Written: 3/2/07
If you knew Geoffrey Slate, you’d know that he in now way wanted to do this. But, he must.
His phone has been ringing constantly since he agreed to return to Mercury. He answered it once, to be told when the first show was. For two weeks, he didn’t answer it again.
The call gave something to Geoffrey: the knowledge that, on that March day, his hopes of finally escaping a world of violence would be gone. That was enough to brood on for a while. But, slowly, he came to realize that he at least owed it to his opponent to address him in some way. Whoever it was, they were at least owed some sort of response from him. So, he finally relented and answered another ringing phone, to be filled in on the rest of the details of the match.
And that brings us to here, with Geoffrey Slate sitting on the foot of his bed in his small apartment home. Through dimmed lights Geoffrey stares at the lone cameraman who, likely, is cursing the thought of getting the assignment to film this man.
He might even hate it as much as Geoffrey does. But, what must be done must be done.
“Let’s get something out of the way right now, Roderick. In case you’re hoping that I’ll be coming to our match out of shape, out of focus, and out of practice, it’s not happening. I’m in better shape than I’ve ever been in my life, physically.
“I’ve worked for Mercury since it’s beginning, and I earned a huge number of injuries—large and small—because of it. We last fought during the tail end of that little accumulation of pain, and yet I’ve still managed to defeat you.
“I’m healthy now. I’ve had enough time to let my injuries heal, and I’ve not been traveling from city-to-city long enough to be able to eat right and take care of my body. Physically, I’m ten times the man I was before Mercury’s early demise.
“So, for you, that’s strike one.”
Slate holds up a finger, barely visible to the camera. A smirk comes across his face: using baseball references against the baseball guy’s friend. How quaint.
“You said yourself, Toombs, that you used to be ‘the muscle’ for your friends. I hate to break it to you fella, but that’s still all you are: the muscle. Why do people win fights? It comes down to strength, speed, technique, and knowledge. Being stronger than your opponent, faster than him, stronger than him, more effective than him, or smarter than him can gain you a victory. But, each one of those facets of the game can be used to overcome the others.
“You’ve got one tool on your side, Toombs: you’re really big and strong. The thing is, though, that’s all you are. Roderick Toombs is big, and that’s all there is to him. The thing is, though, I’ve got the advantages in every other aspect of fighting. I’m faster than you, I know more moves and use them better than you, and I’m a smarter fighter than you.
“On the most basic level, you’ve got one advantage; I’ve got three. That’s strike two.”
He stops. His eyes seem to be looking off into the distance. It’s been a long time since he’s had to do this—the words don’t come as easily as they used to. Oh well, there’s still a point to be made.
“I know what you’re thinking, Roderick: there’s more to winning than just the physical things. There’s more to fighting than just the tangible. You’ve got a psychological edge. After all, you carry your friends with you, they get you metaphysical strength. They give you that intangible ‘something extra.’
“And you’re right, Roderick, they do give you something intangible. The only problem is that I’ve got more of it.
“You get your strength from the friends you’ve had? I get mine from all the things I’ve never had and from the things I once had, but never will again. What do you think there is more of in this life, Roderick—the things a man has, or the things he doesn’t have?
“When you’re in trouble in a match, you get strength knowing that your friends are pulling for you. You know, somehow, they’re there. When I am, I get strength from knowing that noting you could do can match what’s already been done to me. Anything you do to me is insignificant.
“Anything you do—no matter what pain you put me though—I take solace in knowing that I’ve felt worse. Anything you do to me pales in comparison to what life has done already. By comparison, your efforts will be insignificant. I’ve fought through my life, fighting through you poses no difficulty.
“You can’t break the spirit of a man who doesn’t have one. Psychologically, the point of a fight is to beat a man until he won’t take anymore. How, then, do you plan on beating a man who isn’t affected by a thing you do? The answer: you don’t. So, even on the intangible level, you lose.
“Sure, it might be depressing for me. But, more importantly for you, it’s strike three.”
Slate rises to his feet and walks away. End scene.
View Geoffrey Slate's Biography