Post by Howard Black on Oct 3, 2020 23:41:16 GMT -5
Maybe I should be excited for another opportunity at a championship in Action Wrestling; I hope I can be forgiven if I’m less enthusiastic than my competitors. The truth is that these past few months have been eye-opening for me. I’ve spent this year standing at a crossroads in my career, questioning whether or not I still have it in me to be or do anything above and beyond a footnote in the careers of legends and Hall of Famers – I chose a direction of quiet acceptance and gratitude. I’m starting to question that decision, especially considering the more clear-eyed perspective I have of the landscape of this company and Industry as it stands. Perhaps a larger demonstration is in order.
Two months ago, I watched the Action Wrestling Championship slip through my fingers as all 340 lbs of WALTER faded into unconsciousness and collapsed on me from atop a ladder. I walked into that match in the midst of a losing streak, considered a joke and an outlier by my opponents. I responded by all but erasing either’s opportunity to win that match and came closer to putting down the Mongrel than either of them. In the wake of this achievement, I was contended to watching James Nightingale end his own career by proving that madness truly is repeating the same thing and accepting different results – watching Bonnie Blue be handed yet another opportunity to squander. Unlike Spencer Adams, I’m not content to allow myself to be on the outside looking in and go back to the Tag Division; the shadow of my legacy still looms too dark above me.
Instead, I was deigned to once more create my own future and destiny, just as I’ve been tasked to do my entire career. More alive and hungry than I’ve ever been, I bit off the biggest bite I could chew from this roster and challenged a man who may just be my shadow, Dandy DiVito, to a match. In Dandy I saw a self-made wrestler – one who like me had lived for far too long in the shadows of other men – one who found himself at a crossroads, wondering which path to take.
At Execution, I dismantled Dandy DiVito.
I hoped to teach him a lesson: one communicated through sweat, pain, and blood. See, I know the feelings of doubt – of struggle – of temptation – of cowardice – of grief. But unlike him, I also know the virtues of grit, determination, passion, and perserveance; these are the lessons I sought to teach him when I took everything he could throw at me, stood tall, and demanded he do the same. Whether or not Dandy will continue from this point a changed man for the better or a coward who will return to the lazy embrace of familiarity remains to be seen. But rest assured, Dandy is not the only person who needs to be instructed.
See, I’ve been thinking lately. I think so much – some nights I get up from beside my sleeping wife and retire to the basement, pummeling my heavy bag until four in the morning, desperate to drown out the grinding gears in my head. I think strength and weakness; about pride and humility. I look at the state the country is in – a racist gameshow host for President and his scared, confused, and angry followers who double down because they refuse to admit they’ve been fooled – the limp-wristed opposition too concerned with matters of civility, decorum, and compromise to get a little fire in their guts and stand for the men and women who’s futures and the futures of their children are in grave peril. And as I beat the heavy bag over and over, I start understanding that maybe it’s the most wretched and half-fucked villains in this world who understand best how the game is played: that you cannot show weakness and cannot blink in the face of adversity.
When you’re against an unstoppable force, you must be an immovable object. And when faced with a bad guy with a gun, you must be the good guy with two.
At Clash 100, it will be WALTER vs. Black… but it will not be the Black against whom WALTER fell. People are on Twitter sharing #PutDownTheMongrel… but I already did just that. And for that, where do I find myself? What have I to show for being placed in a match where I had absolutely no public faith and yet found WALTER escaping, not beating me?
I find myself in the Consolation Division.
This company loves to prop up the delicate egos of its faded glory, doesn’t it? I suppose that only makes sense why they’d humor me with a platform. But up until this point I could distract myself with the roar of the crowd. It was never so blatantly in my face until now just where I stand and whom I’m compared to. And when I see that comparison – these faces whom I’ll be facing at Clash 100 for the United States Championship? I can’t decide if I’m more insulted that I’m thought to be on this level or that they don’t seem to think I belong.
For far too long, this roster has kept my name out of their mouths. I don’t think any of you understand: I want the smoke – I want the venom – I demand your attention.
Do you think you’ve got a snowball’s chance in Hell, Bonnie? Before anyone compares us, let me state this clearly and concisely: we are not the same. My worst days are your best – if we traded measurements, I’d make the same work of you. You made the grave mistake going into Uprising thinking I could be written off – that I could be dismissed as a simple misogynist based on morally articulated principles I stated five years ago. Time flies when you’re not paying attention, Bonnie. That’s why you found yourself all but eliminated from the equation in that match, even though you were the only one with a valid claim to face WALTER.
Let’s be perfectly clear: you showed me you were exactly who I think you are. There is no greater elaboration I have on you or the content of your skill/character going into this match. You’re a coward – a whimpering puppy trying desperately to bare her fangs – and you’re a loser.
But the only thing more insufferable than a loser is a pretentious loser, especially when they drag around coat-tail riders to keep themselves in a bubble, shielded from the reality that the company is passing you by. It must be frustrating in the middle of the card – isn’t it Lissie? – after you spent a brief and beautiful eleven minutes atop the company.
You’ve been here for a hot second – you’re seeing old faces leave and new ones come in. For all your veteran status, you’re looking up at a gaggle of people who’ve been here just as long as or even longer than you, competing at a level you’ve flirted with but only experienced fleetingly. Perhaps you lie to yourself and insist a trip through the Tag Division and a chance at the US Title is a mere detour back to your rightful place, but you can’t drown out that itch that you just may be 49 minutes from midnight in your career and what you thought was a glass ceiling was merely the roof of your own above-average talent.
Which is why the rudest of awakenings will be when Adelaide Ainsworth realizes you’re no longer of use to her and quickly discards you, probably in this very match. No doubt, she’s smart enough to have a keen grasp on the career trajectory of the Swallowing and just what it demonstrated. Congratulations, Adelaide, you’ve proven yourself a contender worth serious consideration. You’ve also demonstrated yourself cunning enough to use Lissie Hope’s star power to catapult yourself from a supporting role to potential lead. We know Lissie – we know you – we all realize you’re the brains behind the operation (all of us besides, maybe, Lissie).
But I’m curious how you can go at this alone, Adelaide. Like Lissie, you’ve flirted with the top of the card, but you’ve yet to truly taste it like your partner. A Frank Venable is not a WALTER, I’m sure you’re aware. It makes much more sense for you to try your hand and work your way up or bide your time until another Frank Venable shows his face. Unfortunately, Clash 100 will not be your opportunity to discard Lissie discretely and move on – I’m going to deny you a quiet solution. You’ll walk out empty handed – then you can see if the student can defeat the master in a more honorable manner.
But the Swallowing are not the only former Tag Division members looking to reestablish themselves or find some semblance of renewed identity in this match. I’m only disappointed that finally stepping into the ring against the Scoutmaster has to be under such distracting circumstances.
I have a lot to say to you, Stuart; far more than I’m willing to say now. This is not the first time that we will step into a ring as opponents, and I still think back to Evolution III and wonder what if it was you rather than Joey Flash who I faced. I see you as a foil – I see you as a shadow – I see you as an equal. We will fight again, and we will fight under much more ideal circumstances. But you are not leaving this match with my Title, Stuart.
I’m sure you have me scouted as much as I have you scouted, Scoutmaster. You’re fast – you’re strong – your technical ability is second to none. Above all is your mind; you are easily one of the most cunning and intelligent members of the roster. And for all of those talents and factors in your favor, I question whether or not you have the hunger and drive to succeed in the face of such competition.
After Havoc it was to be seen what Jay Omega, Jason O’Neal, Stuart Slane, and Howard Black would do. You can learn a lot about who someone is and is going to be by their first move. Jay Omega was content to stay in his lane and a comfortable division; Jason O’Neal bit off more than he could chew; I announced my retirement; you sought to find a tag partner. There, Slane, was your tell. I’d like you to think to yourself whether or not Johnny Fly would’ve signed up for the Tag Division upon a grand return. We both know the answer, and we both know the why.
That said, in a similar but opposite vein, I’m happy to see you in this match, Cory (that’s Crow’s actual first name, for you youngsters). I’m pleased that you haven’t given up like Spencer Adams and returned to the Tag Division. Throughout our careers, you’ve been a brother and a mentor to me – it’s always been the three amigos of you, Kaz, and myself which turned to four with Spencer. And now we’re all back in the same company… and it’s a bit nostalgic, isn’t it?
You were always the best of us. You also always suffered from the ever creeping past and all its ugly shadows like Wade Moor and John Rabid coming back to overshadow you. But in spite of your constant distractions and the ghosts who haunt the ghost, I know the true pinnacle that Cory McMorris can reach – the Cory that was the premiere UCI Champion. The one I went to war with all those years ago.
Like Slane, this will not be the last time we stand in the ring together, Cory. It would not befit our history. In fact, I have the feeling we’re going to be reunited very, very soon. But when it comes to this match, you’ll not be walking out with my title. You’re rusty. And I know you.
I don’t have the warmest feelings for everyone in this match. Least of all someone like you, America Jackson. Let me say this from one rural American corn-fed boy to another:
Fuck you.
I’m going to clear up something for all home audiences: someone like me and someone like America Jackson are not the same. Not everyone from the Heartland is a fucking redneck, and not everyone is a bootlicker.
I know your type. I grew up going to school and playing football against them in Chadron; the type who insist “I’d have gone Special Forces but they couldn’t take me due to bone spurs, but don’t worry I respect our troops and I know Blue Lives Matter. So now I salute the boot stepping on me because I’m dumb enough to equate blind obedience to national pride as long as that boot is playing the Star Spangled Banner as covered by Toby Keith.” A lot of good old Nebraska boys whooped the shit out of a bunch of wannabe rebel Texans back in 1860 – and the whole damn arena is gonna be chanting “Do it again, Uncle Howie” when Zaigon drags your ass back to APW.
Success in another company doesn’t mean shit. It didn’t mean shit for Joey Flash, it hasn’t meant shit for America Jackson, and it isn’t going to mean shit for you, Downfall. But I will say you have my attention.
I remember being a blue chip acquisition coming into a company how many years ago. I remember the whispers amongst the locker room: “This guy’s going to be a problem”. It was Dune believing in me, giving me a chance, and me lighting a fire under his ass that propelled me into the spotlight. To be frank, I’m amused nobody’s jumped on bringing you onto their side – but then again, Trios is just around the corner.
You want my advice, kid? Don’t undersell yourself. Toss any and all experience in any other company out the window and focus on now – that’s the only way you’re gonna go anywhere or live up to any hype. But proving it won’t begin here, not with me in your way. I am not Dionysus. I am not Matthias Mintzel. Don’t worry, if you’ve got any balls you’ll stick around and have a great career one day. And if I’m wrong, then you’re exactly who AW doesn’t need more of.
But there’s no giving up or uncertainty here. When I commit to something, I put everything behind it, even if I know I’m above it. I treat nothing as not worth my time, and if it’s in my focus, I will single-mindedly accomplish it. That’s why I’m not concerned you’re in this match, Carter, even for all the hype that surrounds you. I’m not blind: I know you destroyed the same man I just finished destroying – that match solidified you as the rightful holder of the All-In briefcase even before you tapped that big bastard Corey Bull. That’s why your mind is on beating off that weasel David Sanchez and keeping your eye on the result of the main event.
Spare me the pity effort, Carter. And stay the fuck out of my way.
And that leaves me with the man holding my belt, Sam Kidsgrove. Make no mistake and take no offense, Sam – there’s no malice or entitlement in my heart. But a champion is a company pinnacle. A champion has to have hunger – have drive – have a chip on their shoulder. It doesn’t matter if you’re fighting for the top belt in the company or the second place belt in a show featuring a match higher on the card that you know you belong in – victory must be your sole drive.
I won’t make any false pretenses: I resent where I am. I’m angry not only at myself for not achieving; but at the company for denying me a second shot while James got a third and Corey Black got back-to-back interdivisional opportunities; at everyone in this locker room who has looked past me or treated me with any less gravity than I’ve earned and deserve. And I’m going to take that out on you.
It doesn’t matter if the US Title isn’t my ideal division – the moment I was booked in this match, it became my division and my title. And you are holding my title.
By the time I am done reigning over this division, it will be the top belt in the company. You all will be lining up to fight me. My name will be on all of your lips.
I won’t accept fighting the unmotivated corpse of a legend allowing me to slap him around. I won’t tolerate commentary wondering what my win means more for the career of Joey Flash than mine. I won’t forgive being overlooked. I will not crawl away a coward like Dandy DiVito or Spencer Adams when the going gets tough.
This is my stated intentions. This is my declaration of war. At Clash 100, I’m going to be the competitor I know I am. And you’ll all know it, too.
Two months ago, I watched the Action Wrestling Championship slip through my fingers as all 340 lbs of WALTER faded into unconsciousness and collapsed on me from atop a ladder. I walked into that match in the midst of a losing streak, considered a joke and an outlier by my opponents. I responded by all but erasing either’s opportunity to win that match and came closer to putting down the Mongrel than either of them. In the wake of this achievement, I was contended to watching James Nightingale end his own career by proving that madness truly is repeating the same thing and accepting different results – watching Bonnie Blue be handed yet another opportunity to squander. Unlike Spencer Adams, I’m not content to allow myself to be on the outside looking in and go back to the Tag Division; the shadow of my legacy still looms too dark above me.
Instead, I was deigned to once more create my own future and destiny, just as I’ve been tasked to do my entire career. More alive and hungry than I’ve ever been, I bit off the biggest bite I could chew from this roster and challenged a man who may just be my shadow, Dandy DiVito, to a match. In Dandy I saw a self-made wrestler – one who like me had lived for far too long in the shadows of other men – one who found himself at a crossroads, wondering which path to take.
At Execution, I dismantled Dandy DiVito.
I hoped to teach him a lesson: one communicated through sweat, pain, and blood. See, I know the feelings of doubt – of struggle – of temptation – of cowardice – of grief. But unlike him, I also know the virtues of grit, determination, passion, and perserveance; these are the lessons I sought to teach him when I took everything he could throw at me, stood tall, and demanded he do the same. Whether or not Dandy will continue from this point a changed man for the better or a coward who will return to the lazy embrace of familiarity remains to be seen. But rest assured, Dandy is not the only person who needs to be instructed.
See, I’ve been thinking lately. I think so much – some nights I get up from beside my sleeping wife and retire to the basement, pummeling my heavy bag until four in the morning, desperate to drown out the grinding gears in my head. I think strength and weakness; about pride and humility. I look at the state the country is in – a racist gameshow host for President and his scared, confused, and angry followers who double down because they refuse to admit they’ve been fooled – the limp-wristed opposition too concerned with matters of civility, decorum, and compromise to get a little fire in their guts and stand for the men and women who’s futures and the futures of their children are in grave peril. And as I beat the heavy bag over and over, I start understanding that maybe it’s the most wretched and half-fucked villains in this world who understand best how the game is played: that you cannot show weakness and cannot blink in the face of adversity.
When you’re against an unstoppable force, you must be an immovable object. And when faced with a bad guy with a gun, you must be the good guy with two.
At Clash 100, it will be WALTER vs. Black… but it will not be the Black against whom WALTER fell. People are on Twitter sharing #PutDownTheMongrel… but I already did just that. And for that, where do I find myself? What have I to show for being placed in a match where I had absolutely no public faith and yet found WALTER escaping, not beating me?
I find myself in the Consolation Division.
This company loves to prop up the delicate egos of its faded glory, doesn’t it? I suppose that only makes sense why they’d humor me with a platform. But up until this point I could distract myself with the roar of the crowd. It was never so blatantly in my face until now just where I stand and whom I’m compared to. And when I see that comparison – these faces whom I’ll be facing at Clash 100 for the United States Championship? I can’t decide if I’m more insulted that I’m thought to be on this level or that they don’t seem to think I belong.
For far too long, this roster has kept my name out of their mouths. I don’t think any of you understand: I want the smoke – I want the venom – I demand your attention.
Do you think you’ve got a snowball’s chance in Hell, Bonnie? Before anyone compares us, let me state this clearly and concisely: we are not the same. My worst days are your best – if we traded measurements, I’d make the same work of you. You made the grave mistake going into Uprising thinking I could be written off – that I could be dismissed as a simple misogynist based on morally articulated principles I stated five years ago. Time flies when you’re not paying attention, Bonnie. That’s why you found yourself all but eliminated from the equation in that match, even though you were the only one with a valid claim to face WALTER.
Let’s be perfectly clear: you showed me you were exactly who I think you are. There is no greater elaboration I have on you or the content of your skill/character going into this match. You’re a coward – a whimpering puppy trying desperately to bare her fangs – and you’re a loser.
But the only thing more insufferable than a loser is a pretentious loser, especially when they drag around coat-tail riders to keep themselves in a bubble, shielded from the reality that the company is passing you by. It must be frustrating in the middle of the card – isn’t it Lissie? – after you spent a brief and beautiful eleven minutes atop the company.
You’ve been here for a hot second – you’re seeing old faces leave and new ones come in. For all your veteran status, you’re looking up at a gaggle of people who’ve been here just as long as or even longer than you, competing at a level you’ve flirted with but only experienced fleetingly. Perhaps you lie to yourself and insist a trip through the Tag Division and a chance at the US Title is a mere detour back to your rightful place, but you can’t drown out that itch that you just may be 49 minutes from midnight in your career and what you thought was a glass ceiling was merely the roof of your own above-average talent.
Which is why the rudest of awakenings will be when Adelaide Ainsworth realizes you’re no longer of use to her and quickly discards you, probably in this very match. No doubt, she’s smart enough to have a keen grasp on the career trajectory of the Swallowing and just what it demonstrated. Congratulations, Adelaide, you’ve proven yourself a contender worth serious consideration. You’ve also demonstrated yourself cunning enough to use Lissie Hope’s star power to catapult yourself from a supporting role to potential lead. We know Lissie – we know you – we all realize you’re the brains behind the operation (all of us besides, maybe, Lissie).
But I’m curious how you can go at this alone, Adelaide. Like Lissie, you’ve flirted with the top of the card, but you’ve yet to truly taste it like your partner. A Frank Venable is not a WALTER, I’m sure you’re aware. It makes much more sense for you to try your hand and work your way up or bide your time until another Frank Venable shows his face. Unfortunately, Clash 100 will not be your opportunity to discard Lissie discretely and move on – I’m going to deny you a quiet solution. You’ll walk out empty handed – then you can see if the student can defeat the master in a more honorable manner.
But the Swallowing are not the only former Tag Division members looking to reestablish themselves or find some semblance of renewed identity in this match. I’m only disappointed that finally stepping into the ring against the Scoutmaster has to be under such distracting circumstances.
I have a lot to say to you, Stuart; far more than I’m willing to say now. This is not the first time that we will step into a ring as opponents, and I still think back to Evolution III and wonder what if it was you rather than Joey Flash who I faced. I see you as a foil – I see you as a shadow – I see you as an equal. We will fight again, and we will fight under much more ideal circumstances. But you are not leaving this match with my Title, Stuart.
I’m sure you have me scouted as much as I have you scouted, Scoutmaster. You’re fast – you’re strong – your technical ability is second to none. Above all is your mind; you are easily one of the most cunning and intelligent members of the roster. And for all of those talents and factors in your favor, I question whether or not you have the hunger and drive to succeed in the face of such competition.
After Havoc it was to be seen what Jay Omega, Jason O’Neal, Stuart Slane, and Howard Black would do. You can learn a lot about who someone is and is going to be by their first move. Jay Omega was content to stay in his lane and a comfortable division; Jason O’Neal bit off more than he could chew; I announced my retirement; you sought to find a tag partner. There, Slane, was your tell. I’d like you to think to yourself whether or not Johnny Fly would’ve signed up for the Tag Division upon a grand return. We both know the answer, and we both know the why.
That said, in a similar but opposite vein, I’m happy to see you in this match, Cory (that’s Crow’s actual first name, for you youngsters). I’m pleased that you haven’t given up like Spencer Adams and returned to the Tag Division. Throughout our careers, you’ve been a brother and a mentor to me – it’s always been the three amigos of you, Kaz, and myself which turned to four with Spencer. And now we’re all back in the same company… and it’s a bit nostalgic, isn’t it?
You were always the best of us. You also always suffered from the ever creeping past and all its ugly shadows like Wade Moor and John Rabid coming back to overshadow you. But in spite of your constant distractions and the ghosts who haunt the ghost, I know the true pinnacle that Cory McMorris can reach – the Cory that was the premiere UCI Champion. The one I went to war with all those years ago.
Like Slane, this will not be the last time we stand in the ring together, Cory. It would not befit our history. In fact, I have the feeling we’re going to be reunited very, very soon. But when it comes to this match, you’ll not be walking out with my title. You’re rusty. And I know you.
I don’t have the warmest feelings for everyone in this match. Least of all someone like you, America Jackson. Let me say this from one rural American corn-fed boy to another:
Fuck you.
I’m going to clear up something for all home audiences: someone like me and someone like America Jackson are not the same. Not everyone from the Heartland is a fucking redneck, and not everyone is a bootlicker.
I know your type. I grew up going to school and playing football against them in Chadron; the type who insist “I’d have gone Special Forces but they couldn’t take me due to bone spurs, but don’t worry I respect our troops and I know Blue Lives Matter. So now I salute the boot stepping on me because I’m dumb enough to equate blind obedience to national pride as long as that boot is playing the Star Spangled Banner as covered by Toby Keith.” A lot of good old Nebraska boys whooped the shit out of a bunch of wannabe rebel Texans back in 1860 – and the whole damn arena is gonna be chanting “Do it again, Uncle Howie” when Zaigon drags your ass back to APW.
Success in another company doesn’t mean shit. It didn’t mean shit for Joey Flash, it hasn’t meant shit for America Jackson, and it isn’t going to mean shit for you, Downfall. But I will say you have my attention.
I remember being a blue chip acquisition coming into a company how many years ago. I remember the whispers amongst the locker room: “This guy’s going to be a problem”. It was Dune believing in me, giving me a chance, and me lighting a fire under his ass that propelled me into the spotlight. To be frank, I’m amused nobody’s jumped on bringing you onto their side – but then again, Trios is just around the corner.
You want my advice, kid? Don’t undersell yourself. Toss any and all experience in any other company out the window and focus on now – that’s the only way you’re gonna go anywhere or live up to any hype. But proving it won’t begin here, not with me in your way. I am not Dionysus. I am not Matthias Mintzel. Don’t worry, if you’ve got any balls you’ll stick around and have a great career one day. And if I’m wrong, then you’re exactly who AW doesn’t need more of.
But there’s no giving up or uncertainty here. When I commit to something, I put everything behind it, even if I know I’m above it. I treat nothing as not worth my time, and if it’s in my focus, I will single-mindedly accomplish it. That’s why I’m not concerned you’re in this match, Carter, even for all the hype that surrounds you. I’m not blind: I know you destroyed the same man I just finished destroying – that match solidified you as the rightful holder of the All-In briefcase even before you tapped that big bastard Corey Bull. That’s why your mind is on beating off that weasel David Sanchez and keeping your eye on the result of the main event.
Spare me the pity effort, Carter. And stay the fuck out of my way.
And that leaves me with the man holding my belt, Sam Kidsgrove. Make no mistake and take no offense, Sam – there’s no malice or entitlement in my heart. But a champion is a company pinnacle. A champion has to have hunger – have drive – have a chip on their shoulder. It doesn’t matter if you’re fighting for the top belt in the company or the second place belt in a show featuring a match higher on the card that you know you belong in – victory must be your sole drive.
I won’t make any false pretenses: I resent where I am. I’m angry not only at myself for not achieving; but at the company for denying me a second shot while James got a third and Corey Black got back-to-back interdivisional opportunities; at everyone in this locker room who has looked past me or treated me with any less gravity than I’ve earned and deserve. And I’m going to take that out on you.
It doesn’t matter if the US Title isn’t my ideal division – the moment I was booked in this match, it became my division and my title. And you are holding my title.
By the time I am done reigning over this division, it will be the top belt in the company. You all will be lining up to fight me. My name will be on all of your lips.
I won’t accept fighting the unmotivated corpse of a legend allowing me to slap him around. I won’t tolerate commentary wondering what my win means more for the career of Joey Flash than mine. I won’t forgive being overlooked. I will not crawl away a coward like Dandy DiVito or Spencer Adams when the going gets tough.
This is my stated intentions. This is my declaration of war. At Clash 100, I’m going to be the competitor I know I am. And you’ll all know it, too.
It’s Such A Long Way Down.
And Kaz? I see you.
And Kaz? I see you.