Post by Spencer Adams on Jun 24, 2021 15:13:22 GMT -5
“You know how they always tell you..strive to be the best you can be and try to get everything out of yourself that you can as a basketball player, your potential...this is what it means. It means that I got the best out of myself as a small guy in this league and that’s all I can ask for.”
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Spencer: Yeah.
Spencer lifts a hand behind him, not stopping to actually look at the visitor as his eyes remain focused on the TV and the post game celebration of the 1989 NBA Finals. The locker room door opens and a curious female voice comes over the top of the audio and bounces off the walls of the otherwise silent space.
Spencer: Training.
Adilene: Really? For him too? You guys just been sitting here watching thirty year old basketball games all day?
Spencer: Pull up a chair.
Adilene: I wish I could, but they’re supposed to be pulling me to work celebrity interviews in a bit.
Spencer: Madhouse out there, isn’t it?
Adilene: Insane.
Spencer: That’s what I figured.
Adilene: Is that what the security is for?
He turns around at the mention, clearly a revelation.
Congratulations, Ash. You made it to the big dance and in impressive fashion too, might I add. Putting away Corey Black and then putting away Corey Black all those other times, outlasting five contenders to make it out of that chamber in one piece. I mean, look at you! Started from the bottom, now you’re here. Sure, the elevator may have sped things up a bit, but I know who it is that I’m facing. Quick, agile...time and time again, you take the expectations of others and you shatter them and it’s the exact reason that nobody has been able to succeed to the level that you have. You prey on the fact that people underestimate you and what do they do? They just fucking let you and your crew have your way with them. They reach crunch time, drop down to their knees, look up into your pitch black pupils and in their final breath all they can manage to get out is a simp voiced “Step on me, mommy.”
This sport is dirty, it’s intense. I’ve been there and I get it. So many of us busted our asses to get to a place like Action Wrestling, because we have that love for the rollercoaster ride that is professional wrestling and being able to do it at the highest level. The one thing that connects us is that passion for both the ups and the downs of the business and it’s something that you and yours are actively aiming to strip from it. Philidor Holdings isn’t just here threatening to tear down the house that Spencer Adams built, you want to gentrify the entire goddamn neighborhood, but you see what you’re up against as well. You see someone coming for you who is driven by more than just self preservation.
Tell me, Miss Blake, what are your expectations now? Where will you be when the dust has settled? Something tells me that despite all your posturing and rehearsed confidence, the facial expressions straight from the Mark Zuckerberg University of smiling, that you have legitimate concern heading into this one. You can beat Corey Black out of contention, because he knows he has himself and his name to protect. You double up on Spencer Adams, because you know that he's different. My stubbornness has weathered the storm against a nefarious fraternity before and it will do so again. I don’t give a fuck if that means you, Carter, and the dozen salteen cracker lackeys you’ve got sitting in the reserves. I’m here to pick it all apart.
I’m here now, you’re here now. The fortress has been built for you, the drawbridge retracted, and the moat filled with pixel art NFT alligators. You hold the top prize and you’re at the highest altitude right now scanning over the landscape from the watchtower for the usurper to the usurper. You’re cozy, but not quite cozy enough, because there’s a big red target in the center of your spine and two bloodshot eyes that have sprouted in the back of your skull to match it. That one thing that provides the most comfort for me though is what you see when you look down at your waist. That belt is further leverage and you love that most about it, but what you don’t love is the two words you see secured to it’s main plate. Those two words that confront you with something you don’t have an answer for, the question that is on the minds of the majority of onlooker minds as well.
Who the fuck is Ash Blake?
For every day that your streak of dominance as world champion continues, for every win that has you creeping up closer to the doorstep of the Ryan Lockhart record, you still remain nothing more than a mannequin champion lacking the heart and soul of every single person who has preceded you. Good or evil, legendary or a lucky break..each of them had the definition of self that you fail to show. While not unoriginal in your presentation, at your core as a human being, you’re a nothing person playing dress up. Everything you do is a look, but when you look at Ash Blake what is it you see?
When you first came to us, you were selling the world on a determined scrapper who wasn’t ever meant to be in Action Wrestling in the first place. That was your narrative, right? You were lucky, fortunate to even be given the chance at employment by this company. Sure, it was all red herring bullshit as we’d later find out, but that first impression is still worth dissecting and beating you over the fucking head with and as you do your best to take the wrestling out of wrestling and force feed us all gross disregard for wrestling’s unique qualities like the fake fucking nothing person you always have been and always will be. To quote Ash Blake herself, "If she has any honor at all, she'd send her pet away and we'd face each other one on one.”
You said that on day one and now look at you, so far removed from the image of the girl who spent the early weeks faking it for the camera as you navigated through the waves of curtain jerking nobodies and pillars of mediocrity. Risen, but nowhere close to a fully realized human being. You went from Scrappy Doo to the face of facelessness. For all intents and purposes, you are exactly what people think Olivia Rodrigo is, the capable but disingenuous industry plant here for no reason other than to further feed the cartoon mouse. You exposed yourself and it was only a matter of time before someone capable of turning that into a detriment would come along and make you pay for it.
You came out of that chamber in one piece and were mostly unphased when it was Walter that you were looking up at. Now that it’s Spencer Adams, your tone has shifted. You took to saving face and upping the strategy the moment that I won Havoc, because I am a problem for you as an incumbent champion who stands for nothing other than the board that tells her what to stand for. In Spencer Adams, you see a flawed person, but a dangerous one as well and you were right. I don’t stay down. Every single person who has tried to kill the legend of Spencer Adams has absolutely fucking failed.
That includes you, the party leader content with falling back into the shadows while out of touch has-beens take to social media to prop Lissie up with “Yaasss queen” and “Show the haters” bullshit only for her to eat the sole of my boot before the final five. It includes Shaw and his growing list of early exits from significant matches that include Spencer Adams. It’s all the security, polo geeks, and anyone else willing to stand behind you while you shit all over the thing that I have spent years of my life trying to improve. I want every single obstacle you’ve got, every last thing you and yours have drawn up in the Philidor playbook, because I’m going to spoil every single one. Today, you start your new life free of that belt and the burden that comes with trying to figure out who you are and what exactly it is that you’re the champion of.
Nate Burleson: Today is the day, arguably the biggest Evolution ever-
Torture: Nate, come on! It IS the biggest Evolution ever! We’ve got all the stars here tonight, right? Biggest night in Action Wrestling HISTORY!
Nate Burleson: ..Right.
Torture: You’re stoked, yeah?! You know, I feel like a fan myself tonight! Huge main event level matches up and down the entire card! It’s been a great weekend and it’s only going to keep getting bett-
Spencer: HEY!
The conversation diverts its attention towards a heated Spencer Adams making his way towards the interview scene, nostrils flaring and eyes aimed at the co-president. Nate fails to contain a half smile and the camera crew immediately cuts away.
Spencer: You mind telling me what the Hell is going on here?
Torture: Evolution 4, baby! Huge night for us! Huge night for YOU, am I right?!
Spencer: Why the FUCK are there people standing guard outside MY locker room?!
Torture: Not to worry! Everything is going according to plan! We’re totally on track and we’re going to deliver the GOODS tonight!
Spencer: I don’t know what the fuck it is you’ve got going on with these people, but open your goddamn eyes and recognize that it’s killing this company. Remember, it was YOU who came to me three years ago with the contract in hand and told me you were looking for people to help make this company something special. Now what? You’re just going to stand here and smile like a jackass while it gets sold out to people who don’t give a shit what happens to it in the long run?
Torture: Spencer, Spencer, Spencer! Come on, man! Get excited! Evolution, you closing out the show! What’s not to love?!
Torture maintains his composure, albeit with a tinge of visible discomfort while Spencer steps closer with his confrontational stance still present.
This is not going to be your coronation. In fact, you made sure that it wouldn’t be through your decision to simply occupy space since the new year hit. You deserve nothing more than to once again get sonned in a match with actual stakes by someone bold enough to take action and get shit done. I’m not here to give you your flowers, Carter. A month ago, I looked into a camera just like this one and told you plain and simple, that you were a bitch. Well, here we are and absolutely nothing has changed outside of the fact that you’ve put yourself in front of me as a man feeling backed into a corner. You played your games, twirled your cane and let your lips part to show your teeth. All this failed plotting and hasty execution and all you’ll have to show for it is a broken smile and the often revisited drawing board.
Extra opportunities have come your way and you’ve choked them away like piling up those shortcomings is what you were striving for. While you were simply trying to get here, I was actually doing it and now that I’m here, I’m looking at a man who is damn near out of answers. Opportunity isn’t just something that you fail to seize, it’s becoming your Achilles heel. The pressure of being Mr. All In and having to figure out how to make that more than just a moniker is the chain that weighs you down. That briefcase isn’t control over your own bleak outlook, it’s that one final Regis Philbin lifeline and you’re the poor dope who used them all up before you hit the thousand dollar waypoint.
Why? Because no matter how many times you say otherwise, you lack the control in general over your own destiny. You’re not the hero of your own story and you haven’t been for a long time. You’re a helpless support character bat-signaling for your protection to come and bail out the career you’ve never known how to properly manage. It could’ve been different for you, but even when the Kool-Aid tasted off, you just opted to keep on drinking it since it allowed you to hand the reins over to those capable of masking all your insecurities, even if it was only a temporary release for you. Bottom line, you aren’t even comfortable with having to maintain your own autonomy and as someone who once looked at you and thought “the rookie has talent”, it’s pretty depressing.
Don’t get it twisted though, that really only hurts you, not me. Seeing what you’ve become and what you’re okay with endorsing and taking part in, I could give a fuck less about your best interest. Not when your best interest is to shit on who and what got you so much as one set of eyeballs on you in the first place. Remember, Shaw? The chair shot heard around the world? Back when you were a soft-skinned greenhorn with a work in progress catchphrase and a little engine attitude? I let you swing on me and swing you did. At that point in time, I felt genuine pride as a locker room leader and someone who was fortunate to see one of the most naturally gifted of the next generation up close.
You know that getting anywhere near winning that belt, tonight or any other night after means that you would have to be the Carter Shaw you were back when you first confronted a lone Spencer Adams, but you also know that version of yourself died the minute you made a handshake agreement with the devil that currently forces your hand in whichever direction it damn well pleases and that’s tough, because you remember the same guy I do, one who not only fought for himself, but real people who believed in him for him and not their own fucked up take on him.
Their repackage of Carter Shaw is such a letdown that TONIGHT is all he is anymore. What is it that has you ready for this stage, Shaw? Is it all the feet dragging, not doing a fucking thing and getting to watch Spencer Adams punch his ticket here from close up while you were as middling as you could possibly be? What do you think happens when a muscle doesn't get used? Do you think it stays strong? Even more pressing, what does your underprepared ass do if a double team plan succeeds momentarily and it's Ash going for a pinfall and you’re forced to watch the last remnants of rookie Shaw fall through your fingertips? Do you play good boy for these fucking bots and stand there like a Queen's guard and say one last goodbye to your diminishing prospects? You are going to have hang ups and decisions to make. I won't. You have to answer to people who cut you extra checks and I won’t. You know that it’s not as easy as “I don’t care as long as Philidor wins.”, because under their thumb, this may very well be all that you get.
You’ve tried testing me thinking it would grant you a rent free stay inside my head long enough for you to finally make something out of the task at hand. This is where you learn that when you push me, I’m King Push. So, let’s talk about it, shall we? Tag division aside, no momentum aside. Let’s have a heart-to-heart about your pride. Let’s talk about how Carter Shaw is closer to being Noris Cranley than he is to being the newly crowned king of Philidor Holdings and that’s REAL. You’re a mile from the top and only a misstep from being sent over to take a seat at the same production monitors you spent last week overlooking. No more big kids table, no more vested interest, just Carter Shaw being told to fall back. You’ll listen too, because that’s who you are now, a dog who just wants the owner to tell him he’s a good boy.
Craziest thing is that taking what could’ve been a special career and handing it over to a group of iron grip capitalists for it to be thoroughly cumpstered and dumpstered is only the second dumbest thing you’ve done in Action Wrestling. The first was deciding to use your cash in on Spencer Adams. Of all the moments you could’ve struck, you pick a heads up and a peacock taunting towards the champion of everything there is to be champion of, the white hot challenger, and the guy who has yet to fall at Evolution. This could’ve been gone about a hundred different ways and you just had to choose the worst fucking one. Those who don’t learn from history..well..you know.
In a now empty locker room, Spencer rests his right hand on a small remote pointed at the screen mounted above. His right hand hovers over the rewind button, pressing it as the footage from 1989 reaches its conclusion.
*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*
Still on edge, he slides a finger to mute and drops the remote on the empty chair next to him and turns to rise and answer himself. He swings it open himself, changing demeanor instantly to genuine surprise.
Isiah Thomas: Mind if I come in?
Spencer: Uh...yeah, by all means.
The two walk at a slow pace inside, the door closing behind them.
Spencer: Not exactly.
Isiah Thomas: Oh, I see how it is.
Thomas glances up at the screen, the final minutes of game four still playing out.
Spencer: I mean-
A smile forms over his face.
Spencer: Just taking it all in. It’s been a few years since I’ve been here.
Isiah Thomas: Just means you’re three years wiser.
The two have a seat, looking back up at the screen, a scene that Isiah had played through plenty of times himself.
Spencer: I know that feeling.
Isiah Thomas: We were that team, you know? Love us or hate us, we played our asses off from tip off to the final buzzer, because no matter how the people in charge of the game felt about us, we always knew how we felt about the game itself and that’s the secret right there, young man. I don’t think a lot of people would’ve expected us to sweep those Showtime Lakers, but we did it. They were the team nearly the whole decade and we were the ones to cap it off. Back to back, putting a whole city on our back and creating a culture.
You know, it's funny to think that I'm sitting here having this conversation with a Chicago boy. I'm supposed to hate you, but I don't think I can right now. Tell me, do you think the powers that be wanted the damn Detroit Pistons winning rings over Boston or LA? If it were up to them, it'd be purple and gold versus green as the last teams left every single time. Screwed that all up though, didn't we? Don't get me wrong, if it was Michael I was in this room with, I probably wouldn't be so nice. Real recognize real though, young man. You're a fighter. I think both our cities understand that and get what it is you're trying to do here and as the six footer who played every minute like there wasn't anybody out there an inch taller than him, I'm just glad to see that didn't die with my retirement.
Spencer: I appreciate that.
Isiah: Detroit never has gotten the love that it deserves and I’m not someone who is running around just giving out endorsements to whoever, but those people are counting on you and as someone who cares about them, don’t make me regret it.
I’ve seen eras come and go, seen dynasty after dynasty crumble while I remained strong and committed to what I was doing and where I was doing it. Under the AW umbrella, I’ve not only grown as an athlete, but as a human being. I’ve been here as the shows got bigger and bigger, the viewership upticked by thousands and then millions. I’ve taken divisions and raised them up, taken hopefuls and given them the best that Spencer Adams could have given them. Action Wrestling has always been there for me when I needed it most and tonight, I’m going to return the favor.
I’m taking my title, OUR title, back from people who look at it as nothing more than a device they can use to further lord over the landscape with ill intent. I’ve been here before, fending off threats to the integrity of the sport I love, the sport that takes care of me. Everywhere I turn, it’s Philidor overgrowth. Whether that’s someone weak in the knees waving the white flag and selling out, those in charge who are supposed to be representing the best interest of the company only to play along when power is shuffled around under the table, or the supporting cast members whose feelings are completely disregarded as they’re told what they can and cannot say.
Right now, Detroit is Spencer Adams, it’s every single ticket holder, every single AW network subscription and viewer. I am responsible for all of it right now. It was never a spot meant for Corey Black, FPV, or anyone else for that matter. I’m here to play better chess and wipe the floor with the LLC until there is no more LLC to fight. Fuck an Ash Blake, fuck a Carter Shaw, fuck a two on one. This isn’t just the moment where Spencer Adams reclaims the world championship after three years. This is going to be remembered as the night where fighting back paid off.
Good vs. Evil
Real vs. Fake
Spencer Adams vs. Philidor
DETROIT VS. EVERYBODY