Savage Sports Stories Day 1

All copyrights belong to Victor Rodgers

Introduction by Matt D

Sequels are a funny thing. The branches of pop culture that I tend to enjoy the most are ones where serialized storytelling is king. There's an artistic integrity to telling a story with a beginning, middle, and end and then never returning to it, but that seems so limiting to me, so small. Whenever an author develops a work of fiction, he creates an entire reality populated by millions of characters, even if the reader only encounters a small handful of them. There's always more to explore. Maybe because that mindset, I also feel like a sequel should intrinsically be better than the work it follows. Oh, plenty of people tend to look at the initial work as natural and organic and the sequel as artificial and tacked on, but experience writing and experience with developing the characters and the world should make the product richer, not shallower. The reader already has a connection to the world and the entities that inhabit it. Less time needs to be spent introducing basic characters and basic ideas. A greater complexity can be reached for, and reached for by someone who has grasped a number of hard-learned lessons from the initial work. Vic's second take on Overdog and his world is an excellent example of this ideal.

If you followed the first story, you'll notice the improvement right away. Pacing, characterization, description. It's all improved. That's not a knock on the first story either; there's more confidence and experience here and it shows. It's also a more complicated story with a second viewpoint and interlocking narratives... and not just any second view point either, but that of a character diametrically opposite to Overdog, giving the reader a very different reflection upon this mixed-up world of pro wrestling. As earnest as Overdog is, Sergent Sargent is the sum of his experiences, possessing a dark, jaded even bigoted look at the world around him that comes out distinctly in his thoughts and language.

In this tale, Overdog learns to watch what one wishes for. He wanted a title so badly, but the W*RE Deathcore title and the dangerous individuals it attracts isn't the sort of championship you'd wish on your worst enemy, and Sergent Sargent, a grizzled veteran who will do anything at all to get his one last shot, isn't the sort of mentor you'd wish on anyone at all. On top of this, he's pushed to his good-hearted limit by the scarred misfits, all too familiar mutant fans and double-talking owner of Combat Collective Wrestling. Forget about the belt. It's enough to make you wonder if he's going to escape with his soul intact... and maybe, possibly if Sergent Sargent might somehow regain his.

While you don't need to have read the first story, it does help. If you haven't done so, I suggest heading off and doing it now in preparation. Either way, get ready to jump on in because Vic's outdone himself this time.



DISCLAIMER: As mentioned above, Sergent Sargent has a particularly unpleasant view of the world. Considering a number of chapters are written from his viewpoint, the language used in those chapters is there for the sake of realism and to assist in the creation of a three-dimensional character. People from all races and all walks of life may find it offensive. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction and if you are easily offended, it may be best to avoid it altogether.




Prologue

1992

Well I'm here in some shithole in Pennsylvania. I'm fighting the fat gook with a mohawk. Calls himself the One Man Army and has been following me around since I started wrestling professionally. Before I go any further, my name is Richard Albert Sargent, you know me as Sergent Sargent. I'm a pro wrestler and star of a bunch of cartoons, that were based on some toys I can't remember the name of. I just know the checks cleared.

Thought I was going to wrestle in the Olympics, but God had a surprise for me. I got drafted into the army at the age of 18. Spent a few years killing gooks for little pay. I get out and my dreams of Olympic glory are dead. Until this big Injun notices me in a bar. At first, I think its some homo looking for some action. Not that I'm judging. You can't be in the army and not run into some queers. But hey it's a lonely life and you do what you can to survive.

Anyway I recognized the guy from Tee Vee. A pro wrestler called Moonbear Hutchens. He tells me I'm a big guy with a good look. He ask me if I can fight. I tell him if he does not shut up he'll find out. He gives me the number of a trainer and what do you know I'm a big time wrassler. I wrestle under a mask as the The Masked Wrecker. I win all the time because I'm tougher than the assholes they throw at me. Things are fine til I lose a mask vs mask match with that deep fried shithead racist the Masked Confederate.

Well the promoter had heard I was in the armed forces before. Tells me with my last name I should play up the military background. Says I can call myself Sergent Sargent. I tell this guy I was a Captain. He says Captain Sargent sounds dumb. So I'm Sergent Sargent. I keep kicking ass, because I'm the best. Eventually I win the Omniversal Championship. Was champ til that cheating fag Ransom Fortune stole my belt. Then the cartoon got canceled for no reason and I'm wrestling the fat gook with the mohawk in some shithole armory.

Owww, he just tagged me in the face. My nose is bleeding. God fucking Damn!!!!! He just threw me over the rail. Landed on some little maggot wearing an old Sergent Sargent shirt. Well I get back in the ring and finish off the fat gook with the mohawk. Hit my patented Bayonet. Bell rings and I see 500 idiots cheering me. I can't sink any lower than this.


1.

Been under here for a couple of minutes. Trying to catch my breath. I'm in good enough shape but when you think you are about to die, you start to hyper ventilate. Okay I'm gonna peak my head out so far so....

"ARRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I just barely dodged a ax handle bashing my head in. I see this tall guy with dirty blond hair down to his knees and a beard to match. Has a gas mask covering his mouth. His name is SAWdust and I'm defending my W*RE Deathcore title against him.

Okay I'm gonna go back. My name is Greg Richards, but I wrestle under a mask as the Overdog. Last time you saw me, I lost my chance at being the West Coast Heritage champion, when an enraged Ike Simmons attacked me and Violator (West Coast Heritage Champion) during our match at Royal Flush. I almost quit that night, but was convinced to stay by a wrestler known as King Behemoth.

You probably want to know how I ended up winning my first championship. Well the same night I lost my title match, something really odd happened. Stranger than the Embalmer being burned alive by Burn Ward.

A metal folding chair won the W*RE Deathcore championship. This situation lead to me winning my first title belt. I will explain later. Busy right now.

SAWdust swings the ax handle at my head and I duck. He swings again and I duck. He is really mad now. He tries to hit me with the ax handle again, but I leap frog over him. His ax handle is stuck in the wall. This is my chance I leap on his back and start punching him in the head. He is trying to get me off his back. He gets me by my mask and I start scratching his eyes. I don't like people touching my mask. Now he slams his back (and me) into a soda machine. That knocked the breath out of me. Now Sawdust is pummeling me and banging my head into the machine. I grab a can of Surge that fell out and hit Sawdust in the jaw. At least that slowed him down.

Before he can recover I take a packet of powder out of my flak jacket and toss it in his eyes. Now he is mad and swinging blind. I take my chance and hit my finishing move "the Overkiller" on a pile of soda cans. 1....2....3!!!!! I won my third title defense. I'm still the DEATHcore champion, and I'm completely miserable.....