Human Chess (vs Vanguard, 1907 words)
Oct 17, 2021 0:12:21 GMT -5
Lissie Hope, Trey Bouchet, and 2 more like this
Post by K2 on Oct 17, 2021 0:12:21 GMT -5
Everyone is given a shot. What it’s at and when it happens are all up to chance. But sometimes things align in such a way that someone who has no true claim to something can reach right out and grab it anyway. Call it fate, call it luck, call it destiny, the successful man is not the man who seeks out those happy accidents but the man who knows how to recognize and claim them for himself.
Hector Crowley is one of those men.
Robert Benedict isn’t. Yet.
Hector had his ear to the ground for months. Years. Working as a journeyman grappler in England and plying his trade all over Europe with brief stints in the United States to increase his star power. He took the long and winding road to be what he was, ever mindful of himself and the things that came to others. And more importantly, things that others overlooked.
Is that being exploitative? In the purest sense of the word without the baggage involved, yes. Their failure to capitalize on their luck is his gain. One doesn’t work a decade in the industry and not learn a few tricks. He managed title shots when they felt the belts were beneath their status. He landed paydays working for shifty promoters who might not have paid him because big names didn’t want to risk it. He put himself in danger to get ahead, where others would not. That’s what he supposes he sees in Robbie, and what he saw in him when he was green as grass helping put the ring together a for a few shows in the UK.
Back then he wasn’t quite “Thunderbolt” yet. He hadn’t done much to his image or his gear or his reputation, on his Excursion from the dojo in Japan. He was quiet then… Well he’s pretty quiet now, but he was more quiet then… Kept mostly to himself and made sure that everything worked and looked good. At the time Hector quipped that they just should ship Young Lions in and never have to pay another janitor.
For that he got saddled with the kid for three tag team matches against established teams from the UK and EU. They didn’t know each other, they didn’t mesh as well as the others and they lost all three matches as a result. But in those three matches Hector kept his eyes open as he ever did and saw the potential in young Robbie. Barely out of high school and he had the basics down to a science already, with enough conditioning and core strength to win the fans over with a raucous “please come back” when he took his final bow before heading back to Nippon.
He didn’t, unfortunately, as he was asked to go to California in the US once he’d gone back to his home promotion for a few months and debuted his “Thunderbolt” look. Bright yellow tights with gold and black trim, a new haircut, kickpads and the whole nine. The gear set him back over three hundred thousand yen but it was absolutely necessary to be taken seriously by the fans who saw simple black trunks and boots to be the mark of a rookie whose position in the promotion was not serious. He arrived back from his travels abroad with a better handle on himself, more moves to try and better tactics he learned from his shrewd companion. He spent almost a year and a half working in America and Japan on alternating weekends, spending most of his pay on plane tickets to do so. It was all about getting his name out there. Just like Hector, but he did it on the strength of his own back rather than the failings of others. That is Japanese style.
Opportunities seized by both but in ways that are polar opposite. They are what the other is not, much like their opponents in Vanguard. The mirror match, as some would put it. Young vs.old in the game of Strong Style. Crafty bastard vs. crafty bastard. To say that this is an opportunity that is perhaps undeserved would not be impudent, given the Dangerous Gentlemen have all of two tag team matches under their belts in Action Wrestling. Vanguard aren’t strictly tag team specialists in their own right but they’ve certainly been in the promotion longer than a cup of coffee. Or tea in Hector’s case.
But the British have a saying: He who dares, wins.
And he who dares might win the title.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The time has come to talk strategy with the young man. Hector walks into where he assumes he will be, namely in his room with a laptop and headphones watching Vanguard matches and singles bouts between Downfall and Dionysus. He barely looks up, eyes fixed on the final minute of Downfall’s championship match.
Robert Benedict: This Godkiller move he has is notoriously hard to counter once he gets you up for it. Because he WANTS you to try and get out and land on your feet, then he jams his knees into your face. Really the only way to counter the move is when he lifts you up for it, you have to kick the knee he grabs out and try and get behind him for a waistlock or just push him away--
Hector Crowley: Come on now, my son, it’s less than twenty-four hours until the match and I’m willing to bet you haven’t had six hours’ sleep in two days. Yeah, I get it, this is a big deal for us and them and. Well. Wrestling as a whole, innit?
Robert waves him off and pauses just at the moment he describes. A single fingertip taps his screen and he nods along to his own monologue.
Robert Benedict: The weakness to any Fireman’s Carry is the lift. You stall on him or you get your legs under you and all he has is your head, and Downfall doesn’t use anything from that position. He might try to get you into that submission of his but he’s not fast enough to get it in from a three-quarter facelock. A Cutter, sure, but I’ve never seen him use one. It’s not flashy enough or a striking move, he really favors striking--
Hector Crowley: Yeah yeah yeah, prattle on about how he likes to kick. I’ve got a brain in me head, Robert, I know who Downfall is. That’s your boy and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna you two in the ring. I gotta work against Dionysus and that’s like herding cats. He’s got holds to counter holds that counter his holds and so forth, and I’ve got those too but it’s all human chess. You gotta out-think ‘em before you even lock up. You gotta be four, five, SIX moves ahead and you’re just thinking one. Get out of the Godkiller. Sure, bucko, but what happens when you’re behind him and he has your head? What do you do then?
Crowley seats himself with his opened and half-finished bottle of red wine, in the bed opposite Robert where he sits in his gym shorts with his laptop indeed on top of his lap.
Robert Benedict: I go for his waist. Get him off his balance then go for a Back Suplex.
Hector scoffs sharply and drains the rest of his glass, plunking the bottle down onto the nightstand next to his phone before he slaps the laptop shut and flips it off of Benedict. He stands up and leans over his bed to stick a half-drunk finger in his face.
Hector Crowley: WRONG, squire. Because he KNOWS you’re gonna go for that because he’s been in biker shorts since you was learning multiplication tables in primary school. He go for his waist, yes you do. But you wait for the counter attempt. He’s gonna back elbow at you, sure as sunshine. You’re gonna duck under it and suddenly you have a Northern Lights opportunity. But he knows you like that move so he stops at the duck and hits you with the knee in the gut and goes for the Godkiller again, right? One, two, three, four moves ahead. Waist, Northern Lights, he tries the move again. But the second time he’s gonna be extra-sure he gets it and that’s what you’re looking for. That’s when you take that elbow you got right there and you tag him right in the temple when he thinks he has you. That’s four moves ahead. And when you get behind him the second time what do you do?
The younger between them seems to be slowly picking up the finer points of LuchaResu psychology. It’s all chain holds, it’s all grapples and submissions and jockeying for leverage. It’s not called human chess for no reason. He goes over the motions in his head, arms moving a scant few degrees as he plays them out.
Robert Benedict: I can’t go for my own lifting move because he would expect it. I can’t get distance because he’d be desperate to get the Godkiller on me at that point because it’s his big move. So I’d…
A short beat.
Robert Benedict: Pin attempt. School Boy.
The drunker between them pauses and furrows his brows, but he doesn’t slap him so it’s a start. He waves a dismissive hand as if to encourage him to continue.
Robert Benedict: Because when he kicks out that will make space, and I’ll already be winding up the Lariat.
A low twirl of a moustache and the wheels spin in Hector’s head in turn. He’s not used to such striking maneuvers, of course, but he’s not some bumpkin.
Hector Crowley: That’s good. That’s…
He counts on his fingers.
Hector Crowley: SIX moves ahead. That’s what you gotta do. The great wrestlers always have move upon move, counter upon counter. They play the game like it’s meant to be played, not like these fuckin’ Yanks and their Shooting Star 630 Senton DDT Spanish Fly Double-Rotation Bullshit. No offense. Above EVERYTHING, above the crowd, above the title, above the money, above your enemy is you. What you will be known for when you’re gone. Me? They’re gonna build a fuckin’ statue of me outside of my childhood home when I’m done. Greatest Technical Wrestler Who Ever Lived, it’ll say. A thousand titles, a million trophies, and each and every single one the most important in the world when I held them because I was me.
A pause, Hector working over that last sentence in his head and then nodding as it makes some weird sense.
Hector Crowley: The goddamn Magnus Carlsen of pro wrestling. And you’ll be that kid from Searching for Bobby Fisher.
Benedict gets his laptop and turns it back on, digging up footage from Vanguard’s actual title win of the belts they hold now. He’ll be up into the small hours making coffee and taking notes, a true student of the game. Hector takes his time to shower and get some rest, the man who lets chance come to him unworried about the details. He will meet Dionysus in the ring and they will simply see what happens. Planning everything out in advance is impossible when the opponent can do the same. Talent vs. experience, young vs. old, veteran vs. veteran…
It’s all in the game.
Human chess.
And Vanguard have been playing without real opponents for far too long.
Hector Crowley is one of those men.
Robert Benedict isn’t. Yet.
Hector had his ear to the ground for months. Years. Working as a journeyman grappler in England and plying his trade all over Europe with brief stints in the United States to increase his star power. He took the long and winding road to be what he was, ever mindful of himself and the things that came to others. And more importantly, things that others overlooked.
Is that being exploitative? In the purest sense of the word without the baggage involved, yes. Their failure to capitalize on their luck is his gain. One doesn’t work a decade in the industry and not learn a few tricks. He managed title shots when they felt the belts were beneath their status. He landed paydays working for shifty promoters who might not have paid him because big names didn’t want to risk it. He put himself in danger to get ahead, where others would not. That’s what he supposes he sees in Robbie, and what he saw in him when he was green as grass helping put the ring together a for a few shows in the UK.
Back then he wasn’t quite “Thunderbolt” yet. He hadn’t done much to his image or his gear or his reputation, on his Excursion from the dojo in Japan. He was quiet then… Well he’s pretty quiet now, but he was more quiet then… Kept mostly to himself and made sure that everything worked and looked good. At the time Hector quipped that they just should ship Young Lions in and never have to pay another janitor.
For that he got saddled with the kid for three tag team matches against established teams from the UK and EU. They didn’t know each other, they didn’t mesh as well as the others and they lost all three matches as a result. But in those three matches Hector kept his eyes open as he ever did and saw the potential in young Robbie. Barely out of high school and he had the basics down to a science already, with enough conditioning and core strength to win the fans over with a raucous “please come back” when he took his final bow before heading back to Nippon.
He didn’t, unfortunately, as he was asked to go to California in the US once he’d gone back to his home promotion for a few months and debuted his “Thunderbolt” look. Bright yellow tights with gold and black trim, a new haircut, kickpads and the whole nine. The gear set him back over three hundred thousand yen but it was absolutely necessary to be taken seriously by the fans who saw simple black trunks and boots to be the mark of a rookie whose position in the promotion was not serious. He arrived back from his travels abroad with a better handle on himself, more moves to try and better tactics he learned from his shrewd companion. He spent almost a year and a half working in America and Japan on alternating weekends, spending most of his pay on plane tickets to do so. It was all about getting his name out there. Just like Hector, but he did it on the strength of his own back rather than the failings of others. That is Japanese style.
Opportunities seized by both but in ways that are polar opposite. They are what the other is not, much like their opponents in Vanguard. The mirror match, as some would put it. Young vs.old in the game of Strong Style. Crafty bastard vs. crafty bastard. To say that this is an opportunity that is perhaps undeserved would not be impudent, given the Dangerous Gentlemen have all of two tag team matches under their belts in Action Wrestling. Vanguard aren’t strictly tag team specialists in their own right but they’ve certainly been in the promotion longer than a cup of coffee. Or tea in Hector’s case.
But the British have a saying: He who dares, wins.
And he who dares might win the title.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The time has come to talk strategy with the young man. Hector walks into where he assumes he will be, namely in his room with a laptop and headphones watching Vanguard matches and singles bouts between Downfall and Dionysus. He barely looks up, eyes fixed on the final minute of Downfall’s championship match.
Robert Benedict: This Godkiller move he has is notoriously hard to counter once he gets you up for it. Because he WANTS you to try and get out and land on your feet, then he jams his knees into your face. Really the only way to counter the move is when he lifts you up for it, you have to kick the knee he grabs out and try and get behind him for a waistlock or just push him away--
Hector Crowley: Come on now, my son, it’s less than twenty-four hours until the match and I’m willing to bet you haven’t had six hours’ sleep in two days. Yeah, I get it, this is a big deal for us and them and. Well. Wrestling as a whole, innit?
Robert waves him off and pauses just at the moment he describes. A single fingertip taps his screen and he nods along to his own monologue.
Robert Benedict: The weakness to any Fireman’s Carry is the lift. You stall on him or you get your legs under you and all he has is your head, and Downfall doesn’t use anything from that position. He might try to get you into that submission of his but he’s not fast enough to get it in from a three-quarter facelock. A Cutter, sure, but I’ve never seen him use one. It’s not flashy enough or a striking move, he really favors striking--
Hector Crowley: Yeah yeah yeah, prattle on about how he likes to kick. I’ve got a brain in me head, Robert, I know who Downfall is. That’s your boy and I’m pretty sure it’s gonna you two in the ring. I gotta work against Dionysus and that’s like herding cats. He’s got holds to counter holds that counter his holds and so forth, and I’ve got those too but it’s all human chess. You gotta out-think ‘em before you even lock up. You gotta be four, five, SIX moves ahead and you’re just thinking one. Get out of the Godkiller. Sure, bucko, but what happens when you’re behind him and he has your head? What do you do then?
Crowley seats himself with his opened and half-finished bottle of red wine, in the bed opposite Robert where he sits in his gym shorts with his laptop indeed on top of his lap.
Robert Benedict: I go for his waist. Get him off his balance then go for a Back Suplex.
Hector scoffs sharply and drains the rest of his glass, plunking the bottle down onto the nightstand next to his phone before he slaps the laptop shut and flips it off of Benedict. He stands up and leans over his bed to stick a half-drunk finger in his face.
Hector Crowley: WRONG, squire. Because he KNOWS you’re gonna go for that because he’s been in biker shorts since you was learning multiplication tables in primary school. He go for his waist, yes you do. But you wait for the counter attempt. He’s gonna back elbow at you, sure as sunshine. You’re gonna duck under it and suddenly you have a Northern Lights opportunity. But he knows you like that move so he stops at the duck and hits you with the knee in the gut and goes for the Godkiller again, right? One, two, three, four moves ahead. Waist, Northern Lights, he tries the move again. But the second time he’s gonna be extra-sure he gets it and that’s what you’re looking for. That’s when you take that elbow you got right there and you tag him right in the temple when he thinks he has you. That’s four moves ahead. And when you get behind him the second time what do you do?
The younger between them seems to be slowly picking up the finer points of LuchaResu psychology. It’s all chain holds, it’s all grapples and submissions and jockeying for leverage. It’s not called human chess for no reason. He goes over the motions in his head, arms moving a scant few degrees as he plays them out.
Robert Benedict: I can’t go for my own lifting move because he would expect it. I can’t get distance because he’d be desperate to get the Godkiller on me at that point because it’s his big move. So I’d…
A short beat.
Robert Benedict: Pin attempt. School Boy.
The drunker between them pauses and furrows his brows, but he doesn’t slap him so it’s a start. He waves a dismissive hand as if to encourage him to continue.
Robert Benedict: Because when he kicks out that will make space, and I’ll already be winding up the Lariat.
A low twirl of a moustache and the wheels spin in Hector’s head in turn. He’s not used to such striking maneuvers, of course, but he’s not some bumpkin.
Hector Crowley: That’s good. That’s…
He counts on his fingers.
Hector Crowley: SIX moves ahead. That’s what you gotta do. The great wrestlers always have move upon move, counter upon counter. They play the game like it’s meant to be played, not like these fuckin’ Yanks and their Shooting Star 630 Senton DDT Spanish Fly Double-Rotation Bullshit. No offense. Above EVERYTHING, above the crowd, above the title, above the money, above your enemy is you. What you will be known for when you’re gone. Me? They’re gonna build a fuckin’ statue of me outside of my childhood home when I’m done. Greatest Technical Wrestler Who Ever Lived, it’ll say. A thousand titles, a million trophies, and each and every single one the most important in the world when I held them because I was me.
A pause, Hector working over that last sentence in his head and then nodding as it makes some weird sense.
Hector Crowley: The goddamn Magnus Carlsen of pro wrestling. And you’ll be that kid from Searching for Bobby Fisher.
Benedict gets his laptop and turns it back on, digging up footage from Vanguard’s actual title win of the belts they hold now. He’ll be up into the small hours making coffee and taking notes, a true student of the game. Hector takes his time to shower and get some rest, the man who lets chance come to him unworried about the details. He will meet Dionysus in the ring and they will simply see what happens. Planning everything out in advance is impossible when the opponent can do the same. Talent vs. experience, young vs. old, veteran vs. veteran…
It’s all in the game.
Human chess.
And Vanguard have been playing without real opponents for far too long.