Post by Carter Shaw on Aug 22, 2020 23:58:50 GMT -5
February 2nd, 2009
Shaw stretched out his ribcage a bit as he walked away from the fighting circle, Lance awaiting him with a slap on the shoulder and a wide smile on his face.
“You’re on a fucking tear, Shaw, nobody can touch you right now,” Lance said with a maniacal laugh to follow. “I know you’ve got one more fight coming up for the purse, but come to my office real quick. Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”
Lance led the way to a door off from the gathered crowd. He swings his door open to enter the office and stops immediately.
“Ah, fuck,” he murmured under his breath. “This...wasn’t the conversation I had in mind.” Lance said softly, trailing back to Shaw who had not seen anything yet.
It wasn’t the police. It was worse. Both Lance and Shaw entered the room as a large man looked up from a desk chair. Dark hair slicked back, clean shaven.
“Lance! How ya doin’?! Long time, no see. Hey kid, the name’s Jimmy Melillo, nice to meet ya’.” His voice was raspy, cutting the air it travelled through like a knife. He sounded much more ‘off the shore’ of Jersey than ‘off the boat’ of Italy.
Shaw knew the name. His heart dropped a bit. What was Boston mob doing here? Let alone the Don Corleone himself?
“Have a seat, kid,” Melillo said, gesturing his hand towards a chair already placed across the small desk. Lance went to sit slowly in a chair against the wall. “Nah, you stand Lance.” He was met with immediate compliance. The request was nothing more than a power play. Showing off for Carter, perhaps.
“How old are you, kid?” Melillo asked as he leaned forward into the desk. He peered across, right into Carter’s eyes, never averting eye contact. Carter was doing enough of that for the both of them.
“17.” Shaw answered sternly.
“Where’d you learn how to fight?”
“I, uh...I don’t know, I just fight.”
“Do yourself a favor, kid, and call me sir.” Another power play. One that, if Lance was going to adhere to, Carter sure as hell was going to also.
“I just fight, sir.”
“Your daddy didn’t teach you?”
“My father’s out of the picture, sir.”
“Ah...a product of your environment. I’m a product of my environment, too. I respect that. There’s alot of things that come with that. Things you can’t teach. Let me tell you something, kid. I look through these.” As he speaks, he holds up hand-drawn brackets of the fighting tournaments Lance had been running through the winter.
“I see alot of names. But just a handful of names that appear on every single one. And then I notice the same name as the winner of quite a few of these recently, and do you know what I ask myself?”
“No, sir.”
“I ask myself...Who the fuck is Carter Shaw?” He says, beginning a laughter drawn up from gravel. “What’s the prize for these tournaments, huh? 400? 500?”
“200, usually, sir.”
“200?” Jimmy asked, shooting Lance a look. Lance, while standing against the far wall, has found a great spot on the floor to stare at.
“You’re about to get an opportunity of dreams, Carter Shaw. I want you to come work for me. I want you to come work for me and make real money. Big money. I could use a kid like you, one that can take care of himself in any situation. A fighter. I like fighters, kid, cause I’m a fighter. You can keep making chump change and get your rocks off punching nobodies. Or. Or. You work for me and do real big fuckin’ things.”
Shaw’s head was spinning.
“Whatdya say, Carter Shaw?” Jimmy Melillo spreads his hands out as if displaying the offer in front of him.
“I appreciate the offer...sir...but I’m fine doing what I’m doing.”
Melillo grabs at his heart dramatically, as if it were broken by rejection.
“You sure about that, kid?”
“I’m sure.”
“Hmm...Alright, why don’t you step outside with Lance for a couple minutes. Lance, you’ve got two minutes to convince him otherwise.” His tone changes from exaggerated to deadly serious, never taking his eyes off of Carter’s while addressing Lance.
Lance steps outside, Carter getting up and slowly joining him, continuously assessing the situation.
Quite the power play.
“This is not a joke, Carter, I’m sorry that this is happening, but this man is crazy,” Lance said while pacing in two quick steps side to side, hands up to the temples.
“I’m not doing it,” Carter said for the 4th time, the answer growing more firm with each pass..
“He will kill...your family. He will. He’s got his hand in everything in this city. I know you’ve heard his name. I bet you probably know a kid or two from Roxbury who ended up finding their way into his hierarchy.”
“...he’ll kill my family?” Carter was both concerned and unswayed.
“The only reason this all happens, every fight I get to run and every tournament I put together? Is because he lets it happen. The only things that happen here, Carter, are what he lets happen. If he wants you in his organization...he’ll take away anything else you have until you do as he wishes.”
Carter’s head drops a bit as his thoughts bang against the inside of his skull.
“I’m not...saying yes. I’ll call his bluff.”
“His bluff?! This isn’t a game, Carter, fuck!”
“I could agree to work for this man, and live in fear that he will kill my mother, my brother, forever. Or I could call his bluff. I’m doing the right thing here, Lance.”
“The ‘right thing’ may kill your mother, Carter!”
“Nah...not doing the right thing would kill my mother.”
Carter turned his shoulder and went back into the room before Lance could attempt any further convincing. Lance walked in slowly behind and retreated directly to the corner in which he was standing before. Jimmy’s body language makes it clear he was listening to every word.
“One last time, kid. You in? Or are you out?”
“I’m out...sir”
“I’m sorry you feel this way, Carter Shaw, I really am. You could do great things with me and you can make ALOT of money for that family of yours.” Jimmy Melillo says, already walking around the desk and walking next to Carter. He slaps Shaw on the shoulder and leans in to whisper…
“You’ve got balls, kid. Not smarts. But balls. But we’ll see who’s bluffing.” With those words, he departs. Carter and Lance are left in the silence of the room.
For the next two weeks, Carter saw the car outside of his house constantly. It would come, it would go. Just enough presence to make Carter peek out of the blinds from the living room throughout an evening.
It was becoming increasingly hard to call this bluff.
He found notes in his locker at the local gym, his mother always the target of the threat. Their strategy was clear and terrifying, but Carter had picked his path.
He was good at not straying from a chosen path. Trusting his intuition. Unknowingly to his mother, putting her life on the line.
Working out at the gym, sparring, fighting at night, spending time with his brother...Carter just went about his business. Eventually the notes in the locker stopped. The curbside visits at home stopped. And just 3 weeks later, he felt completely relieved of the surrounding presence.
He didn’t know whether to fully trust it or not, but no harm was ever done.
And Carter kept on living his 17 year old, high school dropout, mundane, ‘honorable’ life.
Shaw stretched out his ribcage a bit as he walked away from the fighting circle, Lance awaiting him with a slap on the shoulder and a wide smile on his face.
“You’re on a fucking tear, Shaw, nobody can touch you right now,” Lance said with a maniacal laugh to follow. “I know you’ve got one more fight coming up for the purse, but come to my office real quick. Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”
Lance led the way to a door off from the gathered crowd. He swings his door open to enter the office and stops immediately.
“Ah, fuck,” he murmured under his breath. “This...wasn’t the conversation I had in mind.” Lance said softly, trailing back to Shaw who had not seen anything yet.
It wasn’t the police. It was worse. Both Lance and Shaw entered the room as a large man looked up from a desk chair. Dark hair slicked back, clean shaven.
“Lance! How ya doin’?! Long time, no see. Hey kid, the name’s Jimmy Melillo, nice to meet ya’.” His voice was raspy, cutting the air it travelled through like a knife. He sounded much more ‘off the shore’ of Jersey than ‘off the boat’ of Italy.
Shaw knew the name. His heart dropped a bit. What was Boston mob doing here? Let alone the Don Corleone himself?
“Have a seat, kid,” Melillo said, gesturing his hand towards a chair already placed across the small desk. Lance went to sit slowly in a chair against the wall. “Nah, you stand Lance.” He was met with immediate compliance. The request was nothing more than a power play. Showing off for Carter, perhaps.
“How old are you, kid?” Melillo asked as he leaned forward into the desk. He peered across, right into Carter’s eyes, never averting eye contact. Carter was doing enough of that for the both of them.
“17.” Shaw answered sternly.
“Where’d you learn how to fight?”
“I, uh...I don’t know, I just fight.”
“Do yourself a favor, kid, and call me sir.” Another power play. One that, if Lance was going to adhere to, Carter sure as hell was going to also.
“I just fight, sir.”
“Your daddy didn’t teach you?”
“My father’s out of the picture, sir.”
“Ah...a product of your environment. I’m a product of my environment, too. I respect that. There’s alot of things that come with that. Things you can’t teach. Let me tell you something, kid. I look through these.” As he speaks, he holds up hand-drawn brackets of the fighting tournaments Lance had been running through the winter.
“I see alot of names. But just a handful of names that appear on every single one. And then I notice the same name as the winner of quite a few of these recently, and do you know what I ask myself?”
“No, sir.”
“I ask myself...Who the fuck is Carter Shaw?” He says, beginning a laughter drawn up from gravel. “What’s the prize for these tournaments, huh? 400? 500?”
“200, usually, sir.”
“200?” Jimmy asked, shooting Lance a look. Lance, while standing against the far wall, has found a great spot on the floor to stare at.
“You’re about to get an opportunity of dreams, Carter Shaw. I want you to come work for me. I want you to come work for me and make real money. Big money. I could use a kid like you, one that can take care of himself in any situation. A fighter. I like fighters, kid, cause I’m a fighter. You can keep making chump change and get your rocks off punching nobodies. Or. Or. You work for me and do real big fuckin’ things.”
Shaw’s head was spinning.
“Whatdya say, Carter Shaw?” Jimmy Melillo spreads his hands out as if displaying the offer in front of him.
“I appreciate the offer...sir...but I’m fine doing what I’m doing.”
Melillo grabs at his heart dramatically, as if it were broken by rejection.
“You sure about that, kid?”
“I’m sure.”
“Hmm...Alright, why don’t you step outside with Lance for a couple minutes. Lance, you’ve got two minutes to convince him otherwise.” His tone changes from exaggerated to deadly serious, never taking his eyes off of Carter’s while addressing Lance.
Lance steps outside, Carter getting up and slowly joining him, continuously assessing the situation.
Quite the power play.
Let’s deal.
Shaw sits in the dealer’s seat of a vacant poker table. Stacks of poker chips surround him. He doesn’t have a full deck of cards in his hand, rather just 7. He shuffles them a bit before flipping one over and placing it in the center. The card reads “Olive Adler”. In very small writing on the bottom “And Cassidy Adler”.
Olive Adler. Cassidy Adler isn’t even worthy of his own goddamn card, a point made very clear two weeks ago when Wesley and I got the win over these “Twin Gods”. Cassidy decided to bring a ladder out and climb it. In the middle of a street fight, both of the Adlers gave fuel to the notion that they’ve become a joke.
Cassidy found himself at the top of the ladder...while Wesley pinned Olive below. It was the perfect summary, in a hopeless moment unable to help his sister, of who and what Cassidy Adler is.
Zero contribution. Zero sense. He’s 1950’s wallpaper. The only time this guy is worth your attention is the time you spend trying to scrape him from existence.
Olive, however, earns her way into the deck on pure squirreliness alone. Would anyone be truly surprised if the perfect moment arises for Olive Adler to climb that ladder and grab that briefcase? No. She’s an opportunist who at least got the brain of the twindom to actually take advantage of situations that come their way. That’s how the Adlers have managed any success in AW whatsoever. All carried on Olive’s back.
But let’s be honest, there’s really nothing left to even carry.
For the Adlers, this match is punishment.
They snaked their way into new contracts, taking advantage of Torture’s hatred for them, and why are they in this match? Because Torture wants to see them get tossed about and destroyed by 6 of AW’s best. I say 6. Because I don’t count Frank Lowe.
Frank Lowe will get what’s comin’ to him.
We will happily oblige with the punishment that the bossman has ordered up for these two. They feel high and mighty because of the dollar signs that came with that contract, but I look forward to it all ending up being spent on medical bills when these two get beat the fuck up...Over and over again until they run with their tails tucked between their legs, retreating back to the land of daddy issues because that’s where the holy silver spoon is.
At All-In, I'll feed you both with some silver, alright.. That ladder’s gonna make Cassidy finally feel happy to wear a mask in public when I knock his two front teeth out and leave him singing like the fuckin’ Chipmunks. And a little facial reconstruction for Olive?
The surgery she’s always wanted to have for free.
“See ya at Uprising, Scrubs”.
He flips over the next card, placing it next to the Adlers card. “Corey Bull”
The Hatebringer. I’m surprised that, even with just 7 cards here, that this card didn’t get lost in the shuffle.
Corey Bull is a monster, there’s no way around it. 9 competitors fighting with that briefcase hanging above our heads, Bull is the one that the eyes will feast on from the jump. He’s got strength that the rest of us can’t hold a candle to. Add into the cocktail a bit of homicidal intention with reckless abandon? .
That cocktail is what you’d call a Molotov. But yet, for everything this beast brings to the table, he’s hit his head on his own glass ceiling so many times he’s probably lost the ability to tell which way is up and which way is down.
For Corey Bull, this match is desperation.
Through winning streaks and losing streaks, nobody’s ever been able to claim that they didn’t take Corey Bull seriously. But Bull needs this, because this is the exact kind of opportunity that he has failed to claim as his own time and time again. He failed to leave Evolution the United States Champion, that honor stuck with Wesley. He failed at the Havoc Rumble, getting eliminated by Cassidy Adler of all fucking people.
He lost to Claire Hawkins, we’ve got that in common at least.
The aura that you put your entire being into creating each and every week has grown deeply faded. One more loss? One like this? One more chink in that armor and you become reduced to something you will no longer be able to provide smoke and mirrors to improve. You will no longer be ScARy, you will no longer be intimidating.
If Corey Bull doesn’t win All-In? Maybe he develops a new personality for each of his career-defining losses, and we get the carousel each week of which loser behind the mask we get to witness.
Desperation is not a good look for a ‘monster’. That’s how they die at the end of every movie.
But if this is it, Corey Bull? If this is the swan song for your long list of chances at becoming more in AW?
atLEasT yoU’Ve GoT somEOnE To LoVE.
The 3rd card flips over. “Karlie Nash”
In my time with AW, I’ve watched a bit of the journey Nash has been on. You’ve accomplished quite a bit in your life, Karlie. The Olympic gold medal. Some UFC success. You’ve got all the baseline accolades that should make for someone becoming of a self-given nickname “The Premier Athlete”.
So why does it feel like your entire AW career has been like a kid tossed into the deep end of the pool, constantly swimming backwards in search of a spot where your feet can touch the ground?
For Karlie Nash, this match is as good as it will ever get.
You couldn’t cut it when the Tag Team title division started to get an influx of talent that actually wanted the titles. You couldn’t cut it when RWB got their hands on the Cruiserweight Tag Titles for the length of time the cup of coffee was hot. But look at you now! One would think that maybe you’ve managed to get your head above water. Earning your way into this match was no small feat and don’t let anybody tell you you don’t deserve your spot.
But we all know what comes next for Karlie Nash. It’s the one story mother reads to you every night before bed. The ending never changes. You’ve got this golden chance to succeed with all of the eyes on you.
And in one week’s time, we’ll be watching you backpedal some more after failure. You’ve created your sanctuary in the form of your church, atleast, but if you backpedal any further in AW in search of weaker competition, you’ll finally find yourself at the FRONT of a line.
The unemployment line.
Praise be.
Shaw sits in the dealer’s seat of a vacant poker table. Stacks of poker chips surround him. He doesn’t have a full deck of cards in his hand, rather just 7. He shuffles them a bit before flipping one over and placing it in the center. The card reads “Olive Adler”. In very small writing on the bottom “And Cassidy Adler”.
Olive Adler. Cassidy Adler isn’t even worthy of his own goddamn card, a point made very clear two weeks ago when Wesley and I got the win over these “Twin Gods”. Cassidy decided to bring a ladder out and climb it. In the middle of a street fight, both of the Adlers gave fuel to the notion that they’ve become a joke.
Cassidy found himself at the top of the ladder...while Wesley pinned Olive below. It was the perfect summary, in a hopeless moment unable to help his sister, of who and what Cassidy Adler is.
Zero contribution. Zero sense. He’s 1950’s wallpaper. The only time this guy is worth your attention is the time you spend trying to scrape him from existence.
Olive, however, earns her way into the deck on pure squirreliness alone. Would anyone be truly surprised if the perfect moment arises for Olive Adler to climb that ladder and grab that briefcase? No. She’s an opportunist who at least got the brain of the twindom to actually take advantage of situations that come their way. That’s how the Adlers have managed any success in AW whatsoever. All carried on Olive’s back.
But let’s be honest, there’s really nothing left to even carry.
For the Adlers, this match is punishment.
They snaked their way into new contracts, taking advantage of Torture’s hatred for them, and why are they in this match? Because Torture wants to see them get tossed about and destroyed by 6 of AW’s best. I say 6. Because I don’t count Frank Lowe.
Frank Lowe will get what’s comin’ to him.
We will happily oblige with the punishment that the bossman has ordered up for these two. They feel high and mighty because of the dollar signs that came with that contract, but I look forward to it all ending up being spent on medical bills when these two get beat the fuck up...Over and over again until they run with their tails tucked between their legs, retreating back to the land of daddy issues because that’s where the holy silver spoon is.
At All-In, I'll feed you both with some silver, alright.. That ladder’s gonna make Cassidy finally feel happy to wear a mask in public when I knock his two front teeth out and leave him singing like the fuckin’ Chipmunks. And a little facial reconstruction for Olive?
The surgery she’s always wanted to have for free.
“See ya at Uprising, Scrubs”.
He flips over the next card, placing it next to the Adlers card. “Corey Bull”
The Hatebringer. I’m surprised that, even with just 7 cards here, that this card didn’t get lost in the shuffle.
Corey Bull is a monster, there’s no way around it. 9 competitors fighting with that briefcase hanging above our heads, Bull is the one that the eyes will feast on from the jump. He’s got strength that the rest of us can’t hold a candle to. Add into the cocktail a bit of homicidal intention with reckless abandon? .
That cocktail is what you’d call a Molotov. But yet, for everything this beast brings to the table, he’s hit his head on his own glass ceiling so many times he’s probably lost the ability to tell which way is up and which way is down.
For Corey Bull, this match is desperation.
Through winning streaks and losing streaks, nobody’s ever been able to claim that they didn’t take Corey Bull seriously. But Bull needs this, because this is the exact kind of opportunity that he has failed to claim as his own time and time again. He failed to leave Evolution the United States Champion, that honor stuck with Wesley. He failed at the Havoc Rumble, getting eliminated by Cassidy Adler of all fucking people.
He lost to Claire Hawkins, we’ve got that in common at least.
The aura that you put your entire being into creating each and every week has grown deeply faded. One more loss? One like this? One more chink in that armor and you become reduced to something you will no longer be able to provide smoke and mirrors to improve. You will no longer be ScARy, you will no longer be intimidating.
If Corey Bull doesn’t win All-In? Maybe he develops a new personality for each of his career-defining losses, and we get the carousel each week of which loser behind the mask we get to witness.
Desperation is not a good look for a ‘monster’. That’s how they die at the end of every movie.
But if this is it, Corey Bull? If this is the swan song for your long list of chances at becoming more in AW?
atLEasT yoU’Ve GoT somEOnE To LoVE.
The 3rd card flips over. “Karlie Nash”
In my time with AW, I’ve watched a bit of the journey Nash has been on. You’ve accomplished quite a bit in your life, Karlie. The Olympic gold medal. Some UFC success. You’ve got all the baseline accolades that should make for someone becoming of a self-given nickname “The Premier Athlete”.
So why does it feel like your entire AW career has been like a kid tossed into the deep end of the pool, constantly swimming backwards in search of a spot where your feet can touch the ground?
For Karlie Nash, this match is as good as it will ever get.
You couldn’t cut it when the Tag Team title division started to get an influx of talent that actually wanted the titles. You couldn’t cut it when RWB got their hands on the Cruiserweight Tag Titles for the length of time the cup of coffee was hot. But look at you now! One would think that maybe you’ve managed to get your head above water. Earning your way into this match was no small feat and don’t let anybody tell you you don’t deserve your spot.
But we all know what comes next for Karlie Nash. It’s the one story mother reads to you every night before bed. The ending never changes. You’ve got this golden chance to succeed with all of the eyes on you.
And in one week’s time, we’ll be watching you backpedal some more after failure. You’ve created your sanctuary in the form of your church, atleast, but if you backpedal any further in AW in search of weaker competition, you’ll finally find yourself at the FRONT of a line.
The unemployment line.
Praise be.
“This is not a joke, Carter, I’m sorry that this is happening, but this man is crazy,” Lance said while pacing in two quick steps side to side, hands up to the temples.
“I’m not doing it,” Carter said for the 4th time, the answer growing more firm with each pass..
“He will kill...your family. He will. He’s got his hand in everything in this city. I know you’ve heard his name. I bet you probably know a kid or two from Roxbury who ended up finding their way into his hierarchy.”
“...he’ll kill my family?” Carter was both concerned and unswayed.
“The only reason this all happens, every fight I get to run and every tournament I put together? Is because he lets it happen. The only things that happen here, Carter, are what he lets happen. If he wants you in his organization...he’ll take away anything else you have until you do as he wishes.”
Carter’s head drops a bit as his thoughts bang against the inside of his skull.
“I’m not...saying yes. I’ll call his bluff.”
“His bluff?! This isn’t a game, Carter, fuck!”
“I could agree to work for this man, and live in fear that he will kill my mother, my brother, forever. Or I could call his bluff. I’m doing the right thing here, Lance.”
“The ‘right thing’ may kill your mother, Carter!”
“Nah...not doing the right thing would kill my mother.”
Carter turned his shoulder and went back into the room before Lance could attempt any further convincing. Lance walked in slowly behind and retreated directly to the corner in which he was standing before. Jimmy’s body language makes it clear he was listening to every word.
“One last time, kid. You in? Or are you out?”
“I’m out...sir”
“I’m sorry you feel this way, Carter Shaw, I really am. You could do great things with me and you can make ALOT of money for that family of yours.” Jimmy Melillo says, already walking around the desk and walking next to Carter. He slaps Shaw on the shoulder and leans in to whisper…
“You’ve got balls, kid. Not smarts. But balls. But we’ll see who’s bluffing.” With those words, he departs. Carter and Lance are left in the silence of the room.
"Derrick Vayden". The 4th card has been flipped, 'the turn' at the center of the poker table.
Vayden is a man unleashed, and with the loss of Raging Dead fueling his heart and the redemption he seeks at Frank Lowe fueling his mind, he’s going to hear all week long about how these distractions will result in him with no All-In briefcase.
And maybe that’s true. We know where his eyes will be when that bell rings, and we know that Vayden not only wants to beat Lowe to a bloody pulp...but given the circumstances of the match, Vayden would ironically kill himself to make sure Frank Lowe does NOT win this match.
You may have noticed I’m one more card short to deal here. That’s because Frank Lowe does not get a card. Because at Uprising?
Frank Lowe will get what he fucking deserves.
Preferably at the hands of Vayden, I felt the entirety of a CITY shake when Vayden got his hands on Lowe last week on Clash. I felt the passion and grief in millions of hearts fuel The Wanderer. And when 9 of us stand in that ring, looking up at our possible fates hanging above the ring...I know 2 things.
We will each do ANYthing to make sure that fate above becomes ours. .
And I know I won’t be the only one who has Derrick Vayden’s back...when it comes to Frank Lowe.
But, naturally, on the other hand...when a healthy dose of that street justice has been served, I will step over your back, shoulders and head if it means catapulting up that ladder to secure that briefcase as my own. We all have something to fight for, here.
For Frank Lowe, this match is purgatory.
For Derrick Vayden, this match is revenge.
And while Vayden has two looming goals entering this match, I can assure you that I will do my part to make sure one of them is accomplished and that the other is not. You will not leave Los Angeles with that All-In briefcase.
But I hope you leave L.A. with Lowe’s fucking heart in your hands. I’ll even lend you a knife.
He slaps down the 5th card on the table.
...bet you thought I’d save myself for last
The card reads Carter Shaw.
I could save my card for last, throwing it down as some sort of Joker Wild Card that trumps all, shove these lovely chips All In to the center of the table and say I’m taking the pot.
But I think I feed into enough cliches already. This isn’t the hand to hand, face to face combat I’m known for. This isn’t an environment where my list of honed skills will necessarily shine.
9 hungry stars? 1 briefcase? A ladder to climb and retrieve? This ain’t your weekly Television Title defense. This is a battle that there is no perfect training regimen or gameplan for. It’s going out there, fighting to survive, clawing to win, all the while keeping your head on a swivel like never before.
But hey, maybe these cards aren’t totally random, huh?
Two cards left in his hand, Shaw turns them around.
Crow McMorris and Wesley are certainly the ideal winning hand to have here, huh? But just like pocket Ace’s, it’ll get you the win here and there but it’s a false guarantee to get you to the promise land. The story I see here is that Crow and Wesley are the hand you go all-in on at first glance, knowing you’ve got the best hand to start the round.
But then there’s so..much...more...to play.
Corey Bull, Olive Adler, Cassidy Adler and Karlie Nash come along to shuffle up the plans a bit, knocking that percentage of winning probability down. But certainly, just as the spots they lay in on this green felt…
They will flop.
Derrick Vayden knocks that percentage down even more. And while he will get something that he came for…
It is not his turn.
And the Shaw card?
Well, I’m the nobody, right? I can have the crowd sing ‘Who are you’ all night long, and to this point, all it is a question still seeking an answer. Everyone will look to the revenge of Vayden, the dastardly deeds of Lowe, the greatness of Wesley, the legend that is Crow, the wild card of Nash, the slithering Adlers...that’s where the eyes go.
And here I sit. Overlooked, while all the other players stake their claim in this game. Cast aside. Respected as a deserving participant but not viewed as the guy who will end the carnage as the last man standing.
And that’s fine. Because the river comes to wash away what you thought you had won.
For Carter Shaw, this match is, simply put, a fucking chance.
The greatest poker players in the world remember the times they lost a ‘monster hand’ on the river, more so than they remember any other great achievement.
Now you look at the playing field again, forgetting what you think you know, forgetting who you initially think you should put your money on. The cards are on the table. There are no pairs, no flushes, no straights. Which just leaves one question?
Who’s the fucking ‘High Card’?
I guess the ladder will answer that question.
Vayden is a man unleashed, and with the loss of Raging Dead fueling his heart and the redemption he seeks at Frank Lowe fueling his mind, he’s going to hear all week long about how these distractions will result in him with no All-In briefcase.
And maybe that’s true. We know where his eyes will be when that bell rings, and we know that Vayden not only wants to beat Lowe to a bloody pulp...but given the circumstances of the match, Vayden would ironically kill himself to make sure Frank Lowe does NOT win this match.
You may have noticed I’m one more card short to deal here. That’s because Frank Lowe does not get a card. Because at Uprising?
Frank Lowe will get what he fucking deserves.
Preferably at the hands of Vayden, I felt the entirety of a CITY shake when Vayden got his hands on Lowe last week on Clash. I felt the passion and grief in millions of hearts fuel The Wanderer. And when 9 of us stand in that ring, looking up at our possible fates hanging above the ring...I know 2 things.
We will each do ANYthing to make sure that fate above becomes ours. .
And I know I won’t be the only one who has Derrick Vayden’s back...when it comes to Frank Lowe.
But, naturally, on the other hand...when a healthy dose of that street justice has been served, I will step over your back, shoulders and head if it means catapulting up that ladder to secure that briefcase as my own. We all have something to fight for, here.
For Frank Lowe, this match is purgatory.
For Derrick Vayden, this match is revenge.
And while Vayden has two looming goals entering this match, I can assure you that I will do my part to make sure one of them is accomplished and that the other is not. You will not leave Los Angeles with that All-In briefcase.
But I hope you leave L.A. with Lowe’s fucking heart in your hands. I’ll even lend you a knife.
He slaps down the 5th card on the table.
...bet you thought I’d save myself for last
The card reads Carter Shaw.
I could save my card for last, throwing it down as some sort of Joker Wild Card that trumps all, shove these lovely chips All In to the center of the table and say I’m taking the pot.
But I think I feed into enough cliches already. This isn’t the hand to hand, face to face combat I’m known for. This isn’t an environment where my list of honed skills will necessarily shine.
9 hungry stars? 1 briefcase? A ladder to climb and retrieve? This ain’t your weekly Television Title defense. This is a battle that there is no perfect training regimen or gameplan for. It’s going out there, fighting to survive, clawing to win, all the while keeping your head on a swivel like never before.
But hey, maybe these cards aren’t totally random, huh?
Two cards left in his hand, Shaw turns them around.
Crow McMorris and Wesley are certainly the ideal winning hand to have here, huh? But just like pocket Ace’s, it’ll get you the win here and there but it’s a false guarantee to get you to the promise land. The story I see here is that Crow and Wesley are the hand you go all-in on at first glance, knowing you’ve got the best hand to start the round.
But then there’s so..much...more...to play.
Corey Bull, Olive Adler, Cassidy Adler and Karlie Nash come along to shuffle up the plans a bit, knocking that percentage of winning probability down. But certainly, just as the spots they lay in on this green felt…
They will flop.
Derrick Vayden knocks that percentage down even more. And while he will get something that he came for…
It is not his turn.
And the Shaw card?
Well, I’m the nobody, right? I can have the crowd sing ‘Who are you’ all night long, and to this point, all it is a question still seeking an answer. Everyone will look to the revenge of Vayden, the dastardly deeds of Lowe, the greatness of Wesley, the legend that is Crow, the wild card of Nash, the slithering Adlers...that’s where the eyes go.
And here I sit. Overlooked, while all the other players stake their claim in this game. Cast aside. Respected as a deserving participant but not viewed as the guy who will end the carnage as the last man standing.
And that’s fine. Because the river comes to wash away what you thought you had won.
For Carter Shaw, this match is, simply put, a fucking chance.
The greatest poker players in the world remember the times they lost a ‘monster hand’ on the river, more so than they remember any other great achievement.
Now you look at the playing field again, forgetting what you think you know, forgetting who you initially think you should put your money on. The cards are on the table. There are no pairs, no flushes, no straights. Which just leaves one question?
Who’s the fucking ‘High Card’?
I guess the ladder will answer that question.
For the next two weeks, Carter saw the car outside of his house constantly. It would come, it would go. Just enough presence to make Carter peek out of the blinds from the living room throughout an evening.
It was becoming increasingly hard to call this bluff.
He found notes in his locker at the local gym, his mother always the target of the threat. Their strategy was clear and terrifying, but Carter had picked his path.
He was good at not straying from a chosen path. Trusting his intuition. Unknowingly to his mother, putting her life on the line.
Working out at the gym, sparring, fighting at night, spending time with his brother...Carter just went about his business. Eventually the notes in the locker stopped. The curbside visits at home stopped. And just 3 weeks later, he felt completely relieved of the surrounding presence.
He didn’t know whether to fully trust it or not, but no harm was ever done.
And Carter kept on living his 17 year old, high school dropout, mundane, ‘honorable’ life.
Shaw looks down again at the two cards in his hand.
There is no true shade you can throw at these two, any digging at their abilities would fall flat every time they prove you wrong.
For Crow, this match is identity.
Crow is a legend. Someone I’ve watched and absorbed lessons from without him even knowing. But the great run that Kill Or Cure has had this year may be his undoing. This is a search for identity for Crow, because this is a match where he can re-establish himself as the stand-alone, world title seeking star.
But there will be that moment. That moment where Crow ain’t faring too great in the ladder match. And it’ll be in that moment that you see a different shade of pale come across his face, his head dropping to his chest. It’s in that moment he realizes…
He can’t tag in KOS.
Your All-In success depends on you and you alone and it will be my unfortunate mission to help you let it down.
I respect you, Crow. Everyone in this match does. But the only briefcase you’ll be carrying around after Uprising will have to be homemade. You’ve got one edge up on all of us though.
After this failure? Atleast you’ve got the rest of time to make up for it.
And on the other hand, you’ve got Wesley. Another man commanding respect.
Wesley is a guy I've watched since the moment I joined AW. This man is a king in one on one matches. Save for his fantastic losing effort against Graham Baker in the finals of the Glory tournament? I couldn’t tell you any other times I've actually watched this guy fail.
It’s impressive. And let’s be real here…
For The IllumiDaddy Wesley, this match is the plan.
The plan all along. Another accolade to put on the list, and this is a guy that you just know...if he were to win this briefcase, would pick the perfect moment and go on to secure the AW World Title. He’s been that damn good.
But things don’t always go according to the plan. Especially when surrounded by 8 intangibles, a ladder, a briefcase to grab and a target on your back as one of the Vegas favorites. That’s one hell of a tough road to get through while holding together all the pieces of the perfect blueprint for what Wesley looks to become.
You will get yours, Wesley. This ain’t gonna cancel any plans. Look at it as...postponed. Because at Uprising, I am going to shock the world. I’m going to shock the AW roster. And I’m going to shock everyone else in this match when they look up from wherever they may be resting flat…
...when they look up and see Carter Shaw standing at the top of that ladder, holding up the briefcase as if it were a title itself. You will hear the surrounding crowd singing ‘Who Are You’ and in a beautifully collective conscious moment, all 8 of you...hell, all 9 of us, will have a new answer click into our brain. Who is Carter Shaw? He’s Mr. All In.
Carter tosses the Wesley and Crow cards down beside the ones previously laid out. He slowly pushes the stacks of his chips in front of him out, covering all the cards.
We’re ALL going ALL IN this Sunday. All In on ourselves, all in on our futures, all in on hushing the doubters. But from the 9 completely different lives, stories and experiences coming to do battle in the same place, there is only one that is in the prime spot to be under the radar but ready to go over the top.
I look at this match like it is simply a chance for me. But it really may be everything to me.
Beware the junkyard dog that isn’t starving, but yet, isn’t complacent. For he will be the one who doesn’t over-pursue.
There is no true shade you can throw at these two, any digging at their abilities would fall flat every time they prove you wrong.
For Crow, this match is identity.
Crow is a legend. Someone I’ve watched and absorbed lessons from without him even knowing. But the great run that Kill Or Cure has had this year may be his undoing. This is a search for identity for Crow, because this is a match where he can re-establish himself as the stand-alone, world title seeking star.
But there will be that moment. That moment where Crow ain’t faring too great in the ladder match. And it’ll be in that moment that you see a different shade of pale come across his face, his head dropping to his chest. It’s in that moment he realizes…
He can’t tag in KOS.
Your All-In success depends on you and you alone and it will be my unfortunate mission to help you let it down.
I respect you, Crow. Everyone in this match does. But the only briefcase you’ll be carrying around after Uprising will have to be homemade. You’ve got one edge up on all of us though.
After this failure? Atleast you’ve got the rest of time to make up for it.
And on the other hand, you’ve got Wesley. Another man commanding respect.
Wesley is a guy I've watched since the moment I joined AW. This man is a king in one on one matches. Save for his fantastic losing effort against Graham Baker in the finals of the Glory tournament? I couldn’t tell you any other times I've actually watched this guy fail.
It’s impressive. And let’s be real here…
For The IllumiDaddy Wesley, this match is the plan.
The plan all along. Another accolade to put on the list, and this is a guy that you just know...if he were to win this briefcase, would pick the perfect moment and go on to secure the AW World Title. He’s been that damn good.
But things don’t always go according to the plan. Especially when surrounded by 8 intangibles, a ladder, a briefcase to grab and a target on your back as one of the Vegas favorites. That’s one hell of a tough road to get through while holding together all the pieces of the perfect blueprint for what Wesley looks to become.
You will get yours, Wesley. This ain’t gonna cancel any plans. Look at it as...postponed. Because at Uprising, I am going to shock the world. I’m going to shock the AW roster. And I’m going to shock everyone else in this match when they look up from wherever they may be resting flat…
...when they look up and see Carter Shaw standing at the top of that ladder, holding up the briefcase as if it were a title itself. You will hear the surrounding crowd singing ‘Who Are You’ and in a beautifully collective conscious moment, all 8 of you...hell, all 9 of us, will have a new answer click into our brain. Who is Carter Shaw? He’s Mr. All In.
Carter tosses the Wesley and Crow cards down beside the ones previously laid out. He slowly pushes the stacks of his chips in front of him out, covering all the cards.
We’re ALL going ALL IN this Sunday. All In on ourselves, all in on our futures, all in on hushing the doubters. But from the 9 completely different lives, stories and experiences coming to do battle in the same place, there is only one that is in the prime spot to be under the radar but ready to go over the top.
I look at this match like it is simply a chance for me. But it really may be everything to me.
Beware the junkyard dog that isn’t starving, but yet, isn’t complacent. For he will be the one who doesn’t over-pursue.