Post by Carter Shaw on Jul 25, 2021 22:33:28 GMT -5
Look, I’m always honest with you.
I’m always up front and I always tell it like it is.
I can honestly say that I do not fuckin’ like Spencer Adams.
Throughout my first year in Action Wrestling, you could say I was fighting my way through a bit of an identity crisis. Who isn’t, these days? Stuck on the line between who I was and who I was going to become, especially after the passing of my mother. I was looking for new motivation, for I had none other than the passion for fists flying. I was looking for a new path, as the one I had been on was repetitive and circular.
I asked often “Who is Carter Shaw?”. Yeah, remember that T-shirt? In its first week, it was already sellin’’ better than those “AVIATOR” shirts. I asked that question because I genuinely didn’t know who I was. There’s so many paths that simple question can take, and while I could answer the basics of “Fighter from Boston” or a poor white kid whose father ditched the family and took the only income for the household with him…
It needed more.
I needed more.
And the rest of the year was that journey of learning myself. How far I could push my own physical boundaries, which I’m still not done testing and never will be. How successful I could be in this realm of physical combat. And I found Philidor Holdings (Philidor Holdings found me), which helped along that journey.
That identity crisis faded, and Carter Shaw started to become who he was destined to be. Every ounce of hard work, blood, sweat and more blood began to pay off. In a big way.
I’m addressing this for a reason, and that reason is that Spencer Adams is dealing with the biggest identity crisis AW has ever seen this side of Dandy DiVito trying to get cheered by a crowd.
He’s been dealing with it for a long time now, and he’s damn good at keeping it internal. Externally? Nah, nothing’s different. Spencer Adams is still the arrogant son of a bitch that the crowd soaks in. Spence is still the chin-held-high Chicagoan who simulated for the entire week of Evolution 4 that the city of Detroit considered him ‘their boy’. Internally? Spencer has been grasping at so many straws that he’s one grasp away from pulling down the entire charade and revealing what’s behind Spencer Adams’ Door Number 1.
Sure, you fuckin’ won the BattleBowl finals to get the final entrance into the Havoc Rumble. We know. You’ve told us. Multiple times. Because your entire identity is attached to these little measurables of accomplishments, at your own doing mind you.
And YES. YOU won the Havoc Rumble while I cashed in my All-In contract to join you on that Road To Evolution. We get it. Shaw didn’t earn that shit, right? Because it was you that stood alone for all of 5 seconds at the end of that overloaded Rumble. We’ll touch base on that later, we ain’t talkin’ about me right now. We’re talkin’ about you.
The man of 1,000 title shots.
You’ve put so many goddamn eggs in your ‘Championships’ basket that the handle broke off. And you know what they say about putting too many eggs in one basket. Whatcha got left when that shit hits the floor?
Enter the identity crisis of one Spencer “KOSBADMONMR.AW” Adams.
When the hands are empty, they burn, don’t they Spence? Even AFTER the amazing accolades you’ve already added to your 2-part Hall Of Fame Plaque Series just in this year of 2021, they’ve all left you with those dirty, weakening empty hands. BattleBowl led you to Havoc. Havoc led you to Evolution 4. And Evolution 4 led you to me. Not Ash Blake. Me. And ALL that hard work you put in... Every training session that you repeated the Mantra of “Conquer Evolution” to yourself for, every wet dream you woke up from featuring you ending Evolution in a shower of victorious confetti…
All of it left you with empty hands. Because Carter fuckin’ Shaw left Evolution as Action Wrestling’s World Champion. And just like when I added my name to that Main Event under your spotlight at the end of Havoc? I snuffed out yet another meant to be Spencer Adams moment.
It’s a good reminder to receive sometimes; How fragile everything is. Our plans. Our careers. Our standing with the ‘people’. It’s all candles while the world around us creates a breeze.
That was my gift to you.
The reminder.
The reminder that you ain’t a bronze bust in a Hall of Fame yet.
You’re a human being. With faults. With failures. As hard as you try to hide them like discarded toys under the bed.
SPENCER ADAMS IS TOUCHABLE, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. BREAKABLE.
But what Spence does? What Spence does is twist all of the things around him into something that they’re not in order to elevate himself. He’ll kick dirt in all directions hoping it buries a few more faces in the process. He paints himself a hero, and the people eat that shit up like nachos at the events. Did you hear them last Monday Night at Clash? They worshiped the ground that he walked on, and yet I’m the one that’s called the blind follower?
He’s a marketing genius.
“Opportunity isn’t just something that you fail to seize, it’s becoming your Achilles heel.” -Spencer Adams, on Carter Shaw
These are the goods he was putting his energy into trying to sell. And that’s BEFORE I ended the biggest night of the year holding up the biggest prize in the industry. I fail to seize opportunity? Mr. All-In? AW’s modern day legend killer? Current World Champ? The face of Philidor Holdings? Try a different paint brush, Rushmore, cause this work of art you’re trying to create just ain’t comin’ out right.
An achilles heel for Carter Shaw has yet to be exposed. You know why? Because I put the fuckin’ work in. Inside that ring? NO ONE has improved to the extent that I have in one year of experience. I have studied and learned the ins and outs. I’ve learned from anyone I’ve ever come across, friend or foe. I’ve absorbed something new from every single match I’ve been in. I don’t run from a failure, I learn from it. I don’t throw the tarp over a mess to keep it out of sight. I embrace it. This is a quality you used to share, Spence, but this guy right here? The man I will stand across from in front of tens of thousands of fans in Tokyo? Alot of those qualities have degraded. The qualities that once made you a true hero in the story have simply turned you into the biggest puppet master of all.
“You’re not the hero of your own story and you haven’t been for a long time.” -Spencer Adams
Travelling the country and saying “I LOVE THIS CITY” every week does not constitute a hero. Changing your entrance music to every flavor of the month does not constitute a hero. A hero is a person willing to step up and do the right thing, no matter the difficulty. While Spencer Adams spent the turn of the year in hot pursuit of the Hardcore Championship because, in the moment, it was the most accessible thing to him...While Spencer Adams looked around for any fuckin’ gold he could hold just so he could be called a champion, what was I doing? What was the oh-so-villainous Carter Shaw doing?
I managed to be the one, after all of these years, to put David Sanchez behind bars. Took out true evil in the form of a fuckin Mayor who used the entire city of Chicago for drug running and human trafficking. Chicago. Spencer’s home, for the record, even though that gets lost in all of the pandering elsewhere. He could have been the hero to his own city, but no. It was a job that required a true hero. A man who is the hero in his own fucking story.
I’d go on to play a very helpful hand in disbanding The Following, the hatred for whom had been forgotten a bit thanks to the overshadowing Philidor presence. Aside from CJ Phoenix, who was the one star so bright he would shine through the clouds, Kemp and Dandy were bad people. Doing bad things. And while they will continue to be, I at least got to be a reminder of fragility to them as well.
And after all that, I still need to remind the world again who shits on me regardless. I cashed in my All-In briefcase to be added to the World Championship match. No sneak attack. No 3-second magic, catching Ash Blake knocked out in a match. No mid-match shenanigans. The first ever legitimate, clean, honorable cash-in of the briefcase.
Fuckin’ heroic.
Unfortunately for you, Mr. Adams, I’m ALL IN on this World Championship reign. And no matter how hard you try to sell a second round of your false goods, the evidence will be clear and visible.
I seize fuckin’ opportunity. And this is just as much an opportunity to shut your goddamn mouth as it is to solidify my reign at the top of our company.
The plane caught a slight pocket of air, turbulence leaving a ripple in the whiskey glass as Carter Shaw glanced up slightly from his reading material. Eyebrow cocked, he eyes the clouds passing by the window. Nothing visibly threatening. The smooth ride that had been the experience up until this point continued on. Shaw reached forward and drank the final sips of the Ardbeg Wee Beastie scotch. Almost immediately, the stewardess was at his side.
“One more pour, Mr. Shaw?” She asked. Her voice carried an angelic innocence as the beautiful young lady seemed more than happy to serve on the Philidor private jet.
“One more will do, thanks darlin’” Shaw said with a soft charm. She nodded and lifted the bottle she had already had in her hand, pouring a couple ounces into the glass with a warm smile on her face. As she went to take the bottle away, she tipped it one more time, adding another ounce or so to the pour. Shaw looked up from his drawn eyebrows, as blue eyes met blue eyes.
“Tryin’ to take my mind off of business, Ms.?” he asked slyly, apparently having learned how to talk to women over the course of his Philidor partnership.
“Nothing wrong with an extra sip, Mr. Shaw. We are a mile high, after all.” Already slowly walking away as she speaks, Shaw coughs a bit on his swallow in surprise. His eyes roam the private jet. The beige leather interior. The spaced out end tables and cup holders. Luxury at its finest, this side of Jeff Bezos.
Shaw would have never dreamed he’d ever be on such a mode of transportation. He remembered how fancy he thought the Taxi Cab was when his brother and he took one across Boston as kids. They ended up getting kicked out 3 blocks early when Carter revealed they didn’t have enough cash to complete the trip.
He never thought he’d be on a plane like this, especially alone. The seats around him were empty. If it weren’t for the barely-audible buzz of the engines, the plane would be sitting in complete silence. Shaw’s eyes went back down to the papers in front of him, as he flips a page over and smirks; accompanied by a few more sips of his smoky scotch. He caught more movement in his peripheral and he looked over his shoulder to see the stewardess heading back over.
“Alright, Mr. Shaw. We’ve got about 10 minutes left before we start descending. So if you want to stretch your legs at all, I suggest you do so now.” Her tone was intoxicating. Shaw couldn’t tell if it was genuine attraction or a high level of customer service. Once he looked her in the eyes once more, his question was answered. Plus, the white top of her work uniform had happened to become unbuttoned.
“And in 30 minutes, we’ll be landing in Minneapolis.”.
Let’s be real, nobody has ever been afraid of somebody named Spencer.
When you boil it down, there’s not that much difference between Spencer Adams and Karlie Nash. Both mainstays of AW television. Both just keep circling these forced championship wagons. Only difference is that, atleast at this point, Red White and Bruised know that sometimes it's smarter to just stand still in the right spot. Just reach out and grab at practically-vacant titles to bolster that stat sheet, that’s the way to do it.
It’s ok, Karlie Nash doesn’t watch my promos anyways, so I can say that.
Spencer’s padded stat sheet is the main thing he can use to disguise the fact that he’s been fluctuating so much. Up and down and up and down. He feels high as hell winning the Tag Titles with his boy Crow, but then when the Cure is Killed, he might as well be begging Claire Hawkins for a shot at the Television Championship.
Too bad Neo’s got that on lock, he’d probably be the one to finally embarrass Spencer for trying to punch below his weight.
Spencer has earned his right to main event TOKYO FITE. He’s earned it every step of the way, don’t let me cloud that by pointing out the clear faults in him as a competitor and a human being. He’s a cloaked piece of shit, but he’s earned it.
He didn’t let Evolution 4 put him on the back foot, instead he managed to take that #1 Contenders match and get himself another shot at my supposed punchable face. Fueled by false motivation, however, because behind Spencer’s door number two is the ole bait and switch routine. He wants to be AW’s great protector, its guardian.
Your knight in shining armor.
Fighting tooth and nail to defend his AW territory against the evil corporation that is Philidor Holdings L.L.C. To fend off the numbers after Philidor Vs The World proved to be nothing more than a weekly Garbage Day to all of those teams who were put up against Ash Blake, Lissie Hope and/or myself. He wants to appear to be the one man army who would stand in the middle of the street against oncoming tanks. But if you just lean in a little bit; we’re talkin’ an inch closer; then you’d see the man who is truly standing before you as that knight.
All Mr. Adams wants to do is to be the one reigning over AW. The only thing that he’s looking to protect in all of this? Is his spot. Not the company as a whole. Not his ‘people’ from the supposed ill intent of Philidor. Spencer will die on his own sword as long as it’s while trying to protect his spot. That’s it. Plain and Simple. Cut and dry.
Because Spencer Adams is an unhappy boy when he doesn’t know his spot. When the world around him doesn’t know his spot. That’s why he talks down to everybody in this damn place. Oh, what, you didn’t notice that? How many times has he called you a “meddling mid carder” or a “main event gatekeeper”? With the hammer in hand, the nail he is always trying to hit is that positioning.
Let’s see how many times before and after this Tokyo main event Spencer makes sure the word ‘rookie’ comes out of his mouth when referring to Carter Shaw. It’s all about positioning. And it’s all part of his constant magic trick of using words and illusions to keep himself elevated above anybody around him. It’s magic so effective even Harvey Marx is jealous.
So the fact that the rookie Carter Shaw got that sweet Evolution grand moment over the legend overlord GOAT Spencer Adams just fuckin’ ruined EVERYTHING for him. What a tragedy for our hero. That was even after weeks of the ‘handicap match’ secondary market branding did not come to fruition as many had guessed. Ash Blake and I slugged it out just as much as either of us did with Spencer Adams. Spence did not lose to Philidor on that unforgettable night. He didn’t lose to the numbers game, he didn’t lose to an entire group sending one after another down to the ring to beat his ass.
No.
Spencer Adams lost to Carter Shaw.
Don’t listen to whatever words he decides to spin. Watch the tape. Spencer Adams has let himself become the official embodiment of fake news.
“Mr. Shaw, hello! You’re early, just give me a moment here…” The hefty gentlemen behind his desk fumbled a bit, not expecting a visitor for another 15 minutes.
“The jet flies fast, Mr. Woodward. I’m not gonna take up too much of your time, my offer is clear-cut and final.” Shaw, binded paperwork in hand, places it on the desk before the man across from him can even register what’s going on.
“Uh-uh, oh, thank you. What is this, a…” The man pauses as he reaches down and flips open the binding, skimming the top of the first couple pages. “A contract? Already drawn up?”
“I’m not looking to waste time, sir. I know what I’m offering and I know that it is well above property value. But it’s special to me and can be quite special to my company as well. Just review the contract, bring it up with the residents currently on the land if you must, although we both know they’re opinion on the matter doesn’t hold weight.” Shaw speaks confidently and sternly.
The man’s eyes grow wide as he spots something specific on one of the first pages of the contract in front of him.
“Jesus Chr-...Mr. Shaw, what is this exactly?”
“It’s an offer. Accept. Deny. It’s up to you. You manage a property I would like to purchase. I’m making an offer to fully purchase that land. Simple as that. Please review and get back to me as soon as you can.”
Shaw turns and slowly makes his way towards the exit.
“You flew all this way and you don’t even want to go over it together?”
“If I sent it to you in the mail, Mr. Woodward, you wouldn’t see this offer for another 5 days. But when I have the option to bring it to you within several hours? I’m a fan of efficiency.” As Shaw speaks, he reaches out and pushes open the door, stepping out into the Minnesota sun. Immediately reaching into his pocket, Shaw pulls out his phone and hits a single button to make a call as he walks away from the building.
“Yeah, the offer has been made---I highly doubt they’ll be able to turn down that money, especially considering what the Compound has become---trust me, this is fantastic land with alot of development potential. We will make this money back in no time---Well, I’m pretty sure The Following is done with it, sooo---Yeah, I’ve got one more offer to make on a property, then I’ll be joining tomorrow for our flight to Tokyo.”
Hopping into the back of the black Ford Explorer that drove him there, the wheels turn and head back towards the runway on which they parked the plane.
This is it, Spence. There’s no coming back from this, although if there’s ever been anybody desperate enough to keep clawing at the same rock surface to get one more leg up, it’s you. But all of your pandering? All of your efforts to keep as many things coming up Adams as possible? It all starts its official fade and fizzle after Tokyo Fite. Because when Carter Shaw once again stands over Spencer Adams, the AW World Championship held high above the crime scene, the world watching will know for certain that you’re nothing but a chalk outline of what you once were.
It has nothing to do with age, you ain’t old.
It has nothing to do with wear and tear, you work smart. You fightsmart.
It has to do with two things.
It has to do with the talent catching up to your ‘level’.
And it has to do with you not being able to handle such a thing.
You’re a fuckin’ primadonna who chooses his words carefully when a microphone is in front of it to make sure the agenda is solid and supported. But when you LOSE in Tokyo, I will have the greatest of pleasures in undoing another toxic element of Action Wrestling.
I will be the Undoing of the Badmon. And this go around, it won’t take something as simple as bugging a house to catch a David Sanchez phone call. It won’t take something as simple as professionally flirting with Kyle Kemp in front of Dandy’s raging-jealous eyes.
But it will take something as simple as one more victory. One more hand-raise for the AW World Champion Carter Shaw. One more defeat to the desperate Spencer Adams.
The flight from Minneapolis to Chicago felt like it happened at the snap of a finger. Shaw sat in the back of the Explorer, the heavily tinted window rolled down so that the World Champ could look out across the suburban street they parked on. His eyes roamed the edges of a house. Aged but in good shape. Well-loved. Well-manicured lawn, albeit small. Shaw looked at the neighboring houses with much less interest. He spoke to the driver.
“Alright, let’s head to that address I gave you, it should be right around the corner. Let’s make ourselves one more little real estate offer. One for business, one for pleasure. I’ve done alot of great things for the city of Chicago...” Shaw speaks aloud, but it’s as if words are being said for his own hearing.
“What is this house, if you don’t mind me asking? How does this benefit Philidor?” the driver asked, Shaw snapping a quick look at him through the rearview mirror.
“This? This is the childhood home of Spencer Adams. And I’m gonna offer to buy it. Not for Philidor. But I think I’d like to put my feet up behind Door Number 3.”
I can honestly say that I don’t fuckin’ like you, Spencer Adams.
Now let me finally be the one to hold your head below the water. Call it unjust. Call it unfair. But when you actually look at the entire picture?
Spencer being held below the World Championship picture is, simply put, karma.
