy every seat in the arena, hell I could buy the damned arena. But I couldn’t fill it.
Not yet.
But I will. Because when I want something, much like Mr. Namath, I can will it into existence. I wanted to be rich, here I am, I wanted even more money, here I am. I could be Elon Musk sending rockets into space, I could be trying to change the world for the better…
I’m just not that type of guy.
I’m the type of guy that sells his dead friends invention for one hundred and thirty one million dollars, and gives his friends parents one million dollars. I’m the type of guy that chastises my friends when they are idiots and it displeases me. I’m the type of guy that beats the brakes off of delusional people like yourself.
Did you think I actually believed you Betsy? Did you think I was preparing for one thousand battles with the same person, stuck in an infinite time loop ala Doctor Strange? No Miss Granger, I believe that yourself, and your friends feed into your sick fantasies, they feed into your need for self-esteem. For self importance. Instead of fixing the problem, instead of encouraging you to seek help they abuse it for their own personal enjoyment. I’m sure they have conversations about you when you run into your magic phone booth like Miss Frizzle running onto the magic school bus.
What do you do during your self made illusions? Are you sitting quietly in the phone booth? Do you act out the journey like a mime in central park? Twisting and pulling in the cramped space?
Do you see it yet Bets?
You’re suffering, and I’m going to be the first person to help you.
Goodnight Miss Granger.
After Friday Night I’m sure we’ll be better acquainted, but just a reminder for you. Once again, my name is Tyler Bradford, and I am Iconic.