View Full Version : Borden v Suicide

04-29-04, 12:30 PM
All RP for the ALEX BORDEN and SUICIDE match should be done in this thread.

All RP and angles should be submitted by Saturday May 8th, at 11:59pm. All angles should be submitted to secandido@comcast.net .

05-02-04, 09:26 PM

“You gotta look through the eyes of a statue.”

Wise and trusted words from the past. My guide, Joe Miller said that to me.

“Focus and flow are the keys to fighting a good fight, Alex. Your mind has to become like a statue. You might not win, but no one can beat a statue.”

The past few days have been hell. I’ve been keeping old Joe a little closer to my heart. What he said about the statue held more meaning, more significance then any other thing ever spoken to me. ‘You might not win, but no one can beat a statue’. And I had to become a statue to endure. Joe taught me how to become one. I remember him for strength, my heart remembers him for comfort.

Two days have past since the sh*t hit the fan at Michael Bigelow’s little club house. Though my body reminds me every time I move of the events that transpired, it feels so
distant now. Through the pain and the rage, my dreamlike recollection of Bigelow and his malice is like sand in my mind, sliding through the grasping fingers of my awareness.

All that I can think about is Tom Neiden’s face, and the sight of his wife of three years cradling his devastated body in her arms with sobs ripping from her throat. Nothing, nothing will ever erase what I have done. Nothing will ever make right what I caused to happen. I lied to him, for almost a year I’ve deceived him about where I came from and what I’ve done with my life. When we first met, it was just a happy coincidence that two struggling wrestlers bumped into each other at a run-down YMCA, one a seasoned veteran, the other a young, arrogent rookie with the world on his shoulders. It was a chance to establish a connection in the business and nothing more. The truth about my past was no one’s business but my own, and anyone who asked could be fed a happy, harmless little lie. I never expected him to grow to become a person I gave a damn about. Hah! My chum. My buddy. My friend, who was gunned down by my enemy threw a two hundred pound bench bar at me in fury only moments earlier. I’ve lived my whole life
without regrets. Now, my sins suffocate me.

Rivermound Memorial Hospital
8745 North Cliffton St.
Parma, Ohio
10:00 AM

The sky was a consistent shade of mud gray that morning and it was still drizzling as Alex Borden pulled into the crowded western lot of Rivermound and circled it twice before finding a spot to park his ‘89 Volvo.

He heard from the receptionist in the ER that Tom Neiden was alive but in critical condition and not yet conscious. Alex wasn’t able to contact Tom’s wife Marie yet but he suspected that he might see her at his bedside.

He stepped out of his car and locked it. He dug his hands in his jacket pockets and began the long journey from his parking spot to the hospital entrance. It was cold that day and he could feel the chill through his jacket and down his spine. Everywhere there were people with umbrellas and hats bustling about, trying to escape the soft rain and trying to be in time to conduct their business and run their all important errands.

Alex walked through the automatic double doors and waisted no time finding the information desk.

“I’m here to see Tom Neiden.” he said.

An older woman with red catlike glasses looked up from an issue of Modern Female. “I’m sorry visiting hours haven’t started yet. You can come back at one o’clock.”

He had no time to waste. Alex wasn’t sure if Marie told the cops about him or not so, taking advantage of his finely honed ability to duck the police, he said “Please, he was in an extremely bad car wreck. They don’t think he’ll last much longer. It’s very important that I see him right away.”

“Are you family?” she asked.

Alex hesitated, then said “Yes. I’m his cousin.”

“Oh?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Yeah. So please can I see him now?”

She put the magazine down and started tapping away on her keyboard. She watched the monitor for an aggravating two minutes and said. “Room 410B. Fourth floor.”

Wordlessly, he strode past the information desk and took the stairs.

Alex entered Tom’s room languidly with his hands folded in front of him and saw his friend in a state of complete lifelessness. There were already flowers and brightly colored balloons decorating the room where he lay, proof that he had many that cared about him. His head and body were wrapped tight in fresh bandages and there were wires and tubes inserted into his body from a dozen points. His eyelids were swollen and purple. He looked like hell.

Thank God you’re alive. Alex thought. Jesus, look at you. I did this to you. I’m so sorry.

“I finally did it, partner. I’m offically booked for a match next week on Raucous. It’s a major gig, Tom. Its national. I’m gunna win this one for you, man. I’m gunna win it for you.”

Alex stood there watching over Tom for about fifteen minutes when a familiar voice came from behind him. “You!”

“Marie?” Alex turned around and his heart sank when he saw the look in her eyes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?!” Marie demanded.

“I wanted to see him.”

“You wanted to see him?!” she spat. “I know you had something to do with this. I know you’re involved in what happened somehow!”

Alex looked away. “You don’t understand. I- I can’t explain everything right now but you have to know that I never meant for any of this to happen!

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you do it?”

“What?!” Alex looked back at Marie with an injured look in his eyes. “How can you say that to me? I told you, I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen! Marie, you know me! We’re friends, remember?”

“Are we?!” she shouted. “Then you tell me what happened to Tom! You tell me why he was shot by these people! Tell me why my husband’s lying here... in this bed” her voice broke and her eyes welled up. “If you’re my friend, then you’ll tell me why this happened to us!”

“Look... I can’t right now. I don’t know if its safe to talk. Marie I can’t explain everything right now but I promise you, soon I will. I swear it.”

“What?” she sounded astonished. “You... you have the nerve- the audacity to show your face in this hospital room and you won’t even tell me why my husbands in a coma?”

A coma? Alex thought in surprize.

“Marie... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“BULLSH*T!!” she exploded. “Get out! Get the hell out of here now!” she pointed rigidly at the door.


“GO!!! I don’t want to hear it! I hate you!!! Just f*cking leave!” she screamed.

“Fine.” Alex said simply and he walked past her and down the ward.

His heart was broken and it was all he could do to keep from breaking down as Alex went back out into the cold outside world.

He clenched his fists and thought...

You gotta look through the eyes of a statue.

05-06-04, 06:02 PM
(Camera fades in to a cafe in Times Square in New York City. Sitting at a table outside of the cafe is Suicide, as he takes a sip of Earl Grey in a cup next to his cigar, which is resting in an ashtray. Suicide looks around his surroundings, as he stares off away from the camera into somewhere unknown.)

Suicide: "The things we do for the ones we love. Such heartache for one person to endure. Fighting ever so valiantly in their name, to honor them proudly. But for what? To sacrifice yourself?"

(Suicide grabs hold of the cigar in his fingers and raises it to his lips, taking a puff.)

Suicide: "Mr. Borden, I'm sure you've got a lot going on in your life and I'm sure that many worries cloud your mind. Unfortunately if you continue at this pace, it will also cloud your judgement. There was a reason the three men who came before you fell to my feet. They underestimated me. They figured that I was not a factor in their plans on going to the top, to become the New ERA of Wrestling champion. I didn't come to NEW to preach to the choir, nor did I come to spread the word that is the true meaning of this sport. My motives are known to myself and myself only. What you need to worry about Mr. Borden is not about my motives or yours. What you need to worry about is what will transpire in the ring when you and I must do combat. It won't be pretty, I can guarentee that. But what I do in that ring is nothing but pure poetry. Poetry so complex it puts you in awe. All I'm expecting from you is to show up and give it all that you've got. If you wish to take me lightly, don't worry; I'm sure they'll save a spot next to your good friend Mr. Nieden, as you both can telepathically communicate to each other what went wrong in your lives when you made that one wrong step."

(Suicide takes another puff of his cigar.)

Suicide: "Sucks when a loved one is hurt. Take Chaos for example. Mr. Hansen went down faster than a New York prostitute on her knees. And now Chaos blindly comes back into the sport, only wishing to end me. What he doesn't know is what a big mistake he has made. He knows of who I am and what I am capable of and yet, he forgets the torment I have had him endure so long ago. Soon Mr. Bordern, you will know me just as Chaos knows me. You will know me not just as The Man, The Myth, The Legend....come to know me as the man who will welcome you into New ERA of Wrestling.....only it's not the welcome you were expecting.....'nuff said...."

(Suicide goes back to sipping his Earl Grey, as the camera fades out.)"

05-07-04, 02:11 PM
Alex started the eight hour drive to Nashville in earnest and muted excitment though never in life has his world been so unhindged. Thoughts of the world behind him cast its shadow on Alex as he pressed on to Raucous, but he found that the further he got from Cleveland, the more certain he became that what he was doing was the right thing. Alex knew that he was heading for something real.

Something better.

As the road stetched on, he thought back to the man who gave him a reason to survive. Old Joe “Irish Hammer” Miller: fisherman, boxer, savior.

Wrestling is who I am. I’m not a hood or a pimp or a thug. I’m not supposed to be a hustler or a killer. I’m a wrestler. Thats all I ever wanted to be.


Joe was the one who taught him to fight back. He was a friend of the family ever since his days in the ring. At the age of fourteen, Alex would see him every sunday morning at Saint Joseph, the local church his parents made him attend. Every now and then their eyes would meet and he’d give Alex a wink.

Joe Miller was a local hero. Alex heard all the tails about his glory days in the ring and how he almost became a world champion twice. The entire community treated him with respect.

Alex’s family had him over for dinner a few times. The truth was that his father admired Joe as well. Being hot tempered and strong, the idea of achieving everything you’ve ever wanted with your fists sounded like a wild fantasy to him. That was one thing Alex and his father had in common.

It was during one of those dinners that he summoned the courage to ask the question that would change his life forever.

“Mr. Miller, do you think I could ever see your gym?” Alex asked casually, scooping green beans onto his plate.

“Huh? Oh sure, son. It’s not my gym, but I can show you around some time.”

Alex beamed.

“Maybe I can even show you a few jabs.” Joe said.

Alex’s father looked over at Joe disapprovingly and then shot a sharp look at his son that wiped the smile off his face. Then he changed the subject.

Nonetheless, a week later, Alex took a bus to the upper Eastside to the community gym were The Irish Hammer forged his skill. These visits quickly became a habit as Alex continually expressed a thirst for knowledge and a love for the sport of boxing. Every opportunity he could, he asked for more time in the ring with his new teacher. Eventually, Joe agreed to train him full-time provided he did some volunteer work for the facility. Alex fervently agreed to the terms.


Alex’s eyes grew heavy as he drove through the night. He decided to stop somewhere for some sleep. He knew he had some time to kill until Raucous, so it wouldn’t hurt to stop and see the sights. After all, he never really travelled much. He pulled in to the first place he saw that fit into his road budget: the Shangri-La Motel. As soon as he paid for the room he impatiently kicked off his shoes and collapsed on the bed.. Burying his face in the pillow, his thoughts drifted back to the past.


Alex had been coming to the gym for months with various welts and bruises aquired somewhere else. When Joe asked him where he kept getting these marks, Alex explained them away as the result of the fights he got into around the neighborhood, and that was why he needed to learn to box. While he did find his way into an occasional tussle, the despicable truth wasn’t revealed until he showed up one day with several thin, red gashes crosscrossing down his back.

Joe walked in on him with his shirt off in the locker room and he knew there was no way the young man could sell this as a schoolyard injury. After a long talk, Alex reluctantly confessed.

His father beat him... And his mother. Savagely. There were times when he feared for his life, and for the life of his mother. But Alex couldn’t fight back, not yet. Richard Borden was a large and very powerful man and any attempt to defend himself or his mother always ended up in more agony. This was his real reason for pushing himself:


Alex hated his father. He fantasized about the day he would finally stand up to him and overpower him. He dreamed about getting a gun and sticking it in his mouth and about the things he would say to him. Imagining his moans and cries as Alex inflicted pain for what hes done to his family kept the fire burning inside him. This was his guilty, perverse pleasure.

And no cops would stop it. Alex was brought up and taught to resent and loathe the law. To him, the police could only be an enemy.

Joe Miller understood this. And he understood the responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders and he accepted it freely.

It was then that the man Alex Borden as he exsists today began to emerge.

05-08-04, 10:27 PM
(Camera fades in to a black and white shot of a brick wall with a logo in the background. The logo can't be made out but what is clear is the person that stands in its view. That man, wearing his trademark black leather trench coat and Fedora hat, is none other than Suicide. He stands there, mask on head, looking away from the camera.)

Suicide: "Wow.....I must say simply wow. Your life story really touched me Mr. Borden. The drama, the passion, the pain, the heartbreak; I feel you."

(Suicide turns to the camera, staring into it.)

Suicide: "And now, you will feel me and my pain. There won't be drama, I'll tell you that much. But the passion in the ring will be so thick, you won't be able to finish it all. Personally, I don't care about your past and I am beginning to wonder why you would focus on your life story....but not on the match at hand. You are coming into New ERA of Wrestling. You must establish yourself as to where you stand among the rest here. When I came to NEW, I made damn sure that people paid attention....NOT because I wanted them to fear me but.....to make them understand. You see Mr. Borden, just like mostly everyone here, you are so blind to the lie. You know I hear people talking **** about me like they are better than I. Funny thing about that; when it comes time to put up or shut up.....I make them shut up."

(Suicide points a relaxed finger at the camera.)

Suicide: "But you kid.....I don't even have to waste my time. Don't worry Mr. Borden, I am not taking you lightly. Just like the three men before you, I have prepared and trained for them, knowing at any given moment, my time is up. But I'm a survivor. I've gone through hell inside and outside the ring. I know what you've been through the difference being I don't need to brag about it like I'm holier than thou. I don't have to prove a damn thing, no matter what people think or say.....(coughs)Rabesque(coughs). I am however sure of one thing.....and that is I know who I am. And soon Mr. Borden.....soon.....you will come to know first hand as well......'nuff said."