Top 30 Thursday - Mid-South #25. Ric Flair vs. Terry Taylor, 4/28/85

"What time did you make it in last night? You didn't come to bed."

He had made it in late. Or early. Some of the boys had taken him out after the card to try and cheer him up. Drink, girls, he didn't really feel like it at the time. Oh, he wanted a drink. And he wanted a couple of the girls. But he didn't much feel like being cheered up. He wanted to drink alone. He didn't even feel like fucking one of the girls, just wanted to...be around one of them. Just be around some girl who didn't see him lose, didn't see him come *this* close to the title, just wanted...he didn't know.

He was standing in his kitchen, drinking. He wasn't sure what time he got dropped off. It wasn't light outside, but it wasn't dark. It felt like he had been standing at the chopping block island for hours, but it could have only been a half hour for all he knew. He was just drinking his bourbon and soda.

One of the girls at the bar earlier had actually made fun of him for drinking it! Who makes fun of somebody for drinking bourbon and soda? "You drink like my dad," she had said. Yeah, I bet I do. How old could she even have been? She was drinking a fucking wine cooler. His half-hearted joke about a B&J was met with a vacant stare.

His wife noticed the half empty bottle of club soda on the counter. She noticed his knee, wrapped bulkier than normal. She had been here before, she knew this wasn't good. She knew what he was challenging for last night, knew how important it was to him.

"What number is this one?" she asked.

"Third." It had to be at least the fourth.

"Jesus, Terry, it's not even 10:00 A.M.!"

"Is it that late?"

He chuckled, but she didn't look amused. She wasn't amused, but what could she do? How mad could she really be? He was a good father, he rarely let his drinking get out of control, and she loved him. She was just happy he was home.

"How was your match last night?" she asked hesitantly. She knew it couldn't have gone well. It was obvious by the mood what had happened, and she didn't want to pick at wounds.

"I fucking had him, Trudy. Fucking HAD him."

"Oh, god, what did he do this time? Feet on the ropes? Kick you low? Jesus, when the hell is Fergie going to just WATCH him, just watch what he does in a..."

"No," he interrupted. "Nothing like that. Wasn't Ric, wasn't Karl, neither of their fault. I fucking HAD HIM."

She partly regretted asking. It was still early. He had been drinking. She just hated seeing him this way.

"I was real aggressive, Trude. WAY more than normal. I went AFTER that knee. I mean...I went AFTER it. Played his game without playing dirty, you know? Went after the leg, went after the arm...thought he was going to fucking stop breathing after I locked on a sleeper. I just...that aggression bit me in the ass, you know? He bailed out of the ring, I went after him, rushed things too much, and my boot got stuck in the ropes. The more I struggled the tighter those fucking ropes got. It was over from there. He beat me clean."

"Terry." She didn't know what to say. Not much was coming to her. She knew how important this title was to him, how BADLY he wanted it.

"Terry, you'll get another shot. Sooner than you think. The fans love you, and that's what matters. As long as the fans love you and want to see you, you'll still get your shot. I've heard them, Terry. You don't know how PROUD it makes me when I see you, and I hear how much the fans love you! Not just the women, either. Everybody in that arena loves you. You'll get more shots at the belt, and win or lose they will still love you. *I* will still love you, Terry. I love you."

Trudy was a good woman. She was trying to help, and as much as he didn't want to be helped, it was working.

"This just felt different, Trude. I mean, I've fought Ric plenty, and sometimes he beats me fair, sometimes he cheats...but this time I beat myself. I HAD him. I just PUSHED myself. I had it. I fucking had it. I got excited, WANTED that belt. And to get stuck in the ropes? That's just...."

"Terry, go sit down. Let me make you breakfast. I just picked up some beef bacon at the butcher's. I'll make you some French toast."

"Trudy..." he sighed. "I love you."