2014.07.02: PWN - LEGACY - Fallout
Ah, Canada Day. Our very own Independence Day. And speaking of which, Legacy's second-ever show is going on the air in four days. At that time, my latest acquisition, Ade, aka The Gentleman Thug, aka The Chav-Buster, aka Adrian... Abernathy... Gates... will try to out-do one Bulldozer Brixton's time as he squares off against Terry John and Ryan Hawkins. You all know the story, so I won't bore you with details repeated ad nauseum.
But back to Canada Day. I'm spending it in a most non-Canadian fashion: not draped in a Canadian flag, without red and white facepaint on, and spending time in Missouri. Mother Bonecrusher would be most proud.
But why am I in Missouri? Well, due to this new Legacy-MSW talent exchange, I felt it was high time that my partner-in-crime here, Yugo Phailous, should be introduced to his, uh, counterpart of sorts in California. They couldn't understand each other, but fortunately Yugo needed to head out and do some top-secret training back at his ranch. He implied some clearly spurious tactics he'll be focusing on, but I didn't want to get into a big thing about it, so I just let him go.
While we were in the area, we thought it'd be nice for Ade to get some extra training sessions in at this Emerald Academy we've heard so much about.
But, we didn't, and went to buy booze and hit the pool instead.
"Uh, sir, you can't-"
We looked up at this young lifeguard, probably in his early 20's, first day on the job, and looking like he wants to be anywhere but here right about now. He was about to tell us to not do what we were currently doing: sitting in the shallow end of a public pool, Ade six 11% alcohol American beers in while I was two 5% alcohol pear ciders in. Our empties already bobbed in the water and rolled around poolside.
We must have looked pretty menacing, but jeeze, buddy, we're the good guys here! I mean, sure, he must have known who I was these days but just didn't say... though that was surely because I was sitting next to a massive pisstank of a man who inadvertently was giving his "this man is a steak to be consumed with vigor" face.
"Ah, yeah, we'll wrap this up soon, uh..."
"Awfully sorry dere, John, where did our minds go off to? We'll be out ov yer hair now, ey Bones?"
And this is where he nudged his elbow into my side. Oh, did I say nudge? That cute little word that indicates a gentle jab into the ribs to get someone's attention? Tell my ribs that! Tell Ade that!! Fuckin' guy. Anyway, I can't let him see that it hurt, because then I'd be showing I was a pussy, and there's no way I'm gonna let that slide, even if it's me in my head thinking so. I haven't wrestled for 15 years just to have some guy I "met" on the streets of Brixton to rag on me! Hell, I'll kick my own ass if I do so much as flinch or whimper.
Like I really, really want to.
"What he said."
And without any further words, he just holds up his hands and backs away nodding. He's going to have to be satisfied with a "We're just gonna keep on doing this until we're done" noncommittal promise. He's not paid enough for this, and besides, it's bringing in the customers, the spectacle that is The Gentleman Thug and The #1 Hit-Maker. Our of earshot from us, angry parents confront the lifeguard.
Eleven beers and four ciders later, we clean up our mess, me half cut and signing autographs, and Ade as sober as before he started drinking winning over the other pool patrons by ejecting some pool bullies (and by "ejecting", I mean everyone turned a blind eye to him beating the ruffians unmercifully).
"'ere, so wot're we even doin' in Minnesota again?"
Both Yours Truly and the signee just look at Ade incredulously. I wrap up the signature and send the fan on their way.
"Missouri, Ade, Missouri. This is where I wrestle? You met Yugo earlier, remember? He's my tag-team partner? Any of that ringing a bell?"
He looks quite confused.
"Wot? You? Wrestlin'?"
Ouch.
"Only for 15 years now, Ade. But you know, I'm getting on in the years, and I wanna be able to keep on contributing to this business, so I thought I'd try my hand at managing again. Have something to fall back on when I finally call it quits."
"You ain't no millionaire like dat good Mister Stevensons den?"
Fuckin' Big Bully Busick-lookin' motherfucker!
"Uh, no. I've wrestled in about 11 different promotions in my time, some big names back then, but others not so much. Hell, the very first place I wrestled in, H³CW, we wrestled in some cramped apartment on old mattresses! Somehow The Plague, who owned that place, got into some major shady dealings and got us television time, an actual ring, and even conned some big names to take part! Talk about humble beginnings, huh?
Anyway, some places I tried out different gimmicks, but I never got to seem them through to the end. Whatever the reasons, I only managed to be a big deal in a fraction of the places I frequented. But anyway, in those 15 year, in those 11 promotions, I managed to squirrel away some major cash. I don't party, don't do drugs, no other costly habits, I live modestly, so yeah, I'm well off, I can afford to take years off from wrestling, but I ain't no millionaire by any stretch of the imagination."
Ade just nodded along listlessly as I basically revealed to him my origin story. I suspect he didn't absorb a single thing I said. I guess it was too much for him and I should have just stuck with a simple "No".
"So... wotchu reckon 'bout wot good Mister Stevensons said 'bout dem rankins, like?"
Buzz. Officially. Killed.
"Man, who gives a shit about what some faceless fucks online say about anything? So they ranked MSW at, what was it, 49? One from the bottom? And? Do we even know these people? Are they anyone we know? Does their opinion matter? As far as I'm concerned Ade, their opinions are just that. They can have 'em, but you know what, m'man? None of us have gotta listen! We don't gotta read shit! If some 12-year-old came up to you and told you you sucked, what'd you do?"
He put too much thought into the following statement:
"Well... I reckon I'd lift 'im up by 'is shirt, get 'im eye-ta-eye wiv me, den say most clearly: Oi! I don't fink you're understandin' 'ho ya just opened yer gob up to, my son!' Den I'd put 'im back down, cuz e's just a kid."
Now how do I respond to that?! He just derailed my diatribe.
"Exactly. Their opinion doesn't mean anything because they're uninformed and most certainly biased!"
"Dat's not wot I said dere, Bones..."
Fuckin' guy.
"Someone... someone's got their hands in the right people's pockets, and those people're letting this spite and this... whatever is going on here keep on going on, but little do those people know that they're being made monkeys of! Their website is a testament to malice and a graveyard for false sentiments. If they don't get their shit into gear, people are gonna catch on and pull out. Then what?"
"Uhh..."
"Exactly. They become done. But hey, guess what? Who gives a shit! It's just one website. MSW deserves more than a pity number. I'm not gonna get all ass-lick here and say the top spot, but... 49 outta 50?! A spot specifically because a Stevenson runs the promotion? So, screw an entire business over over one guy. Fuck Peyton, fuck Luke, fuck Leo, fuck Yugo, fuck Matt, fuck Bryce, fuck me, fuck you, fuck 'em all, right?"
"Yeah, but, I ain't dere, Bones."
"But you got it worse, Ade! While MSW at least ranked, Legacy got boned. Not even an afterthought. That was allegedly thanks to Decaine... and who's he in cahoots with? Stevenson. Someone's being obvious. So there's no point to even get worked up about it, those fuckin' assholes, and just continue doing what I know we're doing and doing best, and that's wrestling! Whether it's here in Missouri with me and Yugo, or in Legacy with me and you, good sir, we're just gonna continue to do our thing and ta Hell with those rankings, right? Those fuckin' pricks. I'm balls-deep into big things in one place, and in the other, I'm gonna be leading you to similar greener pastures!"
Out of his jacket, he proudly pulls out another bottle of that beer. He looks at it ravenously, pops off the cap with his teeth, and downs it in one go. Was he even paying attention to me?!
"So, uh, i-in conclusion, Ade, if those sites don't want to be impartial, if they want to be unprofessional, then let 'em. We ain't got control over what they do, and warring with them is giving them unwarranted power. We can't tell anyone to do anything ourselves,-"
"Speak fer yerself, Bones."
I power through this; the finish line's in the distance now.
"So we'll just do our thing, because getting the approval of total strangers - fuckin' shitheads - getting their approval isn't what we're about. We're about hurting people and... and... well, that's about it, actually!"
Ade cracks a smile. Now the word "violence", he can relate to. All this talk about ratings was going over his head for sure. It's as if he was just waiting for his cue to pipe up, and if it took 100 beers to get to that point, then that's a reality he's more than willing to tackle.
"Right, well, dat's one fing I can do oh so well, Bones. I ain't worried 'bout no numbers, unless dey're used fer countin' wot ponces I delve out th' proper beatin's ta. You just sets up dem pins, and dis bowlin' ball's gonna knock 'em down! It's a proper game, dis Legacy fing, and we don't mean no bad feelins wot we do to our opponents. But if dem guys wot runs dem computer fings wants a row wiv someone, den send 'em my way, Bones, an' I'll set 'em straight!"
Now it's my turn to smile. He was listening after all!
"You got that right, Ade. You got that right."
I pat him on the back and hop back into the pool. The water cools me off, and, after dunking myself, I feel reborn. Baptised in irradiated waters, but never have I felt so pure in my life.
I think Ade's finally drunk now, actually.
