2014.06.18: PWN - LEGACY - Stay the Fuck Outta Brixton!!
Part 1:
Let it be know that I, Johnny Bonecrusher, being of sound mind and body, will never, ever, ever, ever! go back to England as long as I live!
Ah, well, I guess some context is needed here. Let's begin from the beginning then, shall we?
Or what, I should begin part-way through or something?! What's with you people anyway?
No, you know what, that's it, I am going to start part-way through, just for that!
So our story doesn't begin with Yours Truly going over to the UK to visit an old UWWE buddy named Maxim. You might remember him as the young tough rookie cruiserweight from Brixton. Yes you do!!! Anyway, I couldn't locate Maxim, mostly because I didn't know his full name, and I suspect "Maxim" isn't his real name. Maybe it is, but I'll never find out.
I was very stupidly going around the hardest part of London by myself, when I was accosted by a very large, very menacing and very stupid individual. Now, don't tell him I called him stupid, because that was only my initial thoughts on the guy, and he won't understand or accept that explanation.
Now, The Johnny's a pretty tough guy, wrestling-savvy, all that jazz, but this guy was a random thug on the streets who thought the Pounds in my pocket looked good, but would look better in his pockets.
And if I wasn't feeling under the weather, had a bit of a limp going on, and was suffering from a mild headache, I could have taken him.
Instead, I got the beating of a lifetime.
Lucky shot.
Shots.
Anyway, when I came to, I was inside someone's hovel. They were listening to the Sex Pistols and I wondered if I were in some stereotypical movie directed by someone who doesn't know shit about British people. As I gathered my bearings more, I realized this was no movie, this was what I assume was The Johnny abducted and Pence-less.
I pat myself down to see if all my important shit, i.e.: passport was there, but nope. Of course. Great. Awesome.
However, looking around at my surroundings, I find that there's a strange neatness within this otherwise rundown dump. On the dresser next to the bed, I find all my shit, excluding my money, naturally. At least I don't need to hunt down the Canadian Consulate and throw myself at their mercies, and of course I had cash back at the hotel, the same hotel I wondered if I'd see again.
I collected my things, got my shoes on, and felt fine enough to get onto my feet and try to make a beeline for the door, which is locked. Now, for those of you who know how houses work, this makes no sense. Doors lock from the outside; is this England's version of driving on the opposite side of the road?!
I look around for another exit when I finally notice the sound of water running in what I assume is the bathroom, but who knows, maybe it's the living room in this wacky country. I take hold of a fireplace poker, which happens to be leaning up beside the locked door. No fireplace, though, go figure!
I inch my way towards the door, trying not to make any noise. I weakly raise the poker over my head, ready to cave a motherfucker's skull in. Never mind that this could have been some good Samaritan that saved me after my shit-kicking. Hey, they have some fucked-up door, so what am I supposed to think??
Suddenly, however...
"'ere, I wouldn't do dat if I wuz you, my son."
Was all I heard. Still couldn't see anyone, and I didn't dare move in closer, just in case; guns aren't that common in England, but this is Brixton, where anything goes. I slump my shoulders defeatedly and make my way back to the bed. I'm so tired. I don't even give a fuck anymore. Let whatever happen happen.
I get one more burst of adrenaline and rush for the door, but them shit's solid, and I'm sore as fuck. I slump to the ground and throw my hands up. I forget I have my cell on me, so I wake it up to make a call, but it fails every time I try.
"I figgered you'd try a slick move like dat, so I went an' used up yer minutes dere."
Of course he did.
"I'll be wiv you inna sec dere, John."
What a snoopy-ass motherfucker! And on a side note, the more I hear this guy talk, the more I think he sounds familiar. My short-term memory's a bit hazy, but... no... it couldn't be!
The water stops flowing, the lights go out in the "bathroom", and... Jesus Christ!... he appears! The guy who mugged me! What is this?!
"Awright den, try t' compose yerself dere, John. Allow me to introduuuuce myself: I, am Abernathy... Adrian... Gates. Dey know me 'round dis way. 'ho's dey? Brixon, dat's wot! I'm an 'ard but fair bastard of a man. I din't realize you wuz a Canadian, overwise I'd 'ave gone easier on ya. Well, never mind, you got yer papers and wotnot, but dem quids ov yers ain't 'round no more. Rightfully sorry, lad! Iv dere's anyfing else I could do for ya, I would, but the past iz the past, right?"
I'm just so incredulous. Is this real life?! This guy's a cartoon character! An '80's British sitcom character! I-I must be on some hidden camera show, is that it? ...No, the stink in here is real. This place is a legit dump. This is this man's home. This... Adrian Whatsits? Wow. He jacks my cash, beats me unconscious, but takes me into his home, doesn't take my other belongings,... this is just too much.
"You, uh, you... wrestle or something?"
His eyes widen; I've offended him. Wonderful.
"My son, dat is not the sort of fing a gentleman such az myself partakes in! Wot does ya take me for?!"
Oh, great. A question with precious few right answers. I'll have to bite my tongue for now.
"But you clearly enjoy a good row, right? That's what you guys call 'em? Rows?"
The mammoth of a man furrows his brow. He bores a hole through me with his eyes. His moustache shines gloriously in the dim and flickering lights.
After what seems like an eternity, his lip twitches and he speaks up once more.
"Yeah."
Was all he said. Lovely. I can work with "yeah".
"Okay, well, listen. If you really want to make it up to me, I have a proposition for you: I've kept on hearing about this upstart... uhh... pugilism and gentleman's grappling club called Legacy Wrest- uh... just Legacy. They're situated in California."
"Ain't dat in America?"
Refrain from giving a sarcastic response. Refrain from giving a sarcastic response.
"Yup. They're looking for men of your caliber. You'd be making decent money, that's for sure. You'd be able to, uh, do what you're doing in Brixton, only with no worries or constabulary interference!"
"'ere, wotchu gettin' at wiv dem smart words??"
Yep, anger the leviathan next to the poker. Become a shish-keJohn.
"You can make money doing what you're doing here, only without being hassled by the police."
The rusty, dusty cogs in his brain slowly turn, slowly process the information given to him in a more relatable format. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours. It was probably really just 15-30 seconds, but in my current state, both physically and mentally, it felt like forever.
Finally, a tooth grin creeps upon Adrian's face.
"Leg-assy, eh? An' dey got chavs and over ne'er-do-wells dere ta dole out some justice upon?"
God damn, that accent is annoying! Not the time, Johnny, not the time!
"Y-yeah! I'm sure California alone's got plenty of bad guys for you to administer severe beatings to!"
"Dere you go against wiv dem fancy words! I don' liiiike dat!"
I sigh. He's got me by the balls, and I'm just lucky it wasn't literally.
"You can beat up naughty people."
Adrian slowly crosses his arms, looking down at me with determination. He's either interested in my prospect or he's trying to figure out which of my bones to pull out of my body first.
"Awright den, John. You deal wiv all dem paperworks, and I'll go where you go."
My body relaxes. I've won. Well, I've ensured I lived this day. I'm sore, and when I wake up the next morning, I'll be feeling this beating, but it'll be so worth it. People have been telling me about this Legacy Wrestling promotion, but I can't be wrestling myself in three promotions. I'm lucky USW is basically a part-time gig these days and in MSW I can rely on my partner Yugo Phailous. I was thinking a lot these days about going back to managing, but the only man I really managed is stuck in Russia indefinitely. This Adrian guy reminds me of him in many ways, but he's a lot more talkative and lot less, for lack of a better word, smart. Oh, wait, that is the better word!
"You, uh, got a phone I could borrow?"
Adrian plods on over to a drawer, rifles through a small box, and pulls out a handful of cards... calling cards!
"Take yer picK, John!"
I smirk at the big man: he's nothing if not prepared! I take a card, get my cell up and running again, take a few more cards for the Hell of it, and use the contact I was given from someone in MSW, I don't remember who!, and make a call.
"Hello? Is this, uh, Peter Bauer? ...Yeah? Hey, this is JBC. ...The Johnny? ...Johnny Bonecrusher?! ..Yes, yes, from MSW! ...It's going, uh, it's going all right, I guess. Listen, I heard you were the person I talk to in regards to getting into Legacy? ...Great, because have I got a guy for you to see..."
And I think that's a good place to end our little heartwarming scene. Next stop: Carson, California and Legacy... just Legacy.
Shh!
Part 2:
Several days have passed. I'm in Carson, California with my newest protégé Adrian Abernathy Gates. Ade for short. Anyway, it's hot as fuck here. God, I hate California already. Well, I'd better get used to it, dress light, of course Ade's walking around all in black with a leather jacket on. I ask him if he's hot, he looks at me like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. He probably doesn't. Actually, he probably thinks I'm hitting on him, and he'll return in kind, only literally. I shrug. We're scheduled to have some sort of orientation in the coming days. I debate to myself whether I should pick up horse tranquilizers to keep him in check. I then question whether they'd actually work.
I haven't told Ade about that Bulldozer Brixton yet. You'd think telling him in a public place might be best, but... you'd be wrong. Not that I want to tell him all by my lonesome either. Maybe I'll buy him a curry or ten, some pints of lager, get him all full and liquored up, play some darts with him and let him win. Ha. Anyway, then and only then will I tell him. Maybe. Possibly. I don't know. Nah.
So we're walking down the street, and I'm thanking my lucky stars that Ade hasn't started with someone or vice versa. People are giving us strange looks; we're not well-known on the west coast this far down. At least, I don't think so.
Then, all of a sudden, Ade stops dead in his tracks. I stop breathing. I'm not worried for myself and I'm certainly not worried about Ade, but something about how he stopped like that filled me with dread. Is he going to start a fight with some local gang? Is the sight of so many man and woman purses too much for him to handle? I specifically "warned" him not to mug anyone while I'm around. ...I mean, at all.
"Right, so I just wanna let you all know summit."
Don't mistake that full stop there for a reasonable-sounding voice or decibel level. I groan, but I'm also intrigued by what he's going to say to a random group of Californians.
"I'm th' cock ov dis place now, so anyfing best done in alleyways goes frough me first, awright?"
That's it, I'm investing in a tranquilizer gun.
"Dis man 'ere..."
He says as he fucking grabs a hold of me for fuck's sake.
"Dis man 'ere's th' only one 'igher on th' totem pole dan me:"
Don't say your name, don't say your fucking name!!!
"Adrian... Abernathy... Gates!"
Arrrghhh!!!
"And anover fing you all need ta know iz, fanks to dis guy 'ere:"
DON'TYOUFUCKINGSAYMYNAMEDON'TYOUFUCKINGSAYMYNAME!!!
"Mister Johnny Bonecrusher..."
Well, it was a good career while it lasted...
"'e's my manager 'ere in wot 'e calls Legacy!"
"Wrestling. Legacy Wrestling, Ade."
"Wot's dat now, my son?"
"...Nothing."
"Right, so, let it be known, on top ov wot's awready been said dat I, th' Gentleman Thug - an eye-ronic nickname, I know - will be takin' on all challengers. Iv yer straight wiv me, den all youse gets is th' typicals ov a friendly row... but iv yer wantin' ta play it dirty-like, den you shall 'ave ta make do wiv a proper trouncing th' world's never seen, trust."
Now, I should point out, in case it's not painfully clear already, that everyone on the street's either giving Ade a wide berth, opting to almost get hit by speeding cabs before getting within arm's reach of the Brixton native, or alternatively, they're risking vehicular homicide (or would that be suicide?) by getting to the other side of the street through any means possible. Even some of the local toughs gather amongst themselves the brain power sufficient enough to not start with the large intimidating gentleman in black. I'm so glad for them. For their sakes.
It's at this point where I clue into something: instead of being a pussy and worrying about these people and what they think, I figure, if Ade wants to talk wrestling... heh, well, pugilism and gentleman's grappling or whatever the Hell it was I called it... anyway, if that's what he wants to do, using the streets as his own public forum... then so be it!
"Leeeet me make one thing... perfectly clear!! You see this man standing before you, people of Carson, California? You see this mammoth of a man, this, this leviathan of a beast of a monster of a man?! Do you?!? Who you're looking is is The Gentleman Thug, Adrian... Abernathy.. Gates! You heard him say it, didn't you? Well, memorize that name, these features, his voice and his very presence, because once we hit Legacy, we hit it so hard the arena's gonna be two walls instead of four! You want me to make some sorta cheesy reference to my man's legacy unfolding here? Hell no! This isn't about spouting off clichés to tantalize your brain, it's about spouting blood to sate your appetites for destruction! This man standing before me... Brixton born and bred... born to scrap, bred to punish... Adrian Abernathy Gates is coming to Legacy, and ain't nobody ever... in the stinkin' universe... gonna beat him and live to tell the tale! Anyone and everyone is welcome to get into the ring with him, but I sure hope they're reinforced for demolition, because this Brixton bastard's gonna bulldoze you allllll the saaame! Let's go, Ade!"
Ade grins at me strangely. Later I'll find that it was out of admiration for how eloquently I spoke. Ha!
