Post by DGX on Sept 1, 2022 15:53:09 GMT -5
Shapeshifter
: One that seems to be able to change form or identity at will; a mythical figure that can assume different forms (as of animals)
- Merriam Webster’s Dictionary
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Cathryn O’Shea: So you see yourself as “Sovereign”, what does that mean to you?
DGX: A ruler or owner of a place, kind of like a landlord but posher.
Cathryn O’Shea: How is that different from a Caesar to you?
They really need to let this go. I’m not going with “Caesar”, it’s just not a thing. I imagine she was being paid to press anyhow. She’d find him immovable on that point.
DGX: Hasn’t been done before really. Caesar is more togas and triumphs and ye olde times feel. Sovereign is more general, could be used then, could be used now.
Cathryn O’Shea: Originality is important to you isn’t it?
Sarcasm or genuine observation? Hard to tell with the perpetual Ms. Monotone.
DGX: I do like to be unique if nothing else.
DGX stands in the sequestered space O’Shea has prepared for the creation of the Sovereign. Briefly DGX wonders what Abadi is paying her before dismissing the thought. Wasn’t his money, what’d he care?
Cathryn O’Shea: Well, Bobby did do allot of preliminary work on this with wardrobe at least so we do have some options to go through but full disclosure they were working from a “Caesar” kind of perspective.
Of course they were.
DGX: Yeah I’m just gonna go ahead and say it, if there’s any kind of togas that make up the attire feel free to put those aside. Not going to be wearing those.
Cathryn O’Shea: Why not?
DGX: Freedom of motion for one, I’m an athlete not a frat boy.
O’Shea purses her lips and then claps her hands, some flunkies from wardrobe scurry about removing a selection of toga robes from the area. He narrows his eyes as he beholds what remains. It’s just like Bobby had envisioned him just readily agreeing to the Caesar thing. There’s a golden wreath, a standard bearing a golden eagle, sandals, it’s a mess.
Cathryn O’Shea: So is there anything left in this we can actually use?
DGX: Yeah, yeah I think we can get away with the wreath. I don’t want to do a big crown deal, it’s too garish.
As he speaks DGX is digging through the mess of props and other things. A couple of scepters, an item to hold. Don’t need that. Moving behind another changing blocker he spies a white cape. It’s not bad. He grabs it and inspects the edges, gold trim. Very nice. He’d always appreciated Kingsguard cloaks in GoT. Pulling the cape away from the wall he sees how they attach, golden shoulder pommels in the form of gold lion’s heads. That’s appropriately regal for what he’s going for.
DGX: This cape will make for a good entrance attire piece. Accentuates the wreath some and the shoulder pommels say I’m not some sit on his ass and watch ruler, I’m hands on. I get in there. Appropriate since ya know, I’m the one who wrestles the matches.
He nods. O’Shea for her part looks with her same expressionless, unmoving, unreacting, joyless face and nods. Approval maybe? Who knows.
Cathryn O’Shea: Do you want to use the lion’s head scepter to match the pommels?
DGX: Oh no. Not going to do a scepter. Never liked the idea of a wand or scepter or whathave you. It generally winds up a McGuffin in the mind of the audience. Like this item is the source of my powers and if you can take it from you would have my power! Nah. I’m the Sovereign. My word is law. I am power.
Cathryn O’Shea: Probably better for the room situation in the litter anyways.
DGX: Oh I’m getting a litter? With like…people to actually carry it?
Cathryn O’Shea: Yes. Bobby has already ordered it. Should accommodate you and probably two other people.
He had to give it to Bobby, he did not lack commitment to the bit.
DGX: Well, that’ll be pretty interesting. I can’t imagine those things ride comfortably but we’ll see how it goes.
DGX smiles and turns to face a mirror, putting on the cape and finally resting the wreath upon his head. He looks left, he looks right. Golden. Chosen. Like a King. He draws himself up to his height, feeling the trappings of power seep into his psyche.
DGX: How do I look?
Cathryn O’Shea: Like a Sovereign.
He smiles. Though monotone and clipped as usual at least it was the right thing to say. Ugh this is going to be rough. He hopes the text he discreetly sent Werner about twenty minutes ago goes through.
Cathryn O’Shea: I mean, you’re doing enough of the Caesar thing that I don’t understand why you don’t just go all in on it.
DGX: I am all in. Just not on Caesar. Like I said, I don’t do covers. It’s why I’m not a King either. To become a Sovereign I need to create who and what that is. But end of the day it all informs a wrapping for what is a fully established being. End of the day I’m still DGX. Just this version of DGX is informed by someone else’s vision of DGX. I try to be flexible for things like that. It’s a lesson I learned early on…
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“You have permission to change, to shapeshift. You do not have to stick with things that no longer serve you. Life is too short to stick to things for the wrong reasons.” - Unknown
Early on in my career I had the good fortune to be used as an “unwitting” pawn in a larger power struggle. You know the politics of the business, the ugly side of it all. Cliques and feuds and rivalries bleed into the sanctified space of the locker room and full-on hatreds appear. Not even a month into my XWA career I found myself in the hunt for a world championship. I’d already picked up a hardcore title and one of my first matches in this tournament landed me my first taste of tag gold.
Partnerships form and dissolve, success is not always the balm it needs to be for animosity. So, I took the opportunity to befriend the aggrieved partner and get a stipulation added that this match was for the tag belt. Simple. First time meeting Alex too, even early he was useful to me. But the problem was up next I found myself against Alex’s mentor. An old timer in the business Mike Vengeance had the greatest hatred for the man who called himself “the MadDog.” Somewhat sad state of affairs, two veteran forty year old athletes using two early twenties young pups as proxies in their blood feud. Neither here nor there, but it was one of the first lessons I learned about doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.
I knew MadDog was a greedy, arrogant, and power-hungry man. I knew he’d turn on me the instant he deemed me no longer of use. I’d seen people of his ilk before, I was young but not naïve. But I also knew he was poised in the best position to give me what I wanted, the world championship I was fighting for. So I set up Mike Vengeance for MadDog in our match, turned on Alex giving MadDog both the tag title and the willing and eager protégé he craved. And I was rewarded with my first world championship, one month into my professional career. My success was short lived, of course MadDog turned on me in expected fashion. But I overcame him anyways, he was cagey, wily and devious but he was an old man and I was the youthful force on the come up. For all his underhanded and desperate attempts to stay at the top and relevant he was swept aside by my inevitability. The young will always replace the old, if the old refuses to adapt. To change. MadDog stood as living warning of what not to do when you reach the top. Wild that as I reflect on this now I’m him, at least in terms of age and where I am in my career/company. Probably a little better off if I’m being honest, I’ve done it more places than the XWA as well as generally better.
But his lessons live with me, even today. Thanks to him I enjoyed success early, never had to endure the narratives about “not winning the big one” or “yeah but he hasn’t won a championship” so many others endure. I also learned to appease the people in positions of power to grease the wheels for my own ends. Bobby Abadi is a fun guy, a loveable man-child with a deep love of his interests. He envisions me a Caesar, a king, a ruler in a landscape of giants, villains and champions. So, I’ll wear his golden laurel wreath. I’ll adorn myself in a white cape. I’ll let myself be carried in and out of arenas on litters and present the fair but imperious countenance of a just ruler of yore. And in exchange for that I’ll get to write my own ticket. Take down Trace Demon and correct the wrong of his victory over me that he should never have had and put myself number one in this great rumble that looms. And come through it all in position to ultimately take back what I want. The WFWF world championship.
I’m poised to make history. Everything I want is within my grasp. All because I know enough to play along.
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“Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
Yeah, take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes” – Imagine Dragons
I enjoy being successful. The math has been done and I turn out to be a guy who wins around eighty percent of the time. That is A grade range on most grading rubrics, but I find it’s not the victories or great moments of triumph that stay with you. It’s the losses. I don’t have allot but the ones I do are devastating. At least to me.
There are however lessons in failure. At least smart people make them to hold them, otherwise it’s just a waste. When I think of a lesson learned of a failure I reflect on the biggest defeat of my early career. It was the early Aughts, business was booming around the country. I was the top man in one of the biggest companies in a blood feud with one of the most hate top men! Vestal! It was the feud that everyone spoke of, and it was everything a great wrestling feud should be. Personal, a loathsome, unrepentant villain and a earnest, respected, relatable hero clashing over a championship. And in his pursuit of that championship the dastardly Vestal did everything he could to disrupt and distract the champion, families were involved, attacks of opportunity, it had it all! It all culminated in the big match, no rules, locked in steel, the vaunted prison from hell where at last the cowardly villain would at last meet his righteous comeuppance. The perfect storm for the fairytale ending to the tale. But while I was so busy trying to exact retribution, to repay every sin and transgression, to essentially destroy him…I forgot to win.
Vestal took the win and the title and I sat, bathed in anger and defeat. And I couldn’t at the time reconcile how it happened. How I lost. Everything in the merciless logic of the universe said I should win. I was the aggrieved party. I was the person who’d been wronged. And I had suffered those slings and arrows of indignities to at last get him into a position to take my revenge. That…is why I lost if you were wondering. Because that was the lesson Vestal had to teach me. I gave myself permission to do what I had to in order to win that match, and that was me agreeing to go to Vestal’s level. You’ll notice I didn’t say “down to” his level. I’m wiser than that now.
The lesson of Vestal is devastating in its simplicity, I had to give myself permission to do what I needed to win. Vestal just did what he had to at every point and never had those kinds of conversations with himself. He determined he needed to enrage me to the point that in my frenzy for his grievous bodily harm I’d make mistakes. Mistakes he could take advantage of and that’s what he did. You always have to be willing to do whatever it takes to win, there are no lines. Morality, honor, chivalry, decency are all high minded ideals, and ones that have no place in a combat arena. At least for a winner. Vestal unabashedly did anything and everything he needed to do to compromise me in order to beat me. He succeeded and once I had this honest conversation with myself, so did I. This lesson of Vestal informs much of what I became. Things I was willing to do in order to win, monstrous depravities I would commit all in the name of the edge needed to win. It was ugly but it worked. Eighty percent of the time leastways.
This rumble will be a very stout test, but there are all manner of agendas and vendettas that dot its landscape. The link to today is not what I’ve done, but what I’m going to do to win the Rumble. Which to distill the lesson into one line: whatever I have to.
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Those soulless eyes just bore into his soul. He’s been trying to drop knowledge on how to create and synthesize a character but damn this agony. This woman has the personality of lint. He could understand now why Alex had fled for the hills with Kmart Rebecca Marie. There is a knock on the door.
Thank God.
DGX: Come in!
The door opens and three people enter into the room. They also appear to be in costume, matching style outfits with masks, attired in gold. His eye draws first to the biggest of their number. She stands slightly above him at probably 6’3 and has the body of a bodybuilder, sturdy, tough. She looks like she could get into the ring if she wanted/needed to. Next is a mocha skinned woman slightly shorter than the towering Amazonian figure, also in decent shape. He actually stops and does a double take on the last one. Though they all are wearing golden masks he could swear that’s. But like, from a time warp, ten to twelve years ago. The likeness to Carmen is jarring.
DGX: Uhhhhh…hey..everyone.
COS wastes no time not reading any of the awkward energy in the room and begins with introductions.
Cathryn O’Shea: DGX, this will be your entourage. Or in Bobby’s parlance, your “court.”
She walks over to the Amazon first.
Cathryn O’Shea: This is Aurora. She will be your Champion. I assume this to be some facsimile of a bodyguard or enforcer. She’s a champion bodybuilder from Washington state and an amateur wrestler herself.
The towering blond woman nods her head briskly at her lord. For his part he returns the nod, no need to be rude on the ceremony of false majesty. O’Shea indicates the mocha skinned lady.
Cathryn O’Shea: This is Christine. She’s a professional gymnast and dietician from California. She’s also an aspiring actress. She will be “playing the part” of your Valet.
DGX: Uh, question?
Cathryn O’Shea: Yes.
DGX: What does a Valet in this context exactly do? Like in the context of the gimmick I mean. Like you told me I’d be going around the arena on a litter and no offense since you do look extremely fit I just don’t think I see you carrying me and one or both of them around..
Christine: Oh definitely not! Um, as it was pitched to me it was basically going to be “window dressing” for the presentation of the uhhh “gimmick” you said? I basically was told I would alternate between feeding you fruit and fanning you with a prop leaf.
DGX: Ahh. That makes sense. I’m not sure if the people of the time actually had a title for that and Valet is good a one as any. And you look great in the outfit too!
Christine: Oh thanks!
By now the Carmen-alike has removed the mask and indeed she looks identical to 2013 Carmen King. She obviously sees it in his face since a look of annoyance comes across her Carmen features.
Probably Not Carmen: Look, I can see it already, I get it all the time from friends, family and co-workers it’s a little weird to get it from the guy that dated her for years but no I am not Carmen King. I’m not from New York, I have no relation personal nor biological to her. Alright?
DGX: Sure you just look…identical is all.
Doesn’t like to be called Carmen: People look like people. It happens. You used to look like Kurt Burton when you started and…
DGX: Ehhh tut tut tut! We don’t discuss that time in my career! What’s Sassy here’s name?
Cathryn O’Shea: This is Carmine. Aspiring actress from Ohio.
DGX: Carmine…seriously?
Cathryn O’Shea: Yes. As you might imagine Bobby chose her for this for her obvious resemblance to your former valet Carmen King. She of course is to be your closest valet, the leader/organizer of your court and Queen of your retinue.
DGX: Ahhhh no.
Cathryn O’Shea: Pardon?
DGX: Yeah, the whole “Queen” thing? Not happening. She’s right after all…she looks nothing like a Queen. No, you look more like…a Concubine.
Carmine: Excuse me?
DGX: A Concubine. It’s basically everything Catherine said just without any prestige or recognition attached to it. Plus, it flows better to say “Carmine the Concubine.” The Sovereign does not have a Queen. He’s peerless. Also, you’re all employees so you’ll all do as I tell you or leave. And maybe next time you have a smart mouth quip about my former likenesses, you’ll think back on this moment and control that smart mouth of yours.
Carmine seems to pout but folds her arms in sullen defeat. Aurora nods curtly. She’s a consummate professional he can tell. Christine smiles a big smile!
Christine: You got it boss!
She does unironic finger guns. Stifling a groan that she definitely ‘killed it’ in the interview with Bobby he musters a thumbs up.
Cathryn O’Shea: I think we’re ready then. Bobby wants you to make the Rumble announcement at the show tomorrow night.
And announce it he would. After all who better to announce the return of the most royalist of Rumble matches to the WFWF’s kingdom than it’s benevolent and loving Sovereign?
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“Shapeshifting requires the ability to transcend your attachments, in particular your ego attachments to identity and who you are. If you can get over your attachment to labelling yourself and your cherishing of identity, you can be virtually anybody.” – Zeena Schreck
You want to know the hardest part about changing yourself for whatever the circumstances require? Sometimes they require you to do things or be a certain way that makes you sick. Something the runs counter to every instinct you have in a given moment or time. I’ve spoken before about Rose. The events of the XWA in the 10s that run parallel to my first run here. But his was one of my most potent lessons in changing myself to be what I was required to be. So I can briefly summarize: Rose came into the XWA at the point in my career where I’d be at it for awhile, he was among the first in that generation of competitors that sought me out to tell me how much of a fan he was. That he’d “grown” up watching me, hero worship and all that good stuff. XWA re-opened in 2013 and our paths found themselves on a collision to Legends. And he bested me. But in so doing he crossed the line, tried to end my career. Sent me on a nightmare journey to different medical rooms and batteries of doctors with the same “wait and see” unhelpful advice when it came to concussions and impact trauma.
I hate hospitals. Always have. So, to be condemned to a limbo of them it was about the worst thing that could have been visited upon me. But I persevered, came through it because I must. I wasn’t going out that way, I refused. I forced my way through because there was no other way, my brain would fall in line or it would be disregarded. It was that simple. So when I came back and won the Lord of the Ring which gave me the opportunity at the championship anytime I wanted I put it in my back pocket. Hutton was a friend and ally, and a reputable and respectable champion. I had no quarrel with him and no thirst for gold at the time. I was busying winning everything in the world with Alex at the time, my success was such I didn’t need the belt.
But when Rose found his way to a shot at the title against Hutton I knew my patience had paid off. Rose was leery, very intelligent guy. Always had been and that had not dulled. The urge, the near demand in myself to simply find him, lay him out and visit that same uncertainty on his career raged in my heart every day I was in the same building as him. But I waited. Then when he won a shot I found the formations of a plan. I knew how to disarm him. I knew what he craved more than almost anything. It however made me physically ill to give it to him. My forgiveness. Under it all I was still his hero. He didn’t deserve it. I resolved however to give him what he did deserve, I’d have to play a part.
So I forgave him. Took him into my heart and was a proud, beaming mentor. Had to be real though, Rose was no fool. If I tried to be a wolf dressed as a sheep, he’d see the teeth. So I became his friend. I told him that I was over it, even grateful for the perspective of how precious this all is faced with it being taken away. We hugged, he cried, it was disgusting. But I was with him as he approached his big shot at redemption against Hutton. The encouraging mentor, gassing him up as he worked through his doubts and worries. It was almost endearing, how he trusted me with his doubts about everything. Despite myself I found that I was invested, cared and maybe even rooted for him to have his moment.
That’s why I was able to take the retribution I did. His biggest moment came, he won the title again and this time it was the sweetest one! Because his hero! His childhood idol! His friend was there to share it with him. I remember his embrace, his bubbling platitudes about how it was “as much for you as it is me!” Turns out he was actually right though not for the reasons he’d envisioned. I almost doubted myself in that moment as he climbed the turnbuckle across from me, secure in giving me his back. It was what I wanted though, what it had all been for. So I kicked him in the face and cashed in my title opportunity taking his moment and title in one vicious swipe. If you look back at the footage you might see that I cried, such a release of emotion for the retribution I thirsted for. Between you and I, I mourned a little in that moment. Injured myself to achieve vengeance. Rose would go on to lose to me in our big rematch at Legends, getting his Vestal lesson from me in the process.
You see that’s the benefit of being a shapeshifter. Someone who can be what they need to be when the situations warrant. You can take lessons and characteristics from others on your journey and blend them into a unique synthesis that makes up who you become. It’s the ultimate advantage, the ability to change and adapt to achieve your ends. I’ve heard this scoffed at, opponents of this way of being levying accusation of a lack of identity or convictions of my own. Doesn’t matter, I know exactly who I am. The guy who wins. That will always be good enough for me.
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Standing at the precipice of the toughest challenge of the Sovereign’s latest campaign I can’t help but feel a shiver of anticipation. Though I am an old lion, grizzled and long in the tooth this Rumble match…this is my Gaul. I don’t go through just anybody to achieve my ends, tonight I go through everybody. It’s daunting, ambitious, galling even! See what I did there?! But I go into this match in hopes the lessons I’ve shared with myself to inform the Sovereign I’ve become will see me through to being the last man standing. The field is stacked, it even has a good number of the most challenging adversary of all, the dreaded question mark. It could be a industry legend like Drakz (I can hope), it could be a former up and comer derailed from his ascent only to return to complete his climb like Johnny Valentine….or it could be the Gobbledygooker coming out of retirement for the laugh (ugh, I hate chickens!) but that’s the challenge. The spectrum was that wide and each required a different tactic and strategy. This will test my adaptability but I have the confidence to believe I can adapt.
One thing I do know and have nailed down is thankfully I don’t have to actually through out everybody. People see a battle royale like this and it’s daunting because they think they have to fight everyone, throw everyone out and survive. That’s how amateurs approach this kind of a match and I am many things but inexperienced, I haven’t been that for a long time. Thankfully the WFWF is a menagerie of personas each with their own motivations and picadilloes. Some are obvious like Karate’s Steve’s odd infatuation with a beloved deceased star of cinema Paul Walker (rest in power) and to provoke that ire with a small white lie of deception will ensure Shuggy has at least a little trouble from me. I’m not immune to this though, as evidenced by my impromptu outburst last show. But honestly, Steve is a lovely human and call him fat just because you’re frustrated that you suck. Yeah, spoilers Napoleon, you’re going out faster than I pinned you last week! But I digress, the story threads that weave their way through this battle will be important roads to navigate and turn to my advantage. I almost don’t even know where to begin but of course then some help is proffered.
Ah Trace, you just can’t help but be helpful can you? I told you in Boston, what you are. What you do. You’d be dangerous if you had any control or mastery of yourself to run counter to your nature. But here you are, stinging the fox carrying you across the water. I mean honestly, assaulting a helpless woman on national television and threatening children. Taking that great big red magic marker and painting the biggest bullseye on your chest before a contest like this. Not terribly bright but I suppose no one ever accused you of being clever. In your mind’s eye doubtlessly you see yourself as the anti-hero, coming in to the hostile vipers nest and stomping out everyone enroute to a convincing and statement victory! The King of Demons reigns again, come one come all! As I told you however, your vision is divorced from reality. You’re not that caliber of competitor. You’re just not. You’ve positioned yourself to be the great evil, the big dragon to be slayed. Unfortunately you’re not Drogon, you’re the one that got shot through the neck by Euron Greyjoy. I guess you can at least be thankfully that you’ve planted the excuses your psyche will require to refute the reality of your lack of ability. It’ll be true we’re all against you, women battering and child menacing tends to bring that out in people.
Then there is the aggrieved party in this whole saga. You know Shuggy, I find myself liking you. You just seem like an earnest, honest to goodness good dude. A little immature sure, but you got that childlike wonder in your eyes at all of this. Damn, I can’t even remember if I had that at any point. But this is different. Your family has been victimized. I’ve been on both sides of that and I know you’re not coming into the Rumble with a smile or awestruck eyes. You’re riding rage. You have a singular focus and its Trace Demon’s face with his stupid red hair and perpetual snarl. This man assaulted the mother of your child, he’s made it clear his is aware of your child and has intent to do harm. All you can see is him, you’re hyper focused. While you’re looking for him, you won’t be looking for me. Or any of the other twenty-seven other people who can throw you out. You’re a tightly wound bomb waiting to explode and when you do, you’ll take Trace and if I’m lucky a couple of others with you both. I just hope when you at least get Trace all to yourself you’ve learned the lesson I did against Vestal.
The next largest thread that weaves in this tapestry is old issues that will be “settled” earlier in the night. It never works out that way. Feuds often blow off and end because there’s time to process and accept what happened in the match but in a situation where you go twice in one night it’s a dangerous tipping point. Emotions are still raw and high, and the loser of that match will believe that to laugh last is to laugh best. As well being the is precarious also because you have to keep an eye for your old rival but not to the point you take your eyes off the threats around you. For Mesh, Josh Dean, HANDLECATCH and Alex that’ll be another layer to this. Something to keep in mind as the match unfolds. Because for at least two of these people I don’t believe one match will be enough to resolve the issues brewing between them.
Mesh is such a puzzle. Almost as though some force or event has caused her to retreat into herself, like she can’t confront something. I don’t know much about Mesh (I don’t really follow the product too close and that’s on me) but to hear others tell it she used to be a pretty happy go lucky, devil may care daredevil who liked to show off in the ring and rock with the people. To see the conflict in you now first hand, it’s confusing. Maybe you just don’t like Johnny Mason, that’s possible. Also in your defense it totally did look like he was going in for the sucker punch. Then there’s Johnny’s side to this whole deal, tries to show respect and in turn gets disrespected. Chicks…amirite? However your tilt turns out though and no matter what she says, I can tell you from an outsiders perspective looking in? She doesn’t respect you mate. Full truth, she’s kind of treating you like you’re a punk. I know that if someone treated me the way she’s treated you, there’d be one response for them. On the subject Mesh don’t think I’ve forgotten you getting handsy with me a couple of shows back. One does note merely push a Sovereign girl. Your identity crisis and struggle with yourself not withstanding you can figure out who you are on your own time, with your eyes down and your head bowed. As befits the proper genuflection you show your Sovereign.
Then there’s the remains of Alex Sean. Jesus man. I’ve known you for twenty one years, we’re an integral piece of each other’s story. We’ve torn apart companies fighting each other all the way to conquering the world together. The whole spectrum in between, we fall out of touch for a few years and this is what you deteriorate to? I can’t front, it’s jarring. It’s like seeing a once proud and powerful man-o-war that ruled the high seas with the purest of might reduced to a reclaimed derelict lifted from the depths in hopes that it might still sail. But just looking at you I wonder if the deck can even hold the weight of the cannons still. You’re not quite Titanic waterlogged but you’re closer to reclaimed wood than former glory. I do have to give you credit, you’re determined to find out what is what. HANDLECATCH is no joke. We’re just lucky there were no parallel bars in the ring at He’ll Kick You Apart, He’ll Kick You Apart and that you managed to land that sucker punch. A match like the Rumble is definitely a good stress test for what you can still do. I have to admit though, I’m watching through finger slits because I’m dreading what I may see. My feelings on Father Time being undefeated are clear, but for all the piss and vinegar I present it’s a little unnerving to see the number he’s doing on you.
Then there is the dynasty McGurk.
That is the main event for me. The reason I’m doing what I’m doing. To be clear, I’m doing what I’m doing to make history, to erase doubt in the public consciousness that I’m the greatest of all time. I’m doing what I’m doing because I want to be next up for the WFWF world championship. But the reason I’m number one? The reason I’m setting out to make this match mine? Retribution. This isn’t about the faux “princess of wrestling” with her whole “ohhh I don’t wanna be famous and revered just cuz I’m a McGurk but love me cuz I’m a McGurk” or the adopted gender fluid daughter in the match carrying the McGurk banner. No, this is about the patriarch. This is about Wayne McGurk. This is about Battleground 2009. This is about a debt unpaid. I feel like it warrants some explanation, but not a bunch. I’ve been over what happened that night, what it meant to me, the fallout that ensued. But I’ve never actually had the opportunity nor the platform to fully communicate to Wayne McGurk how I feel about him. Seems as good a time as any…here we go.
Wayne…I hate you. I loath your family, your face, your accomplishments, everything that makes up the construct that is you. I put myself into this Rumble number one because a large part of your achievements are held in this match. So my retribution for what you did to my family at Battleground all those years ago? I’m not going to break your wife’s limbs. I’m not going to end your little girl’s career. I’m not going to destroy your adopted daughter’s psyche and body before sending her back to you. No. All of that Wayne McGurk is too f*cking good for you. Your punishment for your transgression against us, against me, is nothing short of erasure. I am going to be the person who super imposes himself over everything you’ve ever done in this business. I’m the eraser that is going to scratch you out of existence. I’m the guy that’s going to tear down your monuments, take your name off all the signs and leave you to fade into obscurity. Unheralded. Unmourned. There will be no big climactic battle for you just swallowed by the mists of time, forgotten. Your legacy’s relevancy eaten away by the erosion of time. I really hope you’re behind one of those question marks though. Because the only thing sweeter than superseding all your accomplishments would be to do it to your face.
Because in the end none of you matter. I put myself against the field, I am the one who stands in front of you all, smile on face and song in heart. Because I know what you do not. You stand against inevitability. I am a force that cannot be resisted, I was not pre-ordained nor prophesized, I made myself into this. I am Unicron sinking his arms into a planet, consuming your children, your lives, the very earth beneath your feet! I’m Thanos collecting stones from tiresome fools who doubt my vision, all meaningless when I snap my fingers. Like Time itself eroding and decaying the bodies and wills of mortal people. I cannot be resisted, I cannot be defied, I cannot be changed. I am unyielding. You are all as dust before a hurricane.
White walls. Faintly beeping monitors. The steady tick of a clock. A set of grey doors, foreboding, imperious. Waiting. We can only wait. Door opens, the figure emerges, large white coat, black featureless uncaring countenance obscured by large glasses. He speaks…
No..
A rhythmic pounding of a piston snaps him back. There doesn't appear to be any reaction from the court, he must've just seemed to space out or looked focus. As the male choir raises their voices in song he feels himself settling into mindset.
It is time for battle.
The Sovereign takes the field.
: One that seems to be able to change form or identity at will; a mythical figure that can assume different forms (as of animals)
- Merriam Webster’s Dictionary
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Cathryn O’Shea: So you see yourself as “Sovereign”, what does that mean to you?
DGX: A ruler or owner of a place, kind of like a landlord but posher.
Cathryn O’Shea: How is that different from a Caesar to you?
They really need to let this go. I’m not going with “Caesar”, it’s just not a thing. I imagine she was being paid to press anyhow. She’d find him immovable on that point.
DGX: Hasn’t been done before really. Caesar is more togas and triumphs and ye olde times feel. Sovereign is more general, could be used then, could be used now.
Cathryn O’Shea: Originality is important to you isn’t it?
Sarcasm or genuine observation? Hard to tell with the perpetual Ms. Monotone.
DGX: I do like to be unique if nothing else.
DGX stands in the sequestered space O’Shea has prepared for the creation of the Sovereign. Briefly DGX wonders what Abadi is paying her before dismissing the thought. Wasn’t his money, what’d he care?
Cathryn O’Shea: Well, Bobby did do allot of preliminary work on this with wardrobe at least so we do have some options to go through but full disclosure they were working from a “Caesar” kind of perspective.
Of course they were.
DGX: Yeah I’m just gonna go ahead and say it, if there’s any kind of togas that make up the attire feel free to put those aside. Not going to be wearing those.
Cathryn O’Shea: Why not?
DGX: Freedom of motion for one, I’m an athlete not a frat boy.
O’Shea purses her lips and then claps her hands, some flunkies from wardrobe scurry about removing a selection of toga robes from the area. He narrows his eyes as he beholds what remains. It’s just like Bobby had envisioned him just readily agreeing to the Caesar thing. There’s a golden wreath, a standard bearing a golden eagle, sandals, it’s a mess.
Cathryn O’Shea: So is there anything left in this we can actually use?
DGX: Yeah, yeah I think we can get away with the wreath. I don’t want to do a big crown deal, it’s too garish.
As he speaks DGX is digging through the mess of props and other things. A couple of scepters, an item to hold. Don’t need that. Moving behind another changing blocker he spies a white cape. It’s not bad. He grabs it and inspects the edges, gold trim. Very nice. He’d always appreciated Kingsguard cloaks in GoT. Pulling the cape away from the wall he sees how they attach, golden shoulder pommels in the form of gold lion’s heads. That’s appropriately regal for what he’s going for.
DGX: This cape will make for a good entrance attire piece. Accentuates the wreath some and the shoulder pommels say I’m not some sit on his ass and watch ruler, I’m hands on. I get in there. Appropriate since ya know, I’m the one who wrestles the matches.
He nods. O’Shea for her part looks with her same expressionless, unmoving, unreacting, joyless face and nods. Approval maybe? Who knows.
Cathryn O’Shea: Do you want to use the lion’s head scepter to match the pommels?
DGX: Oh no. Not going to do a scepter. Never liked the idea of a wand or scepter or whathave you. It generally winds up a McGuffin in the mind of the audience. Like this item is the source of my powers and if you can take it from you would have my power! Nah. I’m the Sovereign. My word is law. I am power.
Cathryn O’Shea: Probably better for the room situation in the litter anyways.
DGX: Oh I’m getting a litter? With like…people to actually carry it?
Cathryn O’Shea: Yes. Bobby has already ordered it. Should accommodate you and probably two other people.
He had to give it to Bobby, he did not lack commitment to the bit.
DGX: Well, that’ll be pretty interesting. I can’t imagine those things ride comfortably but we’ll see how it goes.
DGX smiles and turns to face a mirror, putting on the cape and finally resting the wreath upon his head. He looks left, he looks right. Golden. Chosen. Like a King. He draws himself up to his height, feeling the trappings of power seep into his psyche.
DGX: How do I look?
Cathryn O’Shea: Like a Sovereign.
He smiles. Though monotone and clipped as usual at least it was the right thing to say. Ugh this is going to be rough. He hopes the text he discreetly sent Werner about twenty minutes ago goes through.
Cathryn O’Shea: I mean, you’re doing enough of the Caesar thing that I don’t understand why you don’t just go all in on it.
DGX: I am all in. Just not on Caesar. Like I said, I don’t do covers. It’s why I’m not a King either. To become a Sovereign I need to create who and what that is. But end of the day it all informs a wrapping for what is a fully established being. End of the day I’m still DGX. Just this version of DGX is informed by someone else’s vision of DGX. I try to be flexible for things like that. It’s a lesson I learned early on…
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“You have permission to change, to shapeshift. You do not have to stick with things that no longer serve you. Life is too short to stick to things for the wrong reasons.” - Unknown
Early on in my career I had the good fortune to be used as an “unwitting” pawn in a larger power struggle. You know the politics of the business, the ugly side of it all. Cliques and feuds and rivalries bleed into the sanctified space of the locker room and full-on hatreds appear. Not even a month into my XWA career I found myself in the hunt for a world championship. I’d already picked up a hardcore title and one of my first matches in this tournament landed me my first taste of tag gold.
Partnerships form and dissolve, success is not always the balm it needs to be for animosity. So, I took the opportunity to befriend the aggrieved partner and get a stipulation added that this match was for the tag belt. Simple. First time meeting Alex too, even early he was useful to me. But the problem was up next I found myself against Alex’s mentor. An old timer in the business Mike Vengeance had the greatest hatred for the man who called himself “the MadDog.” Somewhat sad state of affairs, two veteran forty year old athletes using two early twenties young pups as proxies in their blood feud. Neither here nor there, but it was one of the first lessons I learned about doing the wrong thing for the right reasons.
I knew MadDog was a greedy, arrogant, and power-hungry man. I knew he’d turn on me the instant he deemed me no longer of use. I’d seen people of his ilk before, I was young but not naïve. But I also knew he was poised in the best position to give me what I wanted, the world championship I was fighting for. So I set up Mike Vengeance for MadDog in our match, turned on Alex giving MadDog both the tag title and the willing and eager protégé he craved. And I was rewarded with my first world championship, one month into my professional career. My success was short lived, of course MadDog turned on me in expected fashion. But I overcame him anyways, he was cagey, wily and devious but he was an old man and I was the youthful force on the come up. For all his underhanded and desperate attempts to stay at the top and relevant he was swept aside by my inevitability. The young will always replace the old, if the old refuses to adapt. To change. MadDog stood as living warning of what not to do when you reach the top. Wild that as I reflect on this now I’m him, at least in terms of age and where I am in my career/company. Probably a little better off if I’m being honest, I’ve done it more places than the XWA as well as generally better.
But his lessons live with me, even today. Thanks to him I enjoyed success early, never had to endure the narratives about “not winning the big one” or “yeah but he hasn’t won a championship” so many others endure. I also learned to appease the people in positions of power to grease the wheels for my own ends. Bobby Abadi is a fun guy, a loveable man-child with a deep love of his interests. He envisions me a Caesar, a king, a ruler in a landscape of giants, villains and champions. So, I’ll wear his golden laurel wreath. I’ll adorn myself in a white cape. I’ll let myself be carried in and out of arenas on litters and present the fair but imperious countenance of a just ruler of yore. And in exchange for that I’ll get to write my own ticket. Take down Trace Demon and correct the wrong of his victory over me that he should never have had and put myself number one in this great rumble that looms. And come through it all in position to ultimately take back what I want. The WFWF world championship.
I’m poised to make history. Everything I want is within my grasp. All because I know enough to play along.
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“Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do whatever it takes
'Cause I love how it feels when I break the chains
Whatever it takes
Yeah, take me to the top I'm ready for
Whatever it takes
'Cause I love the adrenaline in my veins
I do what it takes” – Imagine Dragons
I enjoy being successful. The math has been done and I turn out to be a guy who wins around eighty percent of the time. That is A grade range on most grading rubrics, but I find it’s not the victories or great moments of triumph that stay with you. It’s the losses. I don’t have allot but the ones I do are devastating. At least to me.
There are however lessons in failure. At least smart people make them to hold them, otherwise it’s just a waste. When I think of a lesson learned of a failure I reflect on the biggest defeat of my early career. It was the early Aughts, business was booming around the country. I was the top man in one of the biggest companies in a blood feud with one of the most hate top men! Vestal! It was the feud that everyone spoke of, and it was everything a great wrestling feud should be. Personal, a loathsome, unrepentant villain and a earnest, respected, relatable hero clashing over a championship. And in his pursuit of that championship the dastardly Vestal did everything he could to disrupt and distract the champion, families were involved, attacks of opportunity, it had it all! It all culminated in the big match, no rules, locked in steel, the vaunted prison from hell where at last the cowardly villain would at last meet his righteous comeuppance. The perfect storm for the fairytale ending to the tale. But while I was so busy trying to exact retribution, to repay every sin and transgression, to essentially destroy him…I forgot to win.
Vestal took the win and the title and I sat, bathed in anger and defeat. And I couldn’t at the time reconcile how it happened. How I lost. Everything in the merciless logic of the universe said I should win. I was the aggrieved party. I was the person who’d been wronged. And I had suffered those slings and arrows of indignities to at last get him into a position to take my revenge. That…is why I lost if you were wondering. Because that was the lesson Vestal had to teach me. I gave myself permission to do what I had to in order to win that match, and that was me agreeing to go to Vestal’s level. You’ll notice I didn’t say “down to” his level. I’m wiser than that now.
The lesson of Vestal is devastating in its simplicity, I had to give myself permission to do what I needed to win. Vestal just did what he had to at every point and never had those kinds of conversations with himself. He determined he needed to enrage me to the point that in my frenzy for his grievous bodily harm I’d make mistakes. Mistakes he could take advantage of and that’s what he did. You always have to be willing to do whatever it takes to win, there are no lines. Morality, honor, chivalry, decency are all high minded ideals, and ones that have no place in a combat arena. At least for a winner. Vestal unabashedly did anything and everything he needed to do to compromise me in order to beat me. He succeeded and once I had this honest conversation with myself, so did I. This lesson of Vestal informs much of what I became. Things I was willing to do in order to win, monstrous depravities I would commit all in the name of the edge needed to win. It was ugly but it worked. Eighty percent of the time leastways.
This rumble will be a very stout test, but there are all manner of agendas and vendettas that dot its landscape. The link to today is not what I’ve done, but what I’m going to do to win the Rumble. Which to distill the lesson into one line: whatever I have to.
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Those soulless eyes just bore into his soul. He’s been trying to drop knowledge on how to create and synthesize a character but damn this agony. This woman has the personality of lint. He could understand now why Alex had fled for the hills with Kmart Rebecca Marie. There is a knock on the door.
Thank God.
DGX: Come in!
The door opens and three people enter into the room. They also appear to be in costume, matching style outfits with masks, attired in gold. His eye draws first to the biggest of their number. She stands slightly above him at probably 6’3 and has the body of a bodybuilder, sturdy, tough. She looks like she could get into the ring if she wanted/needed to. Next is a mocha skinned woman slightly shorter than the towering Amazonian figure, also in decent shape. He actually stops and does a double take on the last one. Though they all are wearing golden masks he could swear that’s. But like, from a time warp, ten to twelve years ago. The likeness to Carmen is jarring.
DGX: Uhhhhh…hey..everyone.
COS wastes no time not reading any of the awkward energy in the room and begins with introductions.
Cathryn O’Shea: DGX, this will be your entourage. Or in Bobby’s parlance, your “court.”
She walks over to the Amazon first.
Cathryn O’Shea: This is Aurora. She will be your Champion. I assume this to be some facsimile of a bodyguard or enforcer. She’s a champion bodybuilder from Washington state and an amateur wrestler herself.
The towering blond woman nods her head briskly at her lord. For his part he returns the nod, no need to be rude on the ceremony of false majesty. O’Shea indicates the mocha skinned lady.
Cathryn O’Shea: This is Christine. She’s a professional gymnast and dietician from California. She’s also an aspiring actress. She will be “playing the part” of your Valet.
DGX: Uh, question?
Cathryn O’Shea: Yes.
DGX: What does a Valet in this context exactly do? Like in the context of the gimmick I mean. Like you told me I’d be going around the arena on a litter and no offense since you do look extremely fit I just don’t think I see you carrying me and one or both of them around..
Christine: Oh definitely not! Um, as it was pitched to me it was basically going to be “window dressing” for the presentation of the uhhh “gimmick” you said? I basically was told I would alternate between feeding you fruit and fanning you with a prop leaf.
DGX: Ahh. That makes sense. I’m not sure if the people of the time actually had a title for that and Valet is good a one as any. And you look great in the outfit too!
Christine: Oh thanks!
By now the Carmen-alike has removed the mask and indeed she looks identical to 2013 Carmen King. She obviously sees it in his face since a look of annoyance comes across her Carmen features.
Probably Not Carmen: Look, I can see it already, I get it all the time from friends, family and co-workers it’s a little weird to get it from the guy that dated her for years but no I am not Carmen King. I’m not from New York, I have no relation personal nor biological to her. Alright?
DGX: Sure you just look…identical is all.
Doesn’t like to be called Carmen: People look like people. It happens. You used to look like Kurt Burton when you started and…
DGX: Ehhh tut tut tut! We don’t discuss that time in my career! What’s Sassy here’s name?
Cathryn O’Shea: This is Carmine. Aspiring actress from Ohio.
DGX: Carmine…seriously?
Cathryn O’Shea: Yes. As you might imagine Bobby chose her for this for her obvious resemblance to your former valet Carmen King. She of course is to be your closest valet, the leader/organizer of your court and Queen of your retinue.
DGX: Ahhhh no.
Cathryn O’Shea: Pardon?
DGX: Yeah, the whole “Queen” thing? Not happening. She’s right after all…she looks nothing like a Queen. No, you look more like…a Concubine.
Carmine: Excuse me?
DGX: A Concubine. It’s basically everything Catherine said just without any prestige or recognition attached to it. Plus, it flows better to say “Carmine the Concubine.” The Sovereign does not have a Queen. He’s peerless. Also, you’re all employees so you’ll all do as I tell you or leave. And maybe next time you have a smart mouth quip about my former likenesses, you’ll think back on this moment and control that smart mouth of yours.
Carmine seems to pout but folds her arms in sullen defeat. Aurora nods curtly. She’s a consummate professional he can tell. Christine smiles a big smile!
Christine: You got it boss!
She does unironic finger guns. Stifling a groan that she definitely ‘killed it’ in the interview with Bobby he musters a thumbs up.
Cathryn O’Shea: I think we’re ready then. Bobby wants you to make the Rumble announcement at the show tomorrow night.
And announce it he would. After all who better to announce the return of the most royalist of Rumble matches to the WFWF’s kingdom than it’s benevolent and loving Sovereign?
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“Shapeshifting requires the ability to transcend your attachments, in particular your ego attachments to identity and who you are. If you can get over your attachment to labelling yourself and your cherishing of identity, you can be virtually anybody.” – Zeena Schreck
You want to know the hardest part about changing yourself for whatever the circumstances require? Sometimes they require you to do things or be a certain way that makes you sick. Something the runs counter to every instinct you have in a given moment or time. I’ve spoken before about Rose. The events of the XWA in the 10s that run parallel to my first run here. But his was one of my most potent lessons in changing myself to be what I was required to be. So I can briefly summarize: Rose came into the XWA at the point in my career where I’d be at it for awhile, he was among the first in that generation of competitors that sought me out to tell me how much of a fan he was. That he’d “grown” up watching me, hero worship and all that good stuff. XWA re-opened in 2013 and our paths found themselves on a collision to Legends. And he bested me. But in so doing he crossed the line, tried to end my career. Sent me on a nightmare journey to different medical rooms and batteries of doctors with the same “wait and see” unhelpful advice when it came to concussions and impact trauma.
I hate hospitals. Always have. So, to be condemned to a limbo of them it was about the worst thing that could have been visited upon me. But I persevered, came through it because I must. I wasn’t going out that way, I refused. I forced my way through because there was no other way, my brain would fall in line or it would be disregarded. It was that simple. So when I came back and won the Lord of the Ring which gave me the opportunity at the championship anytime I wanted I put it in my back pocket. Hutton was a friend and ally, and a reputable and respectable champion. I had no quarrel with him and no thirst for gold at the time. I was busying winning everything in the world with Alex at the time, my success was such I didn’t need the belt.
But when Rose found his way to a shot at the title against Hutton I knew my patience had paid off. Rose was leery, very intelligent guy. Always had been and that had not dulled. The urge, the near demand in myself to simply find him, lay him out and visit that same uncertainty on his career raged in my heart every day I was in the same building as him. But I waited. Then when he won a shot I found the formations of a plan. I knew how to disarm him. I knew what he craved more than almost anything. It however made me physically ill to give it to him. My forgiveness. Under it all I was still his hero. He didn’t deserve it. I resolved however to give him what he did deserve, I’d have to play a part.
So I forgave him. Took him into my heart and was a proud, beaming mentor. Had to be real though, Rose was no fool. If I tried to be a wolf dressed as a sheep, he’d see the teeth. So I became his friend. I told him that I was over it, even grateful for the perspective of how precious this all is faced with it being taken away. We hugged, he cried, it was disgusting. But I was with him as he approached his big shot at redemption against Hutton. The encouraging mentor, gassing him up as he worked through his doubts and worries. It was almost endearing, how he trusted me with his doubts about everything. Despite myself I found that I was invested, cared and maybe even rooted for him to have his moment.
That’s why I was able to take the retribution I did. His biggest moment came, he won the title again and this time it was the sweetest one! Because his hero! His childhood idol! His friend was there to share it with him. I remember his embrace, his bubbling platitudes about how it was “as much for you as it is me!” Turns out he was actually right though not for the reasons he’d envisioned. I almost doubted myself in that moment as he climbed the turnbuckle across from me, secure in giving me his back. It was what I wanted though, what it had all been for. So I kicked him in the face and cashed in my title opportunity taking his moment and title in one vicious swipe. If you look back at the footage you might see that I cried, such a release of emotion for the retribution I thirsted for. Between you and I, I mourned a little in that moment. Injured myself to achieve vengeance. Rose would go on to lose to me in our big rematch at Legends, getting his Vestal lesson from me in the process.
You see that’s the benefit of being a shapeshifter. Someone who can be what they need to be when the situations warrant. You can take lessons and characteristics from others on your journey and blend them into a unique synthesis that makes up who you become. It’s the ultimate advantage, the ability to change and adapt to achieve your ends. I’ve heard this scoffed at, opponents of this way of being levying accusation of a lack of identity or convictions of my own. Doesn’t matter, I know exactly who I am. The guy who wins. That will always be good enough for me.
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Standing at the precipice of the toughest challenge of the Sovereign’s latest campaign I can’t help but feel a shiver of anticipation. Though I am an old lion, grizzled and long in the tooth this Rumble match…this is my Gaul. I don’t go through just anybody to achieve my ends, tonight I go through everybody. It’s daunting, ambitious, galling even! See what I did there?! But I go into this match in hopes the lessons I’ve shared with myself to inform the Sovereign I’ve become will see me through to being the last man standing. The field is stacked, it even has a good number of the most challenging adversary of all, the dreaded question mark. It could be a industry legend like Drakz (I can hope), it could be a former up and comer derailed from his ascent only to return to complete his climb like Johnny Valentine….or it could be the Gobbledygooker coming out of retirement for the laugh (ugh, I hate chickens!) but that’s the challenge. The spectrum was that wide and each required a different tactic and strategy. This will test my adaptability but I have the confidence to believe I can adapt.
One thing I do know and have nailed down is thankfully I don’t have to actually through out everybody. People see a battle royale like this and it’s daunting because they think they have to fight everyone, throw everyone out and survive. That’s how amateurs approach this kind of a match and I am many things but inexperienced, I haven’t been that for a long time. Thankfully the WFWF is a menagerie of personas each with their own motivations and picadilloes. Some are obvious like Karate’s Steve’s odd infatuation with a beloved deceased star of cinema Paul Walker (rest in power) and to provoke that ire with a small white lie of deception will ensure Shuggy has at least a little trouble from me. I’m not immune to this though, as evidenced by my impromptu outburst last show. But honestly, Steve is a lovely human and call him fat just because you’re frustrated that you suck. Yeah, spoilers Napoleon, you’re going out faster than I pinned you last week! But I digress, the story threads that weave their way through this battle will be important roads to navigate and turn to my advantage. I almost don’t even know where to begin but of course then some help is proffered.
Ah Trace, you just can’t help but be helpful can you? I told you in Boston, what you are. What you do. You’d be dangerous if you had any control or mastery of yourself to run counter to your nature. But here you are, stinging the fox carrying you across the water. I mean honestly, assaulting a helpless woman on national television and threatening children. Taking that great big red magic marker and painting the biggest bullseye on your chest before a contest like this. Not terribly bright but I suppose no one ever accused you of being clever. In your mind’s eye doubtlessly you see yourself as the anti-hero, coming in to the hostile vipers nest and stomping out everyone enroute to a convincing and statement victory! The King of Demons reigns again, come one come all! As I told you however, your vision is divorced from reality. You’re not that caliber of competitor. You’re just not. You’ve positioned yourself to be the great evil, the big dragon to be slayed. Unfortunately you’re not Drogon, you’re the one that got shot through the neck by Euron Greyjoy. I guess you can at least be thankfully that you’ve planted the excuses your psyche will require to refute the reality of your lack of ability. It’ll be true we’re all against you, women battering and child menacing tends to bring that out in people.
Then there is the aggrieved party in this whole saga. You know Shuggy, I find myself liking you. You just seem like an earnest, honest to goodness good dude. A little immature sure, but you got that childlike wonder in your eyes at all of this. Damn, I can’t even remember if I had that at any point. But this is different. Your family has been victimized. I’ve been on both sides of that and I know you’re not coming into the Rumble with a smile or awestruck eyes. You’re riding rage. You have a singular focus and its Trace Demon’s face with his stupid red hair and perpetual snarl. This man assaulted the mother of your child, he’s made it clear his is aware of your child and has intent to do harm. All you can see is him, you’re hyper focused. While you’re looking for him, you won’t be looking for me. Or any of the other twenty-seven other people who can throw you out. You’re a tightly wound bomb waiting to explode and when you do, you’ll take Trace and if I’m lucky a couple of others with you both. I just hope when you at least get Trace all to yourself you’ve learned the lesson I did against Vestal.
The next largest thread that weaves in this tapestry is old issues that will be “settled” earlier in the night. It never works out that way. Feuds often blow off and end because there’s time to process and accept what happened in the match but in a situation where you go twice in one night it’s a dangerous tipping point. Emotions are still raw and high, and the loser of that match will believe that to laugh last is to laugh best. As well being the is precarious also because you have to keep an eye for your old rival but not to the point you take your eyes off the threats around you. For Mesh, Josh Dean, HANDLECATCH and Alex that’ll be another layer to this. Something to keep in mind as the match unfolds. Because for at least two of these people I don’t believe one match will be enough to resolve the issues brewing between them.
Mesh is such a puzzle. Almost as though some force or event has caused her to retreat into herself, like she can’t confront something. I don’t know much about Mesh (I don’t really follow the product too close and that’s on me) but to hear others tell it she used to be a pretty happy go lucky, devil may care daredevil who liked to show off in the ring and rock with the people. To see the conflict in you now first hand, it’s confusing. Maybe you just don’t like Johnny Mason, that’s possible. Also in your defense it totally did look like he was going in for the sucker punch. Then there’s Johnny’s side to this whole deal, tries to show respect and in turn gets disrespected. Chicks…amirite? However your tilt turns out though and no matter what she says, I can tell you from an outsiders perspective looking in? She doesn’t respect you mate. Full truth, she’s kind of treating you like you’re a punk. I know that if someone treated me the way she’s treated you, there’d be one response for them. On the subject Mesh don’t think I’ve forgotten you getting handsy with me a couple of shows back. One does note merely push a Sovereign girl. Your identity crisis and struggle with yourself not withstanding you can figure out who you are on your own time, with your eyes down and your head bowed. As befits the proper genuflection you show your Sovereign.
Then there’s the remains of Alex Sean. Jesus man. I’ve known you for twenty one years, we’re an integral piece of each other’s story. We’ve torn apart companies fighting each other all the way to conquering the world together. The whole spectrum in between, we fall out of touch for a few years and this is what you deteriorate to? I can’t front, it’s jarring. It’s like seeing a once proud and powerful man-o-war that ruled the high seas with the purest of might reduced to a reclaimed derelict lifted from the depths in hopes that it might still sail. But just looking at you I wonder if the deck can even hold the weight of the cannons still. You’re not quite Titanic waterlogged but you’re closer to reclaimed wood than former glory. I do have to give you credit, you’re determined to find out what is what. HANDLECATCH is no joke. We’re just lucky there were no parallel bars in the ring at He’ll Kick You Apart, He’ll Kick You Apart and that you managed to land that sucker punch. A match like the Rumble is definitely a good stress test for what you can still do. I have to admit though, I’m watching through finger slits because I’m dreading what I may see. My feelings on Father Time being undefeated are clear, but for all the piss and vinegar I present it’s a little unnerving to see the number he’s doing on you.
Then there is the dynasty McGurk.
That is the main event for me. The reason I’m doing what I’m doing. To be clear, I’m doing what I’m doing to make history, to erase doubt in the public consciousness that I’m the greatest of all time. I’m doing what I’m doing because I want to be next up for the WFWF world championship. But the reason I’m number one? The reason I’m setting out to make this match mine? Retribution. This isn’t about the faux “princess of wrestling” with her whole “ohhh I don’t wanna be famous and revered just cuz I’m a McGurk but love me cuz I’m a McGurk” or the adopted gender fluid daughter in the match carrying the McGurk banner. No, this is about the patriarch. This is about Wayne McGurk. This is about Battleground 2009. This is about a debt unpaid. I feel like it warrants some explanation, but not a bunch. I’ve been over what happened that night, what it meant to me, the fallout that ensued. But I’ve never actually had the opportunity nor the platform to fully communicate to Wayne McGurk how I feel about him. Seems as good a time as any…here we go.
Wayne…I hate you. I loath your family, your face, your accomplishments, everything that makes up the construct that is you. I put myself into this Rumble number one because a large part of your achievements are held in this match. So my retribution for what you did to my family at Battleground all those years ago? I’m not going to break your wife’s limbs. I’m not going to end your little girl’s career. I’m not going to destroy your adopted daughter’s psyche and body before sending her back to you. No. All of that Wayne McGurk is too f*cking good for you. Your punishment for your transgression against us, against me, is nothing short of erasure. I am going to be the person who super imposes himself over everything you’ve ever done in this business. I’m the eraser that is going to scratch you out of existence. I’m the guy that’s going to tear down your monuments, take your name off all the signs and leave you to fade into obscurity. Unheralded. Unmourned. There will be no big climactic battle for you just swallowed by the mists of time, forgotten. Your legacy’s relevancy eaten away by the erosion of time. I really hope you’re behind one of those question marks though. Because the only thing sweeter than superseding all your accomplishments would be to do it to your face.
Because in the end none of you matter. I put myself against the field, I am the one who stands in front of you all, smile on face and song in heart. Because I know what you do not. You stand against inevitability. I am a force that cannot be resisted, I was not pre-ordained nor prophesized, I made myself into this. I am Unicron sinking his arms into a planet, consuming your children, your lives, the very earth beneath your feet! I’m Thanos collecting stones from tiresome fools who doubt my vision, all meaningless when I snap my fingers. Like Time itself eroding and decaying the bodies and wills of mortal people. I cannot be resisted, I cannot be defied, I cannot be changed. I am unyielding. You are all as dust before a hurricane.
White walls. Faintly beeping monitors. The steady tick of a clock. A set of grey doors, foreboding, imperious. Waiting. We can only wait. Door opens, the figure emerges, large white coat, black featureless uncaring countenance obscured by large glasses. He speaks…
No..
A rhythmic pounding of a piston snaps him back. There doesn't appear to be any reaction from the court, he must've just seemed to space out or looked focus. As the male choir raises their voices in song he feels himself settling into mindset.
It is time for battle.
The Sovereign takes the field.
