A Tree Grows In Japantown.
Jul 2, 2024 12:43:39 GMT -5
“The Saint” Johnny Eden and Gerard Angelo like this
Post by Kyle Shane on Jul 2, 2024 12:43:39 GMT -5
I waited around the arena for the longest time after Evolution, still keyed-up with emotion and fired up beyond all reason.
I'd actually, believe it or not, cut a scathing, sarcastic response promo on Tatiana, because even before things went sideways on us, she'd managed to provoke me just by responding to me.
But I found it counter-productive, and regressive, and overly-catty, so while I still had points to make and could make at a later date, I shelved it, and just sat in the arena, taking in the news that followed me, the real pre-show main event.
I sat there in silence, as even the crews began to take off and head for home; Stripped out of my sweaty gear, I sat, hands clasped over my knees, just watching the arena as the stage was struck down and broke down and loaded onto trucks; And I sat there, watching, as, boom, boom, boom, the overhead lights turned out one by one.
As the lights turned out on the last show for Action Wrestling.
It's bleakly hilarious, to me. I came back FOR Action Wrestling. In that inimitable, infinitely-defining Kyle Shane hubris.
I watched Action Wrestling grow and be what it was in those sweet golden years. Lissie Hope and Corey Black. Philidor and Johnny Bacchus. Jill Park and Regan Voorhees. The rise of Carter Shaw. I watched as my old acquaintance (Not your BFF, not your LOVER) restarted his career. Think what you want about any and all of them, but they came to give their best, give their passion to this game. And then they left.
And there was pain. There was less-than-amicable splits. There were tears. When people left, there were some burned bridges, and the name, Action Wrestling, began to take on a certain patina.
And some of that's the nature of the game, right? Of course, right.
But you think you're able to course correct sometimes. In your arrogance, you think you'd have time.
I watched the lights turn out on the SoFi stadium, on Evolution, on Action Wrestling, because tomorrow's another day - blink-182 would be playing, for one thing.
I load my gear bag into my car, still reflecting. I came to AW, because I identified with the turmoil it went through, honestly. I synonymized myself with it. But then Monday happens, right? Then, you're informed not only did Torture get bought out, that Brady Bolt and all the infrastructure he put into place was being cannibalized, that AW was sold out from under us and given a new home. Now, it isn't AW anymore, now it belongs to someone else. And all of that history, the good potential and the bad, isn't there anymore.
So now who are you, when the redefinition you put your finger on when you signed on the dotted line isn't there anymore, and you have to start again?
I think about Tatiana, and how our business remains unfinished, even with a win. A win is a win is a win, I counsel; I beat a former AW World Champion at Evolution, and that's some credibility in the bank when they're gifting out shiny new DPW World Title shots.
Except that it doesn't feel like that's the case.
Monday turns, and the day washes off;
Now time is passing, and it's even more finalized, the "Rebrand". Discovery is starting up an official Twitter account, and you think, fuck, maybe I need to just bite the bullet, get off my high horse and get in front of it all on Twitter.
Discovery is hiring new staff, and you think this is maybe more than a sign on the door changing, this is entirely new ballgames with a NEW set of rules.
Cause then, Monday happened, right? And then, it passed.
I've driven for seven hours now, up the coast from LA to make my way to a bustling little neighborhood in San Fran off the waterfront; an ethnic neighborhood, a Japantown bustling with a market. It was a pilgrimage made by a certain gruff, unlikeable white man not long ago, to find a specific dojo in this neighborhood. A ramshackle, dilapidated storefront in a crime-ridden street in this place, it was once, where Daniel Fehl had retreated after one too many defeats, one too many needs to reinvent himself, coming to a home he'd never known, hands seeking for purchase to not lose his grip.
I'm standing outside that dojo now, having that same feeling of slight disappointment and detached, disaffected uncertainty; There's a for-sale sign on the door.
It should be a happy sign for me. Danny did get out, after all. He squared things with Michelle Bennett, he did what he wanted to do in wrestling and went out giving the fight of his life, and now he and Rumiko are enjoying retirement out in the sunset. Or, maybe he's antsy somewhere and itching to get back to wrestling in some capacity, we just won't know. Regardless, this, as the shutting off the lights on SoFi stadium, reads to me as a shutting of a door.
Can't go back to old, familiar things forever, Kyle. You know that.
My feet take me off Fillmore Street, and I find my way to a park. It has a Japanese gate, and as I enter the open space, I'm filled with a sense of zen calm. No going back, then. Wind tugs at my hair, slightly, and I crane my head up at the lone tree in the midst of a circular track.
You don't go backwards, but you just keep growing, is what this all tells me.
You started something, it doesn't matter if it's in AW or Discovery, you started it. Keep going. That's what Danny would tell me, that's what the for-sale sign on his closed dojo tells me, that's what sitting in the SoFi bleachers as the overhead lights cut off one-by-one tells me. Endings are part of life, but you haven't reached your ending. You've only just begun, you've only just started again.
A tree grows in Japantown, it just keeps growing.
You want to see how it high it grows.
I'd actually, believe it or not, cut a scathing, sarcastic response promo on Tatiana, because even before things went sideways on us, she'd managed to provoke me just by responding to me.
But I found it counter-productive, and regressive, and overly-catty, so while I still had points to make and could make at a later date, I shelved it, and just sat in the arena, taking in the news that followed me, the real pre-show main event.
I sat there in silence, as even the crews began to take off and head for home; Stripped out of my sweaty gear, I sat, hands clasped over my knees, just watching the arena as the stage was struck down and broke down and loaded onto trucks; And I sat there, watching, as, boom, boom, boom, the overhead lights turned out one by one.
As the lights turned out on the last show for Action Wrestling.
It's bleakly hilarious, to me. I came back FOR Action Wrestling. In that inimitable, infinitely-defining Kyle Shane hubris.
I watched Action Wrestling grow and be what it was in those sweet golden years. Lissie Hope and Corey Black. Philidor and Johnny Bacchus. Jill Park and Regan Voorhees. The rise of Carter Shaw. I watched as my old acquaintance (Not your BFF, not your LOVER) restarted his career. Think what you want about any and all of them, but they came to give their best, give their passion to this game. And then they left.
And there was pain. There was less-than-amicable splits. There were tears. When people left, there were some burned bridges, and the name, Action Wrestling, began to take on a certain patina.
And some of that's the nature of the game, right? Of course, right.
But you think you're able to course correct sometimes. In your arrogance, you think you'd have time.
I watched the lights turn out on the SoFi stadium, on Evolution, on Action Wrestling, because tomorrow's another day - blink-182 would be playing, for one thing.
I load my gear bag into my car, still reflecting. I came to AW, because I identified with the turmoil it went through, honestly. I synonymized myself with it. But then Monday happens, right? Then, you're informed not only did Torture get bought out, that Brady Bolt and all the infrastructure he put into place was being cannibalized, that AW was sold out from under us and given a new home. Now, it isn't AW anymore, now it belongs to someone else. And all of that history, the good potential and the bad, isn't there anymore.
So now who are you, when the redefinition you put your finger on when you signed on the dotted line isn't there anymore, and you have to start again?
I think about Tatiana, and how our business remains unfinished, even with a win. A win is a win is a win, I counsel; I beat a former AW World Champion at Evolution, and that's some credibility in the bank when they're gifting out shiny new DPW World Title shots.
Except that it doesn't feel like that's the case.
Monday turns, and the day washes off;
Now time is passing, and it's even more finalized, the "Rebrand". Discovery is starting up an official Twitter account, and you think, fuck, maybe I need to just bite the bullet, get off my high horse and get in front of it all on Twitter.
Discovery is hiring new staff, and you think this is maybe more than a sign on the door changing, this is entirely new ballgames with a NEW set of rules.
Cause then, Monday happened, right? And then, it passed.
I've driven for seven hours now, up the coast from LA to make my way to a bustling little neighborhood in San Fran off the waterfront; an ethnic neighborhood, a Japantown bustling with a market. It was a pilgrimage made by a certain gruff, unlikeable white man not long ago, to find a specific dojo in this neighborhood. A ramshackle, dilapidated storefront in a crime-ridden street in this place, it was once, where Daniel Fehl had retreated after one too many defeats, one too many needs to reinvent himself, coming to a home he'd never known, hands seeking for purchase to not lose his grip.
I'm standing outside that dojo now, having that same feeling of slight disappointment and detached, disaffected uncertainty; There's a for-sale sign on the door.
It should be a happy sign for me. Danny did get out, after all. He squared things with Michelle Bennett, he did what he wanted to do in wrestling and went out giving the fight of his life, and now he and Rumiko are enjoying retirement out in the sunset. Or, maybe he's antsy somewhere and itching to get back to wrestling in some capacity, we just won't know. Regardless, this, as the shutting off the lights on SoFi stadium, reads to me as a shutting of a door.
Can't go back to old, familiar things forever, Kyle. You know that.
My feet take me off Fillmore Street, and I find my way to a park. It has a Japanese gate, and as I enter the open space, I'm filled with a sense of zen calm. No going back, then. Wind tugs at my hair, slightly, and I crane my head up at the lone tree in the midst of a circular track.
You don't go backwards, but you just keep growing, is what this all tells me.
You started something, it doesn't matter if it's in AW or Discovery, you started it. Keep going. That's what Danny would tell me, that's what the for-sale sign on his closed dojo tells me, that's what sitting in the SoFi bleachers as the overhead lights cut off one-by-one tells me. Endings are part of life, but you haven't reached your ending. You've only just begun, you've only just started again.
A tree grows in Japantown, it just keeps growing.
You want to see how it high it grows.