Post by Carter Shaw on Feb 21, 2021 10:41:24 GMT -5
“If you don’t heal what hurt you, you’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you,” -Kyle Kemp
Carter Shaw sits on the hood of his Jeep Wrangler parked out in front of his house. A couple blades of grass in his hand, he pulls at them a bit, ripping off and tossing little pieces of green. Hoodie up, his blue eyes finally look up from the mental check out of staring at his moving hands.
Corey Bull...we meet again. We knew it was only a matter of time, an inevitably in a company in which circling the wagons comes with the territory.
His house in Las Vegas, standing tall behind him, STILL has “NO MORE NICE THINGS” spray painted across the front of it in huge letters. He hadn’t had it painted over. Not yet. Shaw slowly looks over his shoulder, peering around the black hood at those letters still yelling out from the vinyl.
“No More Nice Things”. Last fall, this was your message to me. After I won the All-In briefcase, standing tall over Wesley...over Crow McMorris...over Frank Lowe...over you...you made it out to be as if I stole the opportunity from you. I need not remind you of the things that transpired, I’m sure, because I’m thinking it’s the last time the almighty Hatebringer felt powerful.
You landed your shots, that’s undeniable. Severed the potential relationship I could have had with my half-sister Samantha Shaw; Managing to be the one to kidnap her and, in the end, make me look like the bad guy. You left this message all over my personal life while I was away fighting tooth and nail on Monday Night Clashes to continuously earn my spot.
You burned down my mother’s house in Boston.
You changed me, Corey Bull. You can have those words, said by Carter Shaw himself, etched onto wood to hang up on your mantle. You changed me. Because you made me fully aware of what kind of soul-less, respect-less, restriction-less shit can happen in these parts. You showed me that, when push comes to shove, anything and everything is out on the table.
And I have come to embrace that element. But let’s not forget...that after everything you did to try and drag me through the mud...in the end, I beat your ass in the middle of the ring, reminded the world once again why you always have to reach OUTSIDE of the industry to bring an opponent down. Because in the ring? In actual physical battle? You wilt and falter.
All 83 inches of you, and you still can’t measure up.
You put all that energy into trying to ensure that “Golden Boy” Carter Shaw was left with no more nice things, and what happened?
Philidor Holdings.
AW’s 2020 Rookie Of The Year.
AW’s 2020 Future World Champion. Sure, the briefcase helps with that, but I’d count the All-In contract as a nice thing I still have.
So where do we stand now, Bull? That’s the important question, much more important than a rundown on tense history.
I suppose you could say I got to use weapons previously used against me, and I just managed to be the one to put David Sanchez in fuckin’ handcuffs. Beating him IN the ring and then outside the ring, just because he fuckin’ deserved it. I got to feel that different kind of victory that I’m sure you felt when you and Loa let Sam Shaw go from captivity.
And you?
Frank Lowe was able to bring the hate, and have you kneel at his feet...all because Loa was in the dangerous grasp of the Hangmen. And as they pulled back on her hair and held her out like the kryptonite you opened yourself up to, you let Frank Lowe take your mask off...and pin you. You laid down. You handed him the win and your fate, all because they exploited your personal weakness for their personal gain.
Raging Dead didn’t deserve any of it. Derrick Vayden didn’t deserve it. You sure as fuck deserve every last goddamn ounce of it.
How does your own medicine taste, you swing-and-miss waste of Earth’s oxygen…
A sobering reminder that even Hell’s bastard son has somebody he now needs to answer to, and unironically, it’s the Devil himself.
I will never condone any single thing about Frank Lowe’s existence...but just like David Sanchez, still in a cell somewhere yelling out for his failing connections and plastic pedestals...everything you do finds a way to come right back around to you.
And in the ring? At Monday Night Clash? We all know you will never overcome the in-ring obstacle of Carter Shaw. But I will enjoy this passing victory over you on a different level.
And this time, I get to see the look on your face as I do it.
“nO mORe NiCe tHiNgS?”
He lowers his shoulder to give the words across the front of the house center stage once again.
Fuck that, we create our own fate every damn day we live.
His reflection stared back at him as if it were from another dimension.
“What did Kemp mean? What was he referring to?”
Shaw traced the letters tattooed on his fingers. His interactions with The Following were certainly interesting over the past 2 weeks. Meeting with Kyle Kemp in the Philidor Lounge didn’t go exactly how he had expected. He wasn’t expecting a sales pitch, of sorts; Kemp lobbying for Shaw to join The Following. There was certainly a way about him. Everyone has always known Kemp was charismatic and convincing, but it was in the way he talks, what he talks about, that certainly had an effect on people.
“If you don’t heal what hurt you…”
Kemp peered through the wrestling world and spoke to you as a person, atleast that’s the gameplan. Was it genuine? Was it a facade? Is it a gambling man sticking to his playing style in true trust that it will pay off in a long-term investment? When Shaw visited the Following Compound the following week, he knew he was a stranger in a strange land. But he made sure to be the one bringing the offers to the table this go around, even if he knew it wouldn’t be accepted in the end.
It was all about sending a message.
“You’ll bleed on people who didn’t cut you.”
All that mattered, in the end, was that they managed to win together. Philidor and Following, strange bedfellows; as a majority of the OG Bishop Battlebowl field was. Spencer Adams and Howard Black put history aside to succeed. Corey Bull and Sam Kidsgrove plowed ahead, despite being in different books; let alone, different pages. What made Kemp and Shaw so special for forging their path together?
Fresh wounds. Wesley. And Shaw’s part in possibly ending his career.
“Did he know it would resonate with me this much? I can’t let him know that. I can’t let him know that one of his dart throws hit the bullseye. I can’t let Philidor know either.”
Shaw knew exactly why these parting words stuck with him.
But did Kemp?
With a shifting turn of the body, Shaw changed his glance towards the far window rather than the mirror.
There’s always something about going up against an institution of AW that gets me goin’.
Sam Kidsgrove, you are an AW institution. From your debut in the very first Havoc Rumble in 2018, almost 3 years ago, all the way through to this very Triple Threat match against your BattleBowl partner and Mr. All-In.
There is no better proving ground, still, for me on this trajectory. Ya see, I’m living in a bit of a bubble, a bubble you actually may feel very familiar with.
“Does he have what it takes to get to the next level?” Sure, I’ve got the briefcase. Sure, everyone looks at that as a guaranteed reign of some kind with the AW World Heavyweight Championship. That alone puts me a level ahead of you, Kidsgrove, but by how much?
We’re judged harshly by our peers in this sport for what we do with our chances. When that brass ring is there, all it takes is one or two failures to grab it and you sit with one of the most stubborn stigmas attached to your name. A bust in the big time.
I’m finding that, as I continue to succeed and push forward, it’s the victories against institutions like yourself, Kidsgrove, that build a little bit of a defense against that stigma. Against the AW Originals.
Against the Dandys, the Lockharts, the Corey Bulls...and after Monday Night Clash, I can add you to the list of the beaten; brick by brick. All of the people that you’ve scuffled with and then been left in their dust as they’ve continued towards greener pastures you can’t reach...you can add me to your list of that sort. Look at that. Especially after I get to send my simple message to everyone ELSE that will be on that Battlefield. With another hand raised this Monday, I say one thing.
I...am...for...real.
Kidsgrove, on the other hand, you’re like the wallpaper AW uses. Sure, it’s been up this entire time, but nobody ever really pays attention to it.
It’s hard to stand out while trying to be the good guy, isn’t it Sam? In the AW landscape of misdeeds and dirty doings, the attempt at being a ‘shining star’ seems constantly blocked out by the number of dark clouds. I find myself somewhere in between with my Philidor sponsorship, and that’s ok.
You’re stuck in a type-cast. Just like Zooey, who is perpetually stuck being the quirky, just-cute-enough girl who may surprise you with an extroverted thought...you, Sam Kidsgrove, are type-cast as the B-tier Hollywood outsider. Even in a company you helped build. And ya know what? That’s ok. After losing your United States Championship, you’re stuck in a limbo that at least led you to a Television Title shot at Revolution. A certain “we have to put this guy somewhere” move from the company who knows you have name value, even if every display of performance you provide falls under that value’s expectation.
You’re still Hollywood A-list in my book, Sam Kidsgrove.
But in Atlanta? For this little Battlebowl finale warm-up between you, Corey Bull and myself?
I flip the script.