Post by Devilkiller on Mar 25, 2018 23:01:00 GMT -5
Excitement Blinds and Contracts Bind.
The pen scribbles across the line at the end of a 8 page packet outlining details of WFWF. Promising chances to move up the card, challenge new opponents, a great schedule, and the payout. $85,000 a year, or a little over $7,000 a show. I know it doesn't sound like a whole lot in terms of the biggest wrestling company in the world. People have to think, before I was signed, I was wrestling 3 shows a weekend, atleast 12 a month just to make a fourth of that. Of course, I didn't sign the proverbial dotted line before consulting my newfound best friend, Devilkiller.
*September 19th, 2017*
I walk into the historic Mount Pleasant National Guard Armory full of hard work, dedication, and the unmistakable smell of man sweat. I see the neat white ropes pulled tight and the blue canvas stained with previous workers blood, and the nice square black ring post at the 4 corners. Home.
I roll my huge 32 inch hard shell luggage bag full of wrestling gear across the smooth concrete floor past the ring and underneath the "guard rope" (just yellow rope attached by metal poles with concrete around the bottom to hold them straight up) and through the curtain.
Timmy Shaw: Jayson! Jayson boy come here.
I make my way over to the 6'1 man, extending my hand as far away as I can to shake his hand. The aroma of three day old cheeseburgers waft my nostrils coming from his grease stained grey shirt.
Jayson Sykes: Hi Tim, what's my match tonight?
Timmy Shaw: Alright, so tonight former WFWF National Champion Devilkiller is coming in tonight. I want you to put on a strong showing. You don't have to win, but you have to give him a run for his money. The winner is going to be awarded the vacant OSW Heavyweight championship. No one deserves it more than you, but Devilkiller isn't an easy foe.
Not my first main event this weekend, and it seems that as time goes on I'll still be in the main event scene. What is my first, is facing a former WFWF star! Hopefully I gain plenty of knowledge from someone as experienced. I know he wasn't a world champion or anything, but here at Old School Wrestling, he's the best we'll get.
I smile and nod toward Tim and make my way to the small conference room just big enough to house 16 different wrestlers with bags and a very small tv screen connected to the hard cam facing the ring. Wrestlers are barely changing their clothes in such tight quarters. I choose my spot in the corner and take out my gear.
It is September, but is it too soon to wear the pink tights for Breast Cancer Awareness? Should I go with the blue and black ones? I think that's the one I'll go with.
After conversing with myself, I grab the pair of blue long tights with black graphics and lay them out, I pull out my white zip up singlet with "Syke Out!" In black and lay it ontop of my tights. I rummage through the bag and find my kickpads and boots.
As I start undressing to dress up, a big 6'6 man in a dark hoodie with bright purple and red hair comes up to me.
Devilkiller: Hi! Jayson right?
My heart stops and I feel a slight lump in my throat. I'm not too nervous to meet the guy, that's not it. What I'm nervous about is trying to win and defeat him. That's what worries me.
Jayson Sykes: Yes sir! How are you doing?
Devilkiller: Not bad, I heard I get to work with you tonight right?
I nod "Yes" toward him as we shake hands. I didn't realize he was that tall. It's not often I have to look up, but this time I'm looking definitely looking up atleast 3 inches.
Devilkiller: Well, I'll just say goodluck. I may not be as good as I was when I was Champ, but that doesn't mean I won't pull out all the stops. I expect you to do the same.
I smile real big at him, nodding once again as I finish putting my gear on.
*Later that night*
I sit on my knees, looking up at Devilkiller with a look of respect, but in my head I'm screaming at myself in utter disgust. He slid out of the Syke Out and rolled me up for a win. I won't say it was a fluke, it was inexperience on my end, but I still had one hell of a showing. I kicked out of Devil's Final Flight, reversed The Devil's Coffin on two occasions, and pulled out all of the stops. If I had better research, I would've won tonight. If I had better ring presence, I would've won tonight. If I had just one more eye in the back of my head, I would've won tonight.
I stand up as Devilkiller is handed the title to a round of applause. I clap my hands toward him and show my respect for teaching me a valuable lesson tonight. Devilkiller stops celebrating for a moment and gives me a handshake, smiling and nodding toward me.
Devilkiller: You did good tonight Jayson, I personally want to work with you again. I have a booking in Chicago next weekend, if you can cancel a booking I'll make sure you get a little more on your rate.
I'm a bit dumbfounded. First and foremost, I could've beaten this guy, he knows that, why face me again and risk humiliation? Secondly, why me? I'm just an Indy worker, someone he's probably worked with 1,000 times.
Jayson Sykes: Only if you answer why me?
Devilkiller: I want you to do something I never could.
Jayson Sykes: And what's that?
Devilkiller: Become a WFWF Hall of Famer.
With that, he lets go of my hand and climbs onto the second rope to celebrate. I stand in the middle of the ring not knowing what to think. Should I call the promoter when I get to the back? Will Devilkiller answer more questions? Why does he want me to succeed?
*March 2nd, 2018*
Devilkiller: It's an opportunity Jay, you deserve it more than anybody!
I honestly can't believe this is being discussed right now.
Jayson Sykes: D, this is nerve wracking, why would you call an agent from WFWF to come watch us?
Devilkiller: Because you've already beaten me twice out of five matches, this one will not only tie us three to three, but if you keep with the improving and show the skill I know you have, you're going to end up signed to WFWF!
Jayson Sykes: I don't know. What if I lose and lose quick?
Devilkiller: Jay, I could hit you with all three finishers in the first 30 seconds and you still would kick out at two. Look, don't you want a better life for your girlfriend? Don't you want to get married to her? For Christ's sake you guys have been together for three years she's ready. You've told me you're ready. Money is the problem. It's a problem with everything surrounding you. Yes you've gotten good money lately, good enough to buy you that 2016 Mustang GT. You needed and deserved a new car, but you still owe payments. Weddings are easily $15,000. You need the money. $2,400 a month without vacation time will not cut it Jay. Do this. When, and yes I am saying when, you get signed, you'll be earning atleast $60,000 a year. That's atleast what I got when I was signed. Doesn't $5,000 a month sound a lot better than $2,400? Don't you want the home? Don't you want to have travel paid for and have an actual home instead of saying you work for 10 other companies?
I let out a big breath of air. He's right. I need to do this, and having a home in the wrestling business would be great. It is my dream, and the money would be great right now. I'm just nervous I'll fail. Luckily enough for me, I have this personality defect, where after I down myself and down myself so much to the point of suicidal tendencies, I go out and do whatever task that needs to be done.
Jayson Sykes: Let's do it.
*Current Day* [/I]
I tuck a loose string of black hair behind my ear and with the other hand I straighten my bright blue tie as the lady across the desk from me smiles as she looks at the last page to make sure a signature is there.[/I]
Lila Sleater: Thank you, and you're sure your doctor emailed us your health records?
Why would I lie?
Jayson Sykes: Yes ma'am, you can check your email and type in Evansville Primary Care and it should be in there or your junk folders.
The short haired woman clicks and clacks away on the keyboard for a just a split second before smiling and hitting another button. A machine underneath the desk whirs to live, and starts to make an almost sputtering sound, followed by a perfect interval of chugs. The woman now pulls open the red oak dresser drawer and slaps a checkbook onto the top. She clicks the pen on, off, on, off, on, off, on, as if it's some kind of routine she has to do before writing anything down.
Lila Sleater: I found it for you Jayson, its printing right now to go into your file. Now, what I'm filling out now is your sign-on bonus. We give each new roster member $5,000 sign-on for gear and first show travel expenses, an official WFWF t-shirt, an official WFWF duffel bag, as well as your choice of coffee mug, baseball hat, wristband, necklace, or ring.
She scribbles on the check before making the oddly satisfying rip of the rip tab paper and hands it to me. I haven't been given this much in one sitting in my life. The closest I got was when I had a factory job and received a $2,900 tax refund. This is almost double.
Lila Sleater: Now, what size are you?
Jayson Sykes: I'm a 2X.
She looks me up and down, I'm not sure if this is how modeling agents check out potential models or if it's how girls flirt.
Lila Sleater: Nah. XL. You have to show off the muscle mass you have. The younger female demographic have posters upon posters of muscled up men in their bedrooms. If you sell posters, more money for us, which means more opportunity for you to earn more money for you. Now, what do you want between a coffee mug, baseball hat, wristband, necklace, or ring?
I almost chuckle aloud. How foolish. Of course she's professional. She didn't even look at me until I was finished with the paperwork. I'm a dollar sign. That's fine. To me, she's a dollar sign as well.
Jayson Sykes: Hat, please.
Lila scribbles the information down on a post it note and signs her name at the bottom in the famous neat girl handwriting before peeling it from the others and handing it to me.
Lila Sleater: When you walk out of the office, you're gonna take a left at the end of the hallway, and it'll lead into lobby type room. Just walk up to the desk and hand the guy behind the desk the post it note. He will give you your free things and he'll give you directions on getting out of here. You're first opponent is at New Day Rising, and you're facing off against Billy Broom. Congratulations on becoming a WFWF Superstar, and welcome to Los Angeles!
I smile brightly and shake her hard and calloused hand before walking out of her office.
I'm so excited. I'm an official WFWF Superstar! My names going to be in the roster section of WFWF.com! I get to debut at the next show!
Be realistic. You're nothing. You put on mediocre matches. They just think they can make you a welcome mat for all the new comers to step all over you on their way to success. Stop believing in this fairy tale.
Like a car without gas, or a body without a pulse, I stop in my tracks. I roll the sticky note over and over in my hands, not quite sure what to do with myself.
I mean, obviously that little voice in my head is right, right? They have stars here. Stars Devilkiller didn't even beat. Drakz, Trace Demon, David Brennan, those are all stars. What am I? I haven't won jack crap yet. Yet here I am, stuck to a one year contract. I have to be here for a year. I have to watch as new guys come in and use me to get them to a title. I'm not going to be a hot seller of shirts. I'm not gonna be a face on the poster. What am I then? A shell of the Jayson Sykes I used to be? Am I really just here as a mere spectator?
I pull at the anchors that are my feet to make it across the hall. The sound of soles dragging and scratching at the tile echoes off the very thin walls and reverberates back to me, slowly killing me with each step I shuffle toward the desk.
I signed a contract. I'm gonna get everything I'm entitled too, atleast until the show in South Carolina.
I lay the post it note on the beautiful white granite desk, awaiting the man behind it to look at it and get my stuff.
The man is talking on the phone at a hurried, yet hushed pace. Very few words I can decipher. "There. Yes. Sunday. Become. Low."
What is that? There yes Sunday become low? It sounds like a pop punk band from the early 2000's, but not like a conversation. I still smile politely as I don't want to make a bad impression, even if my life is going to go to hell after this.
The man with graying hair and clean shaven still talks on the phone. Again, I try to decipher some more words. "Back. The plane will be there. Yes. Excuse. Main."
I get a slight headache from trying to listen to such slurred words at such a nonexistent volume. The man starts to spin his chair back and forth, switching phone hands to continue talking. His baby blue George button down shirt tucked neatly into khaki pants gives me some kind of vibe. The try hard. Wants to impress everyone by being as big of a douche as possible.
I really wanna leap across this desk and kick his god damn face in. Something about him. About how he is intentionally ignoring me it seems. He's been on the phone ever since I've gotten to the desk, and I know I've been standing here studying him and his phone call for atleast 5 minutes. Business calls don't take that long do they? I'm gonna jump over this if he isn't done by the time I count to 3.
1.
2.
3.
I put my hand on the desk and start to raise my right foot up to jump over it, when he slams the phone down real quick and looks up.
Tyler Hicks: Yes sir what can I do for you?
I have a second in my head where I almost tell him off. Usually however, I'm a pretty easy to get along with guy. He's just ticking my nerves.
Jayson Sykes: Yes Miss Sleater told me to give this to you.
He sighs and grabs the post it note and looks for half a second before throwing it away and leaving the room, without telling me anything.
They're already walking over you. Do something. Don't just be a doormat. Show you mean business.
I plant my hands on the granite desk and hop over it, pushing off with my left foot and landing almost perfectly in the leather chair Mr. Hicks was in.
About that time, he comes back and looks at me startled and confused.
Tyler Hicks: Excuse me, sir, why are you back here? You're not allowed back here!
Jayson Sykes: Listen, Hicks is it? I don't care what's allowed or what's not. I just want you to know I'm not going to be a door mat for everybody. I'm not gonna be disrespected by anyone. Not even you. Now, be a good, respectable desk jockey and give me my stuff, as well as tell me where to go to exit please.
He stares at me, mouth ajar and one eyebrow halfway cocked as he hands me my bag, shirt, and hat. I smile and stand up, grabbing my new gear as he tells me exactly how to get out of the building. I nod toward him and speed walk down the hallway and to the elevator.
Maybe they won't make me out as a pushover. Treat me with respect, not without it. Definitely something that guy could've learned.
I walk out of the glass doors of WFWF Headquarters, sliding my hat on my head and pulling my ponytail through the small opening in the back as I knock on the window of a taxi.
Taxi Driver: Need a ride bud?
I climb in and tell him to take me to the airport, since my flight is set to leave in an hour, I have plenty of time to research for my match.
I type into the YouTube search bar "Billy Broom Highlights" and start watching this guy. He's not a bad wrestler by any means, however, a janitor? That's all I hear the commentators say, 'The janitor is cleaning house!' 'WFWF janitor is actually proving he can stand up to the Stars of WFWF.' They put me up against a janitor in my debut match. I won't underestimate him as I see the Pop Up Powerbomb seems to be a devastating maneuver, so it's best to avoid that if at all possible. He has good skill, but I don't know if he has the skill to match me. I've beaten a former National champion three times, I was cherry picked by WFWF, I didn't come to them or their center. He has a challenge on his hands, and it seems I have quite a challenge as well.
I smile at the taxi driver and give him his fare, I look up at the big LAX airport and realize that Devilkiller was right. I needed the money, but I also needed the home.
I dont know good luck