Post by Howard Black on Jan 30, 2021 19:48:21 GMT -5
This is pretty big for you, isn’t it, Stu? It’s big for me, but this is the biggest deal in your fucking AW career. That’s not a chest-thump, that’s the facts. I know it – Circe knows it – you know it. I’m glad the belt is out of the way. I’m glad there’s no Sam Kidsgrove or Joey Flash – no Der Metzger or Odin Balfore.
When I say this is the biggest deal of your AW career, I should clarify: I’m not talking about getting a win over me. I spent the past several months building my stock in this company to watch it wash away with the wave of a few hands. I went from plotting to be the first person to unite the titles to have none at all. At Revolution, Ash will face Corey for the AW Championship – Der Metzger will face Odin for the US. I will face you for nothing – nothing but a result.
I won’t spend any more time disrespecting or downplaying your achievements. I won’t spend any time going over the past. WCF – how fucking contrived. It’s a new year: new Stuart Slane, new Howard Black. Final ONE was the show to end it all, and god, if we’re being honest – how fucking hollow did it feel? I had the offer to do Final ONE, but I turned it down: my home was not WCF, and even if it was, it’s not what I wish to be known for. Too much time has passed; how many people here in AW know Thomas Uriel Bates as anything beyond a Confederate Flag and a Foghorn Leghorn impression – how many know Johnny Fly beyond the wistful recollections of an older generation? And so here we are: Howard Black and Stuart Slane, two men at the crossroads of their careers, in search of a final way to put an exclamation point on things. WCF was then, but AW is now – neither of us are in any position to hit that mat and hear the count of three.
You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t seem as hellfire as I’ve been these preceding months: getting labeled a choke artist with a martyr complex and then having it demonstrated to you several times in a row can be humbling. Maybe things would be different if this past month hadn’t shaken out the way it did, but then again, if that were the case we wouldn’t be here. That’s neither here nor there – I don’t want you to think of this a consolation for me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be: I’d be at home trying to mend things with my wife, the one you sent a fake trophy to last week. We’ll get to that in time – but what matters is I establish and communicate to your my motive and my mentality going into this match.
So why am I here, Stu? Why am I still in Action Wrestling when Odin Balfore handed me a three second excuse to cash my chips in and get out while I still had a chance? Why am I not on the first plane back to Nebraska? Why am I still continuing to fail as a husband and a father as so many are wont to point out?
The money? No, fuck the money. I’m settled just fine.
The pride? Sure, there’s the pride – who wants to go out on their back? But that’s not all of it.
The fame? Don’t make me laugh – I’ve never been about the fame to the point some people think my modesty is disingenuous.
Perhaps you don’t deserve an apology. After all, what have I realistically done to you? Eliminated you from a battle royale – made a sneering comment about Johnny Fly – passed you out when I should’ve shown you mercy? I’m sure there’s plenty of people who could look at this situation and interject that you tried to intentionally break my arm – you’ve taken cheap shots at me both verbally and physically – you’ve spent the past couple months attempting to smear my name and get under my skin. We’ve gotten ourselves into a nice little pissing contest – haven’t we Stu – and the only reason people aren’t talking about how well you’ve out-petty’d me if I’ve beaten you twice.
And – you know what – if I were you, I’d be pretty goddamn mad at me, too. Here you are coming out, giving your all every single week – night after night trying to figure out which combination works to unlock the code to your success to only marginal results if at all – and find nothing. US, TV, Tag Titles – how many shots have you been given and found yourself running into a brick wall? Stuart Slane signs up for AW and tries to ingratiate himself into the locker room – offers an overture for a tag partner unlike these other high-fallutin’ WCF castoffs who’re all making runs at the singles division – gets a big middle finger in his face as a result. Gets used by Amelia Abernathy until she takes her ball and goes back to the Indies, gets stalked and harassed by Carnivore in a desperate ploy to get anyone to buy his self-administered label of “dangerous”. You’re a man who’s given a lot – you gave Amelia Abernathy opportunities she couldn’t handle, you gave Carnivore infamy he didn’t deserve, you gave Der Metzger a rub he hadn’t earned.
All this giving, and then in comes Max Daemon, with his PETA sponsorship undercutting your friend and confidant Circe, walking to the front of the line and finding success. And all you can think about was how you came so close… how you were seconds away from cracking the code… and then Howard Black dumped you over the top ropes.
Am I the key to your code, Stu? I don’t know. Maybe. But I think that you think I am. This match for you, come what may, is a rectification of your stumbling blocks. You’re not content being the guy talented enough to win his way into the Wild Card Round of Wrestler of the Year only to immediately lose out to Wesley – you wanna beat the guy who beat him, who just so happened to have beaten you when you had your chance at glory. You need to make this hit land because without it what fucking difference is there between Stuart Slane and Zombie McMorris or David fuckin’ Sanchez. You need this because beating me allows you to prove that you belong – that you’re not a never-hyped, not needed lukewarm money ball acquisition to stuff a Havoc surprise slot and fill out the midcard. This match is the most important fucking match of your AW career because if you win, then you’ll have that momentum to turn around and cave in Odin or Der Metzger’s head – or maybe Downfall’s – or maybe Ash Blake or Corey fuckin’ Black’s – but if you lose, oh buddy, then you’re a loser.
But you’re not a loser, Stu. You’re not a mid-card drifter or an over-the-hill WCF also-ran. You’re not an Action Wrestling jobber to the starts. You’re a real prick with your head up your ass right now, but you weren’t always that way. You were down, and I was in a position to help you back up. Instead, I gave you a kick. I got too high on my own supply and was too mad at the world, so I brought you down to my level. At that level, I took pleasure in watching you get mad. And now here we are. I’m probably too late to stop the slide any more. I doubt you want to hear anything I’m saying and think there’s a certain gall and arrogance for me to ascribe any portion of your life and choices to my actions. Maybe you’re right. Either way, I shouldn’t have treated you how I have.
I did admire you, Stu. You were worth my challenge more than settling a petty grudge with Joey Flash. Now here we are, and you just may be my greatest rival in this company. So, as I find myself once again at a crossroads in my career, I’d like to acknowledge that.
You know, for all the cheap shots you’ve thrown at me these couple of months, it’s not just me who sees me as the villain in this story. Last week whatever power may be booked a match – I’m sure you remember it not just because it was a week ago but also Circe sent out a nice little bulletin to your partners. But for whatever reason, the powers that be drew the lines – and it wasn’t you who was chosen to line-up with Der Metzger, Ash Blake, and Carter Shaw. It was me.
Maybe I’m thinking too much into it. I’m not inclined to spend much time dwelling on things. But I look at you, a self-described “warrior poet”, and I listen to what you say. There’s something I can’t help but find so bitter and so unnecessary about this entire situation. Perhaps I’m wasting my breath. Maybe you don’t want to hear this. Either way, I can offer you an apology. And if you don’t want that, I will still grant you your match.
But as we go into this match, I want you to understand everything that’s at stake and everything I’m going to bring. Because I may have a losing streak, but do not get confused: I am still going to be the hardest opponent you’ve ever fought. Even after a string of humiliations, I am still the 2020 Wrestler of the Year looking for the moment to reassert my purpose and value – anyone who thinks it’s just suddenly disappeared and gone for good is a fool or a liar. You, Stu, are that moment. This match – this confrontation at the aptly named Revolution – is my opportunity to restate myself. It will be at your expense – at the expense of a competitor who cannot afford another close loss.
I am, pound-for-pound, the greatest wrestler that has walked through this company. My flaws have been stated so thoroughly they go without stating: I’m unbeatable when behind and a pushover when ahead – I’m fueled by the chip on my shoulder. It’s time to flip a coin and see which one is more influential because there are two big Goddamn truths in this match-up: one, that I’m incredibly pissed off and ready to take it out on someone; and two, that you are very, very much the underdog in this match.
And that, Stu, is why I’m sorry. Because while you need this win more than you’ve ever needed it in your career, I’m going to deny it to you. Just as I did at Clash 100 when I hoisted the US Championship in the air. But this time, when the bell rings and my music hits, I’m going to offer you my hand. And it won’t be a show of dominance or condescension but your opportunity to step back from the edge.
We’ll see, won’t we? In the meanwhile, I’m sorry for what I have to do to you, Stu. I’m so Goddamn sorry. And no matter how low you think you’re at now…
There’s just you.
And me.
When I say this is the biggest deal of your AW career, I should clarify: I’m not talking about getting a win over me. I spent the past several months building my stock in this company to watch it wash away with the wave of a few hands. I went from plotting to be the first person to unite the titles to have none at all. At Revolution, Ash will face Corey for the AW Championship – Der Metzger will face Odin for the US. I will face you for nothing – nothing but a result.
Are you ready, Stu? Because this is the biggest fucking deal in your AW career.
I won’t spend any more time disrespecting or downplaying your achievements. I won’t spend any time going over the past. WCF – how fucking contrived. It’s a new year: new Stuart Slane, new Howard Black. Final ONE was the show to end it all, and god, if we’re being honest – how fucking hollow did it feel? I had the offer to do Final ONE, but I turned it down: my home was not WCF, and even if it was, it’s not what I wish to be known for. Too much time has passed; how many people here in AW know Thomas Uriel Bates as anything beyond a Confederate Flag and a Foghorn Leghorn impression – how many know Johnny Fly beyond the wistful recollections of an older generation? And so here we are: Howard Black and Stuart Slane, two men at the crossroads of their careers, in search of a final way to put an exclamation point on things. WCF was then, but AW is now – neither of us are in any position to hit that mat and hear the count of three.
And that, Stu, is why this is the biggest fucking deal in your AW career.
You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t seem as hellfire as I’ve been these preceding months: getting labeled a choke artist with a martyr complex and then having it demonstrated to you several times in a row can be humbling. Maybe things would be different if this past month hadn’t shaken out the way it did, but then again, if that were the case we wouldn’t be here. That’s neither here nor there – I don’t want you to think of this a consolation for me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be: I’d be at home trying to mend things with my wife, the one you sent a fake trophy to last week. We’ll get to that in time – but what matters is I establish and communicate to your my motive and my mentality going into this match.
Because if you come at me with anything less than your complete and utter most drive to win, you are going to lose. I promise you.
So why am I here, Stu? Why am I still in Action Wrestling when Odin Balfore handed me a three second excuse to cash my chips in and get out while I still had a chance? Why am I not on the first plane back to Nebraska? Why am I still continuing to fail as a husband and a father as so many are wont to point out?
The money? No, fuck the money. I’m settled just fine.
The pride? Sure, there’s the pride – who wants to go out on their back? But that’s not all of it.
The fame? Don’t make me laugh – I’ve never been about the fame to the point some people think my modesty is disingenuous.
I’m here for one thing and one thing only: to apologize. This, Stuart, is my apology to you.
Perhaps you don’t deserve an apology. After all, what have I realistically done to you? Eliminated you from a battle royale – made a sneering comment about Johnny Fly – passed you out when I should’ve shown you mercy? I’m sure there’s plenty of people who could look at this situation and interject that you tried to intentionally break my arm – you’ve taken cheap shots at me both verbally and physically – you’ve spent the past couple months attempting to smear my name and get under my skin. We’ve gotten ourselves into a nice little pissing contest – haven’t we Stu – and the only reason people aren’t talking about how well you’ve out-petty’d me if I’ve beaten you twice.
And – you know what – if I were you, I’d be pretty goddamn mad at me, too. Here you are coming out, giving your all every single week – night after night trying to figure out which combination works to unlock the code to your success to only marginal results if at all – and find nothing. US, TV, Tag Titles – how many shots have you been given and found yourself running into a brick wall? Stuart Slane signs up for AW and tries to ingratiate himself into the locker room – offers an overture for a tag partner unlike these other high-fallutin’ WCF castoffs who’re all making runs at the singles division – gets a big middle finger in his face as a result. Gets used by Amelia Abernathy until she takes her ball and goes back to the Indies, gets stalked and harassed by Carnivore in a desperate ploy to get anyone to buy his self-administered label of “dangerous”. You’re a man who’s given a lot – you gave Amelia Abernathy opportunities she couldn’t handle, you gave Carnivore infamy he didn’t deserve, you gave Der Metzger a rub he hadn’t earned.
All this giving, and then in comes Max Daemon, with his PETA sponsorship undercutting your friend and confidant Circe, walking to the front of the line and finding success. And all you can think about was how you came so close… how you were seconds away from cracking the code… and then Howard Black dumped you over the top ropes.
Am I the key to your code, Stu? I don’t know. Maybe. But I think that you think I am. This match for you, come what may, is a rectification of your stumbling blocks. You’re not content being the guy talented enough to win his way into the Wild Card Round of Wrestler of the Year only to immediately lose out to Wesley – you wanna beat the guy who beat him, who just so happened to have beaten you when you had your chance at glory. You need to make this hit land because without it what fucking difference is there between Stuart Slane and Zombie McMorris or David fuckin’ Sanchez. You need this because beating me allows you to prove that you belong – that you’re not a never-hyped, not needed lukewarm money ball acquisition to stuff a Havoc surprise slot and fill out the midcard. This match is the most important fucking match of your AW career because if you win, then you’ll have that momentum to turn around and cave in Odin or Der Metzger’s head – or maybe Downfall’s – or maybe Ash Blake or Corey fuckin’ Black’s – but if you lose, oh buddy, then you’re a loser.
…
But you’re not a loser, Stu. You’re not a mid-card drifter or an over-the-hill WCF also-ran. You’re not an Action Wrestling jobber to the starts. You’re a real prick with your head up your ass right now, but you weren’t always that way. You were down, and I was in a position to help you back up. Instead, I gave you a kick. I got too high on my own supply and was too mad at the world, so I brought you down to my level. At that level, I took pleasure in watching you get mad. And now here we are. I’m probably too late to stop the slide any more. I doubt you want to hear anything I’m saying and think there’s a certain gall and arrogance for me to ascribe any portion of your life and choices to my actions. Maybe you’re right. Either way, I shouldn’t have treated you how I have.
I did admire you, Stu. You were worth my challenge more than settling a petty grudge with Joey Flash. Now here we are, and you just may be my greatest rival in this company. So, as I find myself once again at a crossroads in my career, I’d like to acknowledge that.
You know, for all the cheap shots you’ve thrown at me these couple of months, it’s not just me who sees me as the villain in this story. Last week whatever power may be booked a match – I’m sure you remember it not just because it was a week ago but also Circe sent out a nice little bulletin to your partners. But for whatever reason, the powers that be drew the lines – and it wasn’t you who was chosen to line-up with Der Metzger, Ash Blake, and Carter Shaw. It was me.
Maybe I’m thinking too much into it. I’m not inclined to spend much time dwelling on things. But I look at you, a self-described “warrior poet”, and I listen to what you say. There’s something I can’t help but find so bitter and so unnecessary about this entire situation. Perhaps I’m wasting my breath. Maybe you don’t want to hear this. Either way, I can offer you an apology. And if you don’t want that, I will still grant you your match.
But as we go into this match, I want you to understand everything that’s at stake and everything I’m going to bring. Because I may have a losing streak, but do not get confused: I am still going to be the hardest opponent you’ve ever fought. Even after a string of humiliations, I am still the 2020 Wrestler of the Year looking for the moment to reassert my purpose and value – anyone who thinks it’s just suddenly disappeared and gone for good is a fool or a liar. You, Stu, are that moment. This match – this confrontation at the aptly named Revolution – is my opportunity to restate myself. It will be at your expense – at the expense of a competitor who cannot afford another close loss.
I am, pound-for-pound, the greatest wrestler that has walked through this company. My flaws have been stated so thoroughly they go without stating: I’m unbeatable when behind and a pushover when ahead – I’m fueled by the chip on my shoulder. It’s time to flip a coin and see which one is more influential because there are two big Goddamn truths in this match-up: one, that I’m incredibly pissed off and ready to take it out on someone; and two, that you are very, very much the underdog in this match.
And that, Stu, is why I’m sorry. Because while you need this win more than you’ve ever needed it in your career, I’m going to deny it to you. Just as I did at Clash 100 when I hoisted the US Championship in the air. But this time, when the bell rings and my music hits, I’m going to offer you my hand. And it won’t be a show of dominance or condescension but your opportunity to step back from the edge.
We’ll see, won’t we? In the meanwhile, I’m sorry for what I have to do to you, Stu. I’m so Goddamn sorry. And no matter how low you think you’re at now…
…It’s such a long way down.