GOLD RUSH Round 1 Roleplay Thread

[Chad]

This is it. Make sure you've read the press conference and the guidelines. All you have to do to stake your claim is post a roleplay here. (Note: Gregg started another thread for Troy as well, feel free to roleplay there or create your own thread if necessary.)

We'll post an official Round 1 deadline as soon as we see things start rolling a bit. Count on around 2 weeks for the full round.

Remember that at the close of Round 1 we'll post a VERSUS card that includes the "ring lottery" so that you know who you're in the ring against. Then Round 2 roleplay will begin.

 

[BWade]

Alone, again.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

After nearly twenty years in professional wrestling, Kevin Watson finds himself right back where he started.

Alone … again.

Kevin ascended to the height of his success in the MWC nearly six years ago. He even broke into the ranks of, arguably, the most prestigious wrestling promotion in the United States, CSWA. Though it eluded his in the CSWA, championship gold was no stranger to the waist of the “Innovator of Insanity” as he was known. The glory days had come and gone for Kevin.

His new reality had become north and south east regional promotions on a hundred/a match basis. Where they booked him as “CSWA’s own, ‘K-9‘,” a title he felt unbefitting considering his short tenure in the promotion, coupled with his untimely termination and subsequent ban. Yet, it put people in the seats, all four hundred of them, and granted Kevin fifty dollars more than the regional talent. So how could he complain, CSWA doesn’t pay the bills anymore … but for Kevin … those four letters help.

The North American regional money floats Kevin from week to week, but to keep the lights on … it was back to Japan!



Cut to: A shaky camera takes in a wide shot of a dingy wrestling ring set dead in the middle of a crowed arena. Blue ropes and turnbuckles run the length of the squared circle where two men lay belly up next to a referee. The first of the two is wearing black tights and black boots marked “JJ”. The other is Kevin Watson bleeding from the four head and clutching his face.

Stepping into the ring, an Asian ring announcer screams aloud in Japanese.

“…and your winner, Jack Johnson!”

Jack Johnson slowly stumbles to his feet tapping his brow to check for blood. The referee holds his hand up to signify he is the victor. Kevin rolls out the ring and with head hung low heads to the back stage area. The winners’ celebration continues in the ring as the shot fades away.



Kevin has never been afraid to loose, but as all competitors he’d prefer to have things go his way, especially at a time when his career is slipping more and more, day by day.

None the less, his name still rings a bell in Japan, so the pay is good … but not steady, Even the Japanese are beginning to see he is all washed up, and only use him on occasion… so it’s back to the states.



Cut to: Kevin exits a high school locker room, adjacent to the gym he’s just worked for a regional. His money is already collected, and his small bag packed … it’s to the next town, the next city; gym, armory, hall, parlor, arena …

Kevin is walking slowly down an empty hall way headed toward the parking lot to leave. A tall man approaches from a room just ahead on the right. The man steps out in brown slacks and coat, attempting to talk to Kevin, yet he keeps walking. Although showing no interest in a conversation, the man relentlessly follows Kevin, dodging cargo cases and different equipment that riddles the floor of the hall, attempting to talk to him.

“Kev’, ahhh … come on man! I know its been awhile … ok two years, but I promise you, just give me a second of you time! I got BIG news!”

Kevin continues to ignore the man’s pleading, brushing his hair back up out of his face; he shoots a short glance at the man, and keeps walking.

“Kevin, damn man… comes on!”

Kevin stops hard in his tracks. His head snaps back to reply, “CSWA?!”

“Well … not exactly, but …”

Kevin picks right back up where he left off, a few second later hitting the door empting out in the parking lot.

“Kevin, it’s not a full time CSWA spot, but it’s a shot toward the a spot in the CSWA.”

Kevin stops again briefly, and with a look of disgust fires back, “That’s what you said about Emp…”

Kevin is interrupted by the incessant pleading of the man following him.

“It’s completely different from that! You went from jail, to the matt, not a GOOD transition. Now your back, you’ve shaken off that ring rust, and you’re ready for the big times again! And this is the perfect, all you got to do is throw you name into the hat for this Gold Rush thing-y, show up in August, WIN a title and they got to let you stay!”

Kevin takes a few more steps; he opens the door to the silver rental car in front of him, and gets in. The man following, still talking as Kevin slams the door.

“Kev … come on, if nothing else it’s another Japan check!”

The car cranks, and Kevin rolls down the window. He thinks for a second and then speaks.

“Alright, what’s the deal?”

The man is taken back for a second, and quickly regains his composure and the camera fades as he eagerly explains the Gold Rush to Kevin.



Black.

 

[Dan]

Heroes Are Not Born...Heroes Are Made: Part One

The CSWA Hall of Fame.

Just behind a crowd of onlookers one of the CSWA’s newest signings, Scott Riktor, stood arms crossed, intently listening to Stephen Thomas’ proposed Anniversary spectacular. An Ultimate Gold Rush Match, an immediate chance at a championship. For someone with the storied history of Scott Riktor, written in gold plates adorning championship belts, news like this was the best kind. And that’s why he hovered behind the crowd with a smile etched on his face until the speech was over, then walked off before he was recognized.

Scott met up with his wife, Christina, just outside the building. She was nearly six months pregnant now and showing. They talked on the way to their car, which they drove from Florida because they wanted to take every precaution with their first child.

“Was it really so big that he couldn’t just tell you over the phone,” Christina asked.

Scott nodded. “He just tossed out free title shots like Halloween candy in there. Some kind of four ringed battle royal with an open contract. He’s either going to instantly rebuild his company or kill some kid and end all hope altogether.”

“It’s a good thing you get paid per appearance then, huh?” Christina was joking with her husband but Scott didn’t find it all that amusing. Whatever euphoria that he was experiencing during the announcement had faded away once he truly realized what was at stake, not a championship belt, or four, but an entire company.

Scott knew a thing or two about running a wrestling promotion now since agreeing to become LoC’s Legacy Commissioner and forfeiting his right to compete for the championship bearing the same name. This move by Stephen Thomas wasn’t revolutionary, it was desperate. The truth turned Scott’s stomach. He wasn’t told over the phone because he probably wouldn’t have shown up if he was. Now, he felt he was obligated to.

“I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

Scott rubbed his wife’s shoulders. “Nah, it just got me thinking is all. This could wind up being a very bad thing.”

“Then don’t let it.”

It always sounds so much easier than it really is.

 

[ride the access]

It wasn't easy being his friend, let alone his business manager. His reputation in professional wrestling was both well-earned and highly accurate. Mentally unstable. Injury-prone. Hard to work with. A man who has been known to take his ball and go home at the drop of the proverbial hat. So when he called me and told me to meet him at gate 59, Terminal B of the LAX at 11 p.m. sharp, I'd be lying if I said I was completely thrilled.

But this was my job, and more importantly he was my friend. So I went. And I waited.


"Flight 339, Japan Airlines from Tokyo to Los Angeles, now arriving at gate 59."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat at the sound of the automated announcement. It had been well over a year since I had been here last, and it was not quite under the greatest of circumstances. I was frantically trying to talk him out of boarding a flight back to Tokyo, trying to keep him from breaching the terms of his very real contract with Jolt Wrestling. Ironically, the man who was walking around in storylines as the "greatest free agent in wrestling" walked out of Jolt, and was only saved from being sued for everything he had by Jolt itself. More specifically, the fact that Jolt wasn't long for this world.

But controversy was nothing new for this man. The man who demanded his release from the Fans Wrestling Organization after a rocky, if not disappointing career there, to give Jolt a gigantic shot in the arm from its debut. After Jolt didn't work out any better, he returned to Japan, where he continued wrestling and remained completely off the American radar for almost a year.

Until now. He was back. And the only thing I could wonder is, with both the fWo and Jolt still seemingly out of commission, what could be big enough to bring him back to the States?

I was about to get my answer.

"I hate this ****ing country."

Xias spat onto the carpeted floor of the Los Angeles International Airport, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked towards me. Others around him looked at him as if he was crazy, and they were probably right. Still, Xias always knew how to make insanity look good- dressed in a three-piece white suit he had probably spent close to a thousand dollars on, with his once trademark long black hair now cut much shorter and dyed blonde with red highlights, he looked quite more eccentric than the Xias of old. He finally noticed me standing there, looking down at my much smaller 5'8 stature from his six-feet, four inches of height.

"You couldn't dress up a little bit better for this occasion?" he spoke, referring to my rather modest dress of a plain blue t-shirt and jeans. It did look quite out of place standing next to the man in the white suit, I had to agree. "Maybe I should have called Jason Winters instead."

"And have him sputtering around in his electric wheelchair?"

"It makes me laugh."

"That's because you're an asshole."

Xias glared at me for a second, before laughing and putting his arm around my shoulder roughly. I winced in pain as he pulled me in towards him, forcing me to walk with him.

"This is why I kept you around all this time, Bryan." Xias said as he smirked down at me. "You know how to make me laugh."

"I thought you have the kid for that now?" I muttered as he practically pushed me onto a moving walkway.

"I do, but the kid didn't want to come." Xias responded, almost looking hurt. "I can't exactly blame him, I mean **** this country sucks. It has the worst wrestling fans in the world, and hell, the worst wrestling promotions in the world too. The only thing good about it are the girls. Japanese chicks are all flat-chested and they giggle more than me after four joints."

I watched Xias immediately follow that comment up by making eyes at a girl of Hispanic descent that couldn't be older than 19.

"I didn't know the kid let you bang girls still." I said, rolling my eyes.

"The kid doesn't 'let me' do anything." Xias responded, while still keeping his eyes on the girl in the low-cut blouse. "If I want to bang a girl, I bang a girl. What's he going to do, throw ME out?! Hah!"

"Well, I figured you were finally running low on money by now. After all, why else would you come back here?"

Xias pushed me off the moving walkway and followed me off, before turning back around and watching the girl walk off into the distance.

"Damnit, if I didn't have you cramping my style, you badly-dressed midget, I'd go over there and get her number." Xias said.

"Right." I muttered. "You're so gay."

"Not on this side of the world I'm not. Like I said, only good thing about this ****ty country is the women."

"Like Jess-"

But even I knew when to shut up, and Xias' glare told me it was time to stop talking.

"Anyway, you still haven't clued me in on why you're here, or why I'm here for that matter." I said, quickly trying to change the subject.

"Well, that second one's easy." Xias replied. "You're here to drive me around."

Xias smirked down at me when he saw that wasn't the answer I was looking for.

"Alright, alright, I know the suspense must be killing you here." Xias laughed. "What, after all this time, could be enough to bring the Undeniable One back to America? The former fWo United States and Internet Champion, the former IOW World Heayvweight Champion, the most controversial wrestler in history, the greatest Native American athlete in history, the...."

"Do you always cut wrestling promos when cameras aren't around?" I said dryly.

"Shut up, I'm on a roll here."

Suddenly, a loud female screech could be heard, and two teenage girls came running in our general direction.

"Motherfuc-"

"Girls! What can I do for you!" Xias said, beaming as the two teenagers- one of them wearing a ******* IOW Nova shirt of all things- came rushing over to us.

"See! See! I told you so!" one of them, the blonde, said to the redheaded one. "I told you that if we follow the little guy with the bad hair, we'd find Xias!"

"Yeah, I guess you were right." the redhead agreed. "Xias, will you marry me?"

"Sorry, but you're a little young for my tastes dear." Xias replied.

"Aww, okay." she said, sounding more than a little disappointed. "Can I go on the internet and tell everyone we're getting married anyway?"

"Uh....sure."

"How did you manage to find the only two teenage girls on the face of the planet where the blonde one was the SMART one?" I whispered to him.

"I never find them, they always find me." Xias whispered back.

"So would you please give us another autograph!" the blonde one said, holding up a marker.

"Sure, anything for a fan." Xias smirked as he took the marker from her, but then looked back at her with a look of confusion. "Uh, what am I supposed to be signing?"

"Well, how about my ti-"

"Okay that's it, as Mr. Xias' lawyer and manager I'm going to have to recommend we bring this interaction to an immediate end!" I said, grabbing Xias by his shoulder and practically dragging him away.

"Awwww." the two girls said as Xias just shrugged and dropped the marker on the ground while I lead him away by the arm.

"Hahahaha, I'm Mr. Xias."

"Why couldn't I have been Randy Savage's business manager instead?" I wondered aloud.

"I wonder if they're legal yet. Hey, you're a lawyer. If they say they're 21 and they give me fake ID to prove it, do I still get arrested for sex with a minor?"

"Yes."

"Phooey."

"So, are you gonna finish telling me why you're back in the States, or are you going to go hit on more marks?"

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you." Xias said. "But only because you called me 'Mr. Xias'."

"So, what the **** is it?! Is Jolt coming back?"

"No."

"Are you going back to the eff-dub?"

"No."

"Are you bringing IOW back?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHA....no."

"So.....what is it then?"

"There's only one promotion in the entire United States of America that's worth my time." Xias said as he walked down the hallway. "There's only one promotion, and one title that could make me return from Japan."

"And that is...."

"The CSWA Unified World Title."

I promptly fainted on the floor.

Xias, of course, immediately walked away to see if he could find the Hispanic chick who "looked 19".

And the redheaded chick was already fast at work on an internet terminal, letting everyone know that she was pregnant with Xias' child.

He can't go home again soon enough.

 

[TH]

"I think it's time to trade up."

The scene is the Anonymous cabin on the Parsons Cruise Liner II. Your CSWA Greensboro Champion, Jericoholic Anonymous, sits on his bed, Championship belt draped across his lap, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.

JA: You know, I'm usually not the kind of guy who's going to stand up and b*tch about getting shoddy treatment or being the douche who parades himself and all his good deeds around for everyone to stand and take notice, but I think this case, I'm going to make a pretty big exception. You see, I've been stuck on this cruise ship for God knows how long, led here under false pretenses that this was going to be a vacation with a little bit of work. It turned out to be match, search for hacker, match, search for hacker. All work no play, and I see no use in ripping off the Shining here, because that's what you want me to do. I mean, I've had no time to plow my fiancée. What the hell's that about? I'm cranky!

I'm even crankier at the fact that the so-called UNIFIED Chumpion was allowed to retire, unretire, interject himself in a ladder match he wasn't scheduled to be in, marry Manhands Troy... oops, wrong promotion. Anyway, he does all that crap with impunity, while I'm here playing Sherlock John Holmes (just ask Lollipop, she'll vouch for that) with Roderick McRatrick and the Peanut Gallery. Here you are, a talentless Cable Ace hack gets the limelight and I, the most electrifyingly entertaining man on the roster, has to chase down fat chicks and laptops. Add that on top of the fact that the only time I met Troy Windham Troy in the ring, he screwed me out of beating him and staking another false claim to his title... speaking of which, hi Professor Tremendous!... well, I'm really pissed off.

Now, I know what you, the average viewer at home, is thinking. Why is this masked freak b*tching all of a sudden? Doesn't he know that we hate whiners? Well, it's not without a point. I know what needs to be done in the ring, but I'm here tonight to tell you that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to sit back anymore and watch as flavors of the week like Anger Bot or High on Acid Flyer or whatever the hell other star they're plucking from the Pee-Tee-See or eff-Dubya-oh world race ahead of me in UNIFIED status. No. I'm tired of sitting back and watching while I have to fight Borinators and guys named Christian Canyonero. I'm taking what's mine, and what's mine is that UNIFIED Championship.

I've been with this company for over a year now. I mean, I know we've only run about four or five shows in that year's time, but I can't help but feel that I've put the load on my shoulders to be a face... errr mask on top of a face for this company. It's time now for me to step up and start asserting myself as being THE face... or the mask... well, you get it.

It starts with the first ring. Yeah, I still remember that I have this... [pats the G-boro belt], and I'm damn proud of that. I know I've only defended it, what, twice? I was kinda hoping to defend it for forty days and forty nights of straight defenses before I let my people go... errr... well, you know what I mean. I like having it, but now, it's time to trade up. FIrst, I go through everyone who wants a piece of me in my own ring, the Anglo Luchador ring. Then, it's on to teach a certain Epitome of Jackassery a lesson.

That's right, He-Troy, I'm talking to you. You who's held the UNIFIED Championship hostage for a year, with smoke and mirrors, by hook AND by crook. While you may serve as a role model for the Roderick McRatricks of the world, you certainly aren't fit to hold the gym socks of guys like Jo-Jo Melton or the Big Bad Bug let alone the title belt whose lineage you're disgracing with every day that passes. Now, never let it be known that I'm anything more than a jackass myself. Hell, I've been told that every day of my life. The difference between you and me, Troy-Boy... I'm a jackass who at least knows how to wrestle and knows the meaning of the words honor, respect and glory. Which is more than I can say for you or your two toadies.

That's why you're going down. You lost respect for the treasure you have, and now, it's nothing more than a trinket for you, along with your Cable Ace Awards and your parchment that certified you as a bonafide extra cum laude in movies like Snakes on a Plane and Showgirls. Well, I'm pretty damn sure they'll let you keep a replica.

Because it's about time for someone who's going to carry the real thing with the pride it deserves to hold it.

Fade to the CSWA logo.

 

[xionexodus]

The Return

(Here goes my first CSWA roleplay.)

It has been three years since Xion Exodus stepped into a ring. Ever since "The Gleaming Golden Man God" Jake Savage broke both of his legs in a PWF match for the PWF World Championship, Xion has been in seclusion. For the past three years, Xion has lived in a remote mountain range in South Central Canada. While here he trained even harder than before to make a final return to the squared circle.


Xion sits alone in his cabin. A fire burns in the fireplace and candles dimmly light the room.


"It has been three years Xion. It is time to return," Xion thinks to hisself. "But where do I go? PWF is no more. Who will let you wrestle for them? How will you live when you are there? Will you run into Savage?"


Xion leaves his rural palace and heads for the city. Upon arriving in the town, Xion spots a flyer hanging in the Bus Station. It reads: ATTENTION ALL WRESTLERS!!! CSWA is holding a special match fo it's 2006 ANNIVERSARY SHOW! Any abled body is eligible to wrestle. Apply within!

Xion immediatly leaves for the CSWA Home Office. Upon arriving, Xion meets another wrestler seeking entry.

"Hey there brute, are you here to enter the big contest?" asks the man. Xion stares back unamused.

"My buisness is my own."

"Well my friend..."

"I have no friends. Now leave me be."

"You know that the match is giving anyone who enters a chance to win the CSWA UNIFIED title right?"

"Really?" inquires Xion.

"Yes. That's why I'm going to enter. It has always been a dream of mine to be a wrestling champion."

"I too share your dream. But I have tasted the fruit of being a champion. That was a long time ago."

"Well perhaps he can support each other in our quest," replies the man.

"I told you, I keep no company. I am my own. Now leave me to my buisness," retorts Xion angrily.

"Well you aren't going to get far with an attitude like that. Frankly, I don't like you."

Xion grabs the man by his throat. He begins to speak very softly and angrily.

"I tried to be civil with you, but you are persistent. I don;t like persistence. I'm warning you now, stay out of my way. The championship will be mine, and no one will keep me from it, especially you. I am the only champion. It is time for me to rise to greatness, and I will have no remorse for those who oppose me. Remeber this Sir, Pain is only the beginning."

Xion thows the man to the ground and walks into the building.

 

[Peter Lenex]

[The scene opens up in a normal house located in Raleigh, North Carolina. It is nothing special, with two floors and the normal white-picket fence that most houses have. Though, our focus point is not the outside, but the inside. The shot cuts to the inside of a fair sized room on the bottom floor. We see a man sitting in a black leather recliner, hands folded in his lap. He is wearing black pants, a black t-shirt, and a black trench coat. His face is severely burned and horribly scarred from the past. Behind him, on the wall, rest replica titles that have been captured in past federations.]

"For five years I dominated a federation that no one had heard of, but many should have. For five years I went through hell to get where I am today. I risked my life every moment I had to, making sure that I lamented my legacy within the walls of that very federation. World championships, Intercontinental championships, Television championships, Tag Team championships, Hall of Fame. I did all that I conceivably could within those walls, and up until the day it closed, I was THE man to beat around there.

"But since then, I have been cast back to the norm. I have been sent back to that bottomfeeding echelon where everyone else sits. I KNOW I should be higher. I KNOW I should have a better outlook. But nobody will give me the credit I deserve. Nobody will listen to a word I have to say.

"Which is why I was ecstatic to hear the news that the CSWA was inviting all comers to their Ultimate Gold Rush event, for a chance to make a name for oneself in a federation that has been looked on in awe by many a man that I have fought with or alongside. I finally saw a chance to turn around my fortunes. To prove to everyone watching that I was more then a one federation wonder. That my name will forever live through the minds of the wrestling world for years to come.

"I couldn't pass up a chance like that. I couldn't let some no-skilled yokel take it and run like the little rat that he would be. And that, is why you have been summoned to my home in Raleigh. That is why you are here, in my shrine, at this very moment. As of this moment, I am officially throwing my hat into the ring as a competitor in this massive event. I am placing my name in their alongside others of a similar wrestling quality, to prove that I am what I have been trying to tell everyone I am. A God.

"A little knowledge for all of those competitors watching at home. Look around. Look at all that I have managed to do in my past. Take a long hard look at some of those titles, and then in the record books. Longest reigning World and Intercontinental champions. One of a SELECT few to be named as a Grand Slam champion in the UWO. I am a Hall of Famer, a legend among the Ultimate Wrestling Organization. Those are just a FEW of the credentials that I bring to the table in my climb to greatness in the Gold Rush. Something of this magnitude does not scare me, since I have done it all before.

"But where are my manners. I'm sure you are still trying to figure out who I am. Who the future victor sitting infront of you is. The answer is simple.

"I am your worst nightmare.

"I am the most dangerous man you will ever face.

"I am 'The God of War'.

"I am Peter Lenex."

[Lenex smiles from his chair as the replica gold shimmers behind him. He wrings his hands a bit as the scene slowly zooms out, showing even more of his shrine. Pictures of matches. A bookcase of videos. The last shot we see before things fade to black, is one of this very man standing in a remote location in what looks to be a desert. Sand sticks to him due to his sweat, but he seems unaffected by that. Instead, he stands high, holding a large World championship in his hands. Victory is something that this man knows all about.]

 

[Yran]

Eightteen years is a long time in the wrestling industry.

Eightteen years is about three lifetimes in the world of professional wrestling.

Wrestlers will have started, made their name, taken their money and retired due to injury or family issue. And that could all happen in six years.​

You see, three lifetimes.​

Naturally some guys will have huge around for the whole time, but more expectantly the new breed will be on their way.​

“C…S…W…A”​

Wording out the initials of the federation in his, Kevin Kassidy Kenwright looked up at the press sheet. The Legacy of Champions’ hottest rookie may be a white supremacist but at the core, he’s a clever guy. He knew what the four letters meant. He knew very well where they came from. He knew the history behind the CSWA and he knew that after reading through the poster that had been stuck up in the LoC backstage that he had to enter the GOLD RUSH tournament.​

“Come on Kevin,” called Phoenix Rose, over his shoulder.​

Glancing away from the poster, KKK nodded at his manager “Sure” before returning his eyes to the poster. Kevin was transfixed. When he was ten, he had first heard of the CSWA and then as his love of wrestling and his hatred for the ethnic minority grew together, so did his adoration of CSWA and everything it represented as it grew to the superpower that it had become.​

Sure, LoC may have been his wrestling home. The place that trained him and the place that made him, but CSWA was the place to be. No wrestling fan in the world could deny it’s prestige or history. No wrestling fan could deny that it was the place everywhere else wanted to be. Okay, okay, it was no secret that the CSWA was in a little bit of financial problem. But that didn’t matter to Kevin Kenwright.​

“I want to work it for free.”​

Kevin Kassidy Kenwright stood at the reception desk in Greensboro look straight at the very confused blonde lady that sat behind it. “Work what for free?” she questioned before consulting the books and sheet in front of her. “Oh…” she smiled, looking back up the Aryan good looks of K3. “You must be the plumber. The leak is on the third floor, and may I say it’s very kind of you to work for free.”​

Kevin shook his head in disgust. “No, I’m not a plumber. Do I look like a plumber?” Kevin ran his hands down his ripped chest that was covered by the new “White and Proud” KKK t-shirt (cheap plug), forcing the receptionist to inspect Kevin’s pristine body. She stumbled to a response which completely changed LoC’s Resident Racist’s mood back to let and happy.​

“Exactly,” Kevin smiled. “I’m a wrestler and I’m here to sign up to the ULTIMATE GOLD RUSH Tournament.”​

Jennifer, Kevin read her name badge, took a few seconds to respond. “Erm, what?” she finally questioned.​

“The.Ultimate.Gold.Rush.” Kevin tried to get his voice down, but made sure of emphasising every word. As Jennifer looked down at the desk in front hoping for some divine inspiration, Kevin let out an audible sigh.​

Maybe Phoenix was right. Showing up to CSWA’s Auditorium, 3 states away from his home in Florida and expecting to sign up may have been a bit hot-headed but this was CSWA. This was a chance at the big time.​

Jennifer returned from her mass of papers empty-handed and Kenwright decided to admit defeat.​

“No worries,” smiled KKK and turned away from the desk pulling his white cell phone from his stone-washed jeans and flipping it open.​

“Hello Phoenix…” There was a pause as Rose spoke down the phone.​

“Yeah, ring that number. It seems they know nothing of it here. It’s just a sports arena during the week.”​

There was going to be no “Goodbye” from Kenwright as he shut the phone as quickly as he finished talking. He didn’t want to hear Phoenix Rose gloat. Pushing out of the doors of the arena, Kevin turned back and looked up at CSWA’s home; the place where Joey Melton won the CSWA World Heavyweight Championship in the first card, and butterflies flew threw his stomach.​

He felt a rush inside him.​

He felt THE GOLD RUSH.​

​

​

 

[Phoenix]

Dreams

“Well … that’s a surprise.”

The mild tone of his voice belied the astonishment that Jay Phoenix felt on reading the transcript of the latest CSWA’s press release. In fact … after ripping open the envelope and perusing the words within that informed him about the forthcoming Gold Rush pay-per-view in which his title – the Presidential Title – would be on the line against any and all comers … he was in the running to pick up the prestigious Oscar for best understatement.

At least he would be if the Oscars gave out such an award. As it was, Jay Phoenix was left speechless.

Knowing that he was still counted as a rookie amongst the CSWA alumni hadn’t prepared him for the feeling of being excluded quite as much as he supposed that it should have. Sure, he may have won the Presidential Title in a hard fought tournament but that didn’t entitle him to actually expect to be informed about something like this pay-per-view ... where his title would be on the line ... in advance, did it?

Reading down the words on the paper his brows furrowed as he realised that it didn’t actually state that he would be defending his title – just that it would be on the line. One of four, he realised as he continued reading, each title being hung above a ring. His frown started to recede as full understanding came to him. ALL the titles would be on the line, each one being fought for in an open battle royal type match with the winner not only gaining that title but an automatic chance at one other belt.

The single most prestigious and respected belt in the industry – bar none. The CSWA Unified Title itself.

A small smile played around Phoenix’s mouth as he thought through the ramifications of the press release. On the down side his title was on the line, possibly at great risk as there was no way to know who – or even how many opponents there would be – he would be facing; no way to prepare. A chuckle escaped his lips as he thought back to something that his grandfather had once said to him.

“The only way to prepare for any eventuality, my child,” came the words as clear as if they were being spoken right beside him, “is to accept the fact that you cannot be prepared and deal with whatever assails you to the best of your abilities.”

In other words, Phoenix thought to himself, suck it up and play the hand that Fate deals you. No point moaning or *****ing about things that you have no control over, just face it and do your best.

Just like the Oscar for best understatement Phoenix was now well on his way for best cliché in a motivational internal dialogue but you, dear reader, already realise that that doesn’t exist either so suffice it to say that he internalised with the best of them.

History is written by the victors, as Phoenix knew, and what better way to actually MAKE history than by walking into a historic event such as the CSWA’s eighteenth birthday celebrations as the Presidential Champion but walking out as both the Presidential Champion AND the Unified Champion?

Fate may have dealt the hand that Phoenix was now faced with but it would up to him to play the winning cards. All in, closing gambit, and no looking back. This was his time to step up from a superstar in the World of wrestling to a Superstar.

… and in the World of fictional Oscars the award for the best use of a subtle punctuation change in a capital letter was being engraved with the very familiar name of Jay Phoenix - current CSWA Presidential Champion, and aspirations for so much more.

For while the imaginings of the Native American Warrior, the Eternal Flame known as Jay Phoenix may have seemed egotistical to the uninformed, and while his unspoken words may have sounded like the vainglorious boastings of man whose words were more hot air than anything else he knew something that other people – other wrestlers who may even take part in the event themselves – didn’t know, something that most people lost when they lost their childhood innocence. Nothing is impossible, no stars are out of reach and every single fairy story begins with just a few words.

“Once upon a time …”

With another smile Phoenix carefully folded the letter back into the envelope, reaching into his pocket for his cell-phone and dialling the by now familiar numbers of the CSWA offices. It was time to let them know that he was onboard for the match, so that, in the not too distant future, history would be written and his tale could end with 'a happily ever after'.

 

[Jay_Smash]

:::::The message came from a sheet under the door. The doctors continue to peel off pieces of his coat from his skin after being set on fire, and taken out of the arena for medical attention. There he sits on the bed, his legs hanging down to the floor while the doctors try to peel off the coat from his flesh. His hair dripping of sweat, hangs down over his red bandana wrapped around his forehead, and covers the rage building up towards EUWC's Summer Sizzler event. Jay Smash sits there with his World Heavyweight title beside him, and his steel black chair down on the floor and against the bed. Without his coat covering his upper body, it's clear to see the scar on his left pectoral muscle slicing through in the shape of a lightning bolt. Another scar, with ink drawn into it in the shape of a small 'X' on his right shoulder.

Just sitting there at 265 pounds, this 6'7'' man thinking about the attack on him and his protégé Cobris Grayson tonight, when a note slides under the door. The doctors continue to work on Smash's back while Smash stands up and heads over to the door. The doctors try to restrain him, but Smash pushes them away, and gets closer. Smash bends down at the door and grabs the sheet of paper from the ground. His name on the front catches his eye. The doctors listen in as the sound of a fast whisper his heard from Jay Smash, but is unclear what he is saying. When he has finished reading the letter, Smash turns around and stares at the doctors with a smile. He begins to walks towards them with the letter still in his right hand:::::

Jay Smash: Do you know what this is? It's my chance... My chance to spread the disease onto every big wrestler in the World. A competition... And they want me to be a part of it. I've become World Champion in EUWC. I've infected everyone that stands in my way. I've given those who believe they can... No Hope. I guess it's about time those on the outside meet the God of No Hope. They can find out what the big deal is with EUWC. I've been asked to compete against some talented superstars, so I guess you better finish your jobs so I can go accept the invitation.

Doctor: Mr. Smash, you are suffering from some very vicious burns on your back. We managed to get the coat off your back, but those burns need to be checked. They could become infected and...

Jay Smash: Infected you say.... Thank you doctor, I think I'll be fine. But tell me something, it's been a while since I read the laws of this great country... Is it illegal to burn a man alive inside a hospital?

Doctor: I'm pretty sure it illegal to burn a man alive anywhere you go.

:::::While Jay Smash continues to speak, he grabs the doctor by the throat and pulls him closer. The second doctor runs around Smash and runs out of the room to get help. Smash grabs a match from his pant pocket and lights it. Smash moves the flame closer and closer to the doctors face, as he begins to sweat, lose control of his legs and arms, and drops a tear from both eyes.:::::

Jay Smash: That's where you're wrong. I get a chance to burn a man alive in just a week. I hope those in the Gold Rush tournament are watching. I hope they are seeing every shot I take. Every drop of blood that drips from my body. Every twisted arm, neck, ankle, rib, that causes me to suffer. I want them to watch the smile that forms on my face every time Adam Benjamin throws a punch against my skull. And I'll beg for every man I face in this tournament to do the same. I beg you to beat me down and make me bleed. Ohhh, make it feel good. Ahhh... let this be a good couple months of brutal matches and horrid beatings. I can't wait for this Gold Rush to begin....

:::::Smash stands staring through the match at the doctor, while the doctor stares back, with tears in his eyes. The doctor pleads with Smash, when Smash pushes the doctor away then watches as the match burns out.:::::

 

[CuseTroy]

On the Doorstep

Not just a door. The door.

As much as he knew the ins and outs of building in each of its incarnations over the past 18 years, there was still one spot in the venerable building he'd never breached.

As many times as he'd sat and watched the action, cheering wildly, as much as he'd loved everything about this place, he'd never actually made it through this door.

Not as a twelve-year-old kid, not as a thirty-year-man had he been able to pull open this particular door and walk in to be a part of that which he loved so much.

That door. The main Wrestler's Entrance at the CSWA Auditorium. For nearly his whole life, it was just minutes from his front door. Right now, Troy Douglas was just a couple feet away.

But, he couldn't enter now. Not yet. Not until the the lights went up on the grandest stage in wrestling, ANNIVERSARY. He'd watched each and every one of its predecessors, but this time, this year, he'd have his chance. Not just to wrestle in this historic place, on the greatest marquee in the business, but for the one thing that he'd dreamt about holding since he was a young boy in the second row when this place was nothing more than a barely converted warehouse.

The CSWA UNIFIED World Championship. For that, he could wait another month.

With the ULTIMATE GOLD RUSH match just on the horizon, Troy Douglas leans against his dark green Jeep Cherokee, parked just in front of the CSWA Auditorium. He wears dark blue shorts and an old FISH FUND t-shirt he picked up almost ten years ago. He seems humbled by the magnitude of what approaches.

DOUGLAS: I'll be direct.

I know very well this just might be my very last chance. Yeah, I've only been doing this for six years, but with my history, I'm pretty sure it could end any second. One bad fall, one bad step, and I could be completely out of commission. That's it, end of story. Do not pass "Go", do not collect 200 dollars.

Now, I'm going to do everything I can to prevent that from happening, but sometimes, fate just finds a way to intervene. And anyone who knows anything about my life and my journey to this moment knows that fate and I aren't exactly on speaking terms.

But sometimes, you get just a little bit lucky, and fate shows you one more glimmer of hope, one more opportunity you can take until the window eventually closes.

For me, that's the ULTIMATE Gold Rush. A chance to be where I always wanted to be, doing what I dreamed of doing since I saw Joey Melton leave this building triumphant more than eighteen years ago.

I'll be wrestling the greatest competition in the world, at the greatest arena on the planet, for the only prize in this industry that ever really mattered, the CSWA UNIFIED World Title. And I'll be doing it mere footsteps from where I grew up, right in this very town.

That's why this match, this night at Anniversary means more to me than it could possibly mean to anyone else. More than Troy Windham, more than Hornet, Randalls, Melton, Flair, more than anyone who'll step into any of those five rings August 27th. Those men, they've had their shots, they've worn those titles time and time again. They're the men who've made them famous, the men who made me want to be a part of this company.

Me, all I've got is a trunk in my basement with decade-and-a-half old replicas, along with dozens of other odd souvenirs, pictures, and autographs of all the men I just mentioned and more. All I've got are eighteen years of dreams built up inside me, dreams that mean more to me now than they ever have before.

You see, eight years ago, I nearly lost my ability to walk forever. But I came back.

Three years ago, I lost the two people who still mean more to me than anyone on the planet. But I came back.

And one year ago, I nearly went insane from the constant torture I've endured over my entire career and I willingly walked away and left every dream I'd ever had about this place and that title sitting discarded on the floor. But, once again, I've come back.

Because the dream of a twelve-year-old boy to be champion of the world is all I have left. This won't be about the fame, or the money, or the adulation. It's about facing down every single one of the greatest competitors in this industry and coming out, for at least one night in my life, on the very top of the world.

Because it's that title, and not the man who holds it, that is the true CROWN JEWEL of this industry, Troy Windham, and I will put my blood, my life on the line to spend one day in the sun knowing that I did everything I could to come back home and strap that championship around my waist.

I'd give an entire lifetime just for that moment. That's no hyperbole. That's how I feel, mock it if you want to.

But, on August 27th, I'm going to walk through that door for the very first time in my life. What I'll have when I walk out that door?

I guess we leave that up to fate for now.

Troy opens his car door, enters, turns on the engine and pulls out of the parking lot. The camera shot widens to follow the car as it pulls away, eventually turning a corner and heading out of site as a CSWA graphic flashes on the screen and we...

...FADE TO BLACK

 

[GreggG]

Troy Windham looked in the mirror, staring at a reflection. He thought back to the bad times, the divorce of his parents, the fact that --

Oh, **** that. Screw the incessant narrative and overdone descriptive bull****. Just give the man a microphone and let magic happen.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, sitting on a lounge chair, holding the CSWA Unified Title, smirks at the camera.)

TROY: Troy Windham's Guide To Promo's, Part One.

If you're a talentless hack no-name, no one cares about your blue screen backdrops or your pensive voiceovers.

That's why you're jerking curtains in a league that wrestles in --ahem-- "arenas" holding 75 people, max, and that's why I'm the highest grossing wrestler the world has ever seen. I don't need any elaborate settings, any third person descriptions. All I need is a microphone and I can tear your ass apart -- whether you're some drunk Native American fighting to get his kids off of welfare, some 18-year "veteran" of the industry who has spent all 18-years of his career picking up ringside garbage after the show and running pain pills to the real stars, or the retread whose using my first name in an attempt to fool the masses into thinking he's me so he can get an extra three zeroes at the end of his paycheck.

In fact, $25,000 goes to the man who dumps Troy Douglass out of the ring at Gold Rush. That's a lot of money for you fwo folks. Think of all the gauze pads you could buy with that kind of scrilla, Peter Lennex!

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

Re: Alone, again.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

After nearly twenty years in professional wrestling, Kevin Watson finds himself right back where he started.

Alone … again.

Kevin ascended to the height of his success in the MWC nearly six years ago. He even broke into the ranks of, arguably, the most prestigious wrestling promotion in the United States, CSWA. Though it eluded his in the CSWA, championship gold was no stranger to the waist of the “Innovator of Insanity” as he was known. The glory days had come and gone for Kevin.

His new reality had become north and south east regional promotions on a hundred/a match basis. Where they booked him as “CSWA’s own, ‘K-9‘,” a title he felt unbefitting considering his short tenure in the promotion, coupled with his untimely termination and subsequent ban. Yet, it put people in the seats, all four hundred of them, and granted Kevin fifty dollars more than the regional talent. So how could he complain, CSWA doesn’t pay the bills anymore … but for Kevin … those four letters help.

The North American regional money floats Kevin from week to week, but to keep the lights on … it was back to Japan!



Cut to: A shaky camera takes in a wide shot of a dingy wrestling ring set dead in the middle of a crowed arena. Blue ropes and turnbuckles run the length of the squared circle where two men lay belly up next to a referee. The first of the two is wearing black tights and black boots marked “JJ”. The other is Kevin Watson bleeding from the four head and clutching his face.

Stepping into the ring, an Asian ring announcer screams aloud in Japanese.

“…and your winner, Jack Johnson!”

Jack Johnson slowly stumbles to his feet tapping his brow to check for blood. The referee holds his hand up to signify he is the victor. Kevin rolls out the ring and with head hung low heads to the back stage area. The winners’ celebration continues in the ring as the shot fades away.



Kevin has never been afraid to loose, but as all competitors he’d prefer to have things go his way, especially at a time when his career is slipping more and more, day by day.

None the less, his name still rings a bell in Japan, so the pay is good … but not steady, Even the Japanese are beginning to see he is all washed up, and only use him on occasion… so it’s back to the states.



Cut to: Kevin exits a high school locker room, adjacent to the gym he’s just worked for a regional. His money is already collected, and his small bag packed … it’s to the next town, the next city; gym, armory, hall, parlor, arena …

Kevin is walking slowly down an empty hall way headed toward the parking lot to leave. A tall man approaches from a room just ahead on the right. The man steps out in brown slacks and coat, attempting to talk to Kevin, yet he keeps walking. Although showing no interest in a conversation, the man relentlessly follows Kevin, dodging cargo cases and different equipment that riddles the floor of the hall, attempting to talk to him.

“Kev’, ahhh … come on man! I know its been awhile … ok two years, but I promise you, just give me a second of you time! I got BIG news!”

Kevin continues to ignore the man’s pleading, brushing his hair back up out of his face; he shoots a short glance at the man, and keeps walking.

“Kevin, damn man… comes on!”

Kevin stops hard in his tracks. His head snaps back to reply, “CSWA?!”

“Well … not exactly, but …”

Kevin picks right back up where he left off, a few second later hitting the door empting out in the parking lot.

“Kevin, it’s not a full time CSWA spot, but it’s a shot toward the a spot in the CSWA.”

Kevin stops again briefly, and with a look of disgust fires back, “That’s what you said about Emp…”

Kevin is interrupted by the incessant pleading of the man following him.

“It’s completely different from that! You went from jail, to the matt, not a GOOD transition. Now your back, you’ve shaken off that ring rust, and you’re ready for the big times again! And this is the perfect, all you got to do is throw you name into the hat for this Gold Rush thing-y, show up in August, WIN a title and they got to let you stay!”

Kevin takes a few more steps; he opens the door to the silver rental car in front of him, and gets in. The man following, still talking as Kevin slams the door.

“Kev … come on, if nothing else it’s another Japan check!”

The car cranks, and Kevin rolls down the window. He thinks for a second and then speaks.

“Alright, what’s the deal?”

The man is taken back for a second, and quickly regains his composure and the camera fades as he eagerly explains the Gold Rush to Kevin.



Black.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, with the NYC skyline behind him.)

TROY: The more things change, the more they stay the same. My agents sent me tape of your body of work from six years back -- glad to see that you're still setting up wrestling rings in Japan. The Innovator of Insanity? More like the Innovator of Illiteracy.

 

[GreggG]

Heroes Are Not Born...Heroes Are Made: Part One

The CSWA Hall of Fame.

Just behind a crowd of onlookers one of the CSWA’s newest signings, Scott Riktor, stood arms crossed, intently listening to Stephen Thomas’ proposed Anniversary spectacular. An Ultimate Gold Rush Match, an immediate chance at a championship. For someone with the storied history of Scott Riktor, written in gold plates adorning championship belts, news like this was the best kind. And that’s why he hovered behind the crowd with a smile etched on his face until the speech was over, then walked off before he was recognized.

Scott met up with his wife, Christina, just outside the building. She was nearly six months pregnant now and showing. They talked on the way to their car, which they drove from Florida because they wanted to take every precaution with their first child.

“Was it really so big that he couldn’t just tell you over the phone,” Christina asked.

Scott nodded. “He just tossed out free title shots like Halloween candy in there. Some kind of four ringed battle royal with an open contract. He’s either going to instantly rebuild his company or kill some kid and end all hope altogether.”

“It’s a good thing you get paid per appearance then, huh?” Christina was joking with her husband but Scott didn’t find it all that amusing. Whatever euphoria that he was experiencing during the announcement had faded away once he truly realized what was at stake, not a championship belt, or four, but an entire company.

Scott knew a thing or two about running a wrestling promotion now since agreeing to become LoC’s Legacy Commissioner and forfeiting his right to compete for the championship bearing the same name. This move by Stephen Thomas wasn’t revolutionary, it was desperate. The truth turned Scott’s stomach. He wasn’t told over the phone because he probably wouldn’t have shown up if he was. Now, he felt he was obligated to.

“I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

Scott rubbed his wife’s shoulders. “Nah, it just got me thinking is all. This could wind up being a very bad thing.”

“Then don’t let it.”

It always sounds so much easier than it really is.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, with NYC behind him.)

TROY: Heroes are indeed not born... and in your case, they're certainly not made, either. Look, son, you just wasted five minutes of my life with that retarded nonsense you call a promo -- I still have no idea who you are or why I'm supposed to care. So guess what? I DON'T. But it's certainly good to have another person on the roster whose there to take care of my catering needs. I like my fruit wedges to the left of the cheese dip, and not to the right. And tell your wife that the line to give me head starts at nine sharp. It really does sound so much easier than it really is! All she has to do is open her mouth, and I'll slide my 9-iron right onto her bleeding gums. All she has to do is kneel there between my legs.

(FTB)

 

[GreggG]

It wasn't easy being his friend, let alone his business manager. His reputation in professional wrestling was both well-earned and highly accurate. Mentally unstable. Injury-prone. Hard to work with. A man who has been known to take his ball and go home at the drop of the proverbial hat. So when he called me and told me to meet him at gate 59, Terminal B of the LAX at 11 p.m. sharp, I'd be lying if I said I was completely thrilled.

But this was my job, and more importantly he was my friend. So I went. And I waited.


"Flight 339, Japan Airlines from Tokyo to Los Angeles, now arriving at gate 59."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat at the sound of the automated announcement. It had been well over a year since I had been here last, and it was not quite under the greatest of circumstances. I was frantically trying to talk him out of boarding a flight back to Tokyo, trying to keep him from breaching the terms of his very real contract with Jolt Wrestling. Ironically, the man who was walking around in storylines as the "greatest free agent in wrestling" walked out of Jolt, and was only saved from being sued for everything he had by Jolt itself. More specifically, the fact that Jolt wasn't long for this world.

But controversy was nothing new for this man. The man who demanded his release from the Fans Wrestling Organization after a rocky, if not disappointing career there, to give Jolt a gigantic shot in the arm from its debut. After Jolt didn't work out any better, he returned to Japan, where he continued wrestling and remained completely off the American radar for almost a year.

Until now. He was back. And the only thing I could wonder is, with both the fWo and Jolt still seemingly out of commission, what could be big enough to bring him back to the States?

I was about to get my answer.

"I hate this ****ing country."

Xias spat onto the carpeted floor of the Los Angeles International Airport, shaking his head in disbelief as he walked towards me. Others around him looked at him as if he was crazy, and they were probably right. Still, Xias always knew how to make insanity look good- dressed in a three-piece white suit he had probably spent close to a thousand dollars on, with his once trademark long black hair now cut much shorter and dyed blonde with red highlights, he looked quite more eccentric than the Xias of old. He finally noticed me standing there, looking down at my much smaller 5'8 stature from his six-feet, four inches of height.

"You couldn't dress up a little bit better for this occasion?" he spoke, referring to my rather modest dress of a plain blue t-shirt and jeans. It did look quite out of place standing next to the man in the white suit, I had to agree. "Maybe I should have called Jason Winters instead."

"And have him sputtering around in his electric wheelchair?"

"It makes me laugh."

"That's because you're an asshole."

Xias glared at me for a second, before laughing and putting his arm around my shoulder roughly. I winced in pain as he pulled me in towards him, forcing me to walk with him.

"This is why I kept you around all this time, Bryan." Xias said as he smirked down at me. "You know how to make me laugh."

"I thought you have the kid for that now?" I muttered as he practically pushed me onto a moving walkway.

"I do, but the kid didn't want to come." Xias responded, almost looking hurt. "I can't exactly blame him, I mean **** this country sucks. It has the worst wrestling fans in the world, and hell, the worst wrestling promotions in the world too. The only thing good about it are the girls. Japanese chicks are all flat-chested and they giggle more than me after four joints."

I watched Xias immediately follow that comment up by making eyes at a girl of Hispanic descent that couldn't be older than 19.

"I didn't know the kid let you bang girls still." I said, rolling my eyes.

"The kid doesn't 'let me' do anything." Xias responded, while still keeping his eyes on the girl in the low-cut blouse. "If I want to bang a girl, I bang a girl. What's he going to do, throw ME out?! Hah!"

"Well, I figured you were finally running low on money by now. After all, why else would you come back here?"

Xias pushed me off the moving walkway and followed me off, before turning back around and watching the girl walk off into the distance.

"Damnit, if I didn't have you cramping my style, you badly-dressed midget, I'd go over there and get her number." Xias said.

"Right." I muttered. "You're so gay."

"Not on this side of the world I'm not. Like I said, only good thing about this ****ty country is the women."

"Like Jess-"

But even I knew when to shut up, and Xias' glare told me it was time to stop talking.

"Anyway, you still haven't clued me in on why you're here, or why I'm here for that matter." I said, quickly trying to change the subject.

"Well, that second one's easy." Xias replied. "You're here to drive me around."

Xias smirked down at me when he saw that wasn't the answer I was looking for.

"Alright, alright, I know the suspense must be killing you here." Xias laughed. "What, after all this time, could be enough to bring the Undeniable One back to America? The former fWo United States and Internet Champion, the former IOW World Heayvweight Champion, the most controversial wrestler in history, the greatest Native American athlete in history, the...."

"Do you always cut wrestling promos when cameras aren't around?" I said dryly.

"Shut up, I'm on a roll here."

Suddenly, a loud female screech could be heard, and two teenage girls came running in our general direction.

"Motherfuc-"

"Girls! What can I do for you!" Xias said, beaming as the two teenagers- one of them wearing a ******* IOW Nova shirt of all things- came rushing over to us.

"See! See! I told you so!" one of them, the blonde, said to the redheaded one. "I told you that if we follow the little guy with the bad hair, we'd find Xias!"

"Yeah, I guess you were right." the redhead agreed. "Xias, will you marry me?"

"Sorry, but you're a little young for my tastes dear." Xias replied.

"Aww, okay." she said, sounding more than a little disappointed. "Can I go on the internet and tell everyone we're getting married anyway?"

"Uh....sure."

"How did you manage to find the only two teenage girls on the face of the planet where the blonde one was the SMART one?" I whispered to him.

"I never find them, they always find me." Xias whispered back.

"So would you please give us another autograph!" the blonde one said, holding up a marker.

"Sure, anything for a fan." Xias smirked as he took the marker from her, but then looked back at her with a look of confusion. "Uh, what am I supposed to be signing?"

"Well, how about my ti-"

"Okay that's it, as Mr. Xias' lawyer and manager I'm going to have to recommend we bring this interaction to an immediate end!" I said, grabbing Xias by his shoulder and practically dragging him away.

"Awwww." the two girls said as Xias just shrugged and dropped the marker on the ground while I lead him away by the arm.

"Hahahaha, I'm Mr. Xias."

"Why couldn't I have been Randy Savage's business manager instead?" I wondered aloud.

"I wonder if they're legal yet. Hey, you're a lawyer. If they say they're 21 and they give me fake ID to prove it, do I still get arrested for sex with a minor?"

"Yes."

"Phooey."

"So, are you gonna finish telling me why you're back in the States, or are you going to go hit on more marks?"

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you." Xias said. "But only because you called me 'Mr. Xias'."

"So, what the **** is it?! Is Jolt coming back?"

"No."

"Are you going back to the eff-dub?"

"No."

"Are you bringing IOW back?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHA....no."

"So.....what is it then?"

"There's only one promotion in the entire United States of America that's worth my time." Xias said as he walked down the hallway. "There's only one promotion, and one title that could make me return from Japan."

"And that is...."

"The CSWA Unified World Title."

I promptly fainted on the floor.

Xias, of course, immediately walked away to see if he could find the Hispanic chick who "looked 19".

And the redheaded chick was already fast at work on an internet terminal, letting everyone know that she was pregnant with Xias' child.

He can't go home again soon enough.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, NYC skyline behind him.)

TROY: Wow, glad to see my Best Of Troy Windham, 1997 tapes made it all the way to Japan! Way to rip off my old "sleep with the young chicks" gimmick. It got me over nine years ago, I'm sure it will do the same for you today. Well... actually, from your sensless dialogue on that airplane you dared show on national television... it probably won't. But I got some assless chaps in storage somewhere if you wanna rock that look.

 

[GreggG]

"I think it's time to trade up."

The scene is the Anonymous cabin on the Parsons Cruise Liner II. Your CSWA Greensboro Champion, Jericoholic Anonymous, sits on his bed, Championship belt draped across his lap, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.

JA: You know, I'm usually not the kind of guy who's going to stand up and b*tch about getting shoddy treatment or being the douche who parades himself and all his good deeds around for everyone to stand and take notice, but I think this case, I'm going to make a pretty big exception. You see, I've been stuck on this cruise ship for God knows how long, led here under false pretenses that this was going to be a vacation with a little bit of work. It turned out to be match, search for hacker, match, search for hacker. All work no play, and I see no use in ripping off the Shining here, because that's what you want me to do. I mean, I've had no time to plow my fiancée. What the hell's that about? I'm cranky!

I'm even crankier at the fact that the so-called UNIFIED Chumpion was allowed to retire, unretire, interject himself in a ladder match he wasn't scheduled to be in, marry Manhands Troy... oops, wrong promotion. Anyway, he does all that crap with impunity, while I'm here playing Sherlock John Holmes (just ask Lollipop, she'll vouch for that) with Roderick McRatrick and the Peanut Gallery. Here you are, a talentless Cable Ace hack gets the limelight and I, the most electrifyingly entertaining man on the roster, has to chase down fat chicks and laptops. Add that on top of the fact that the only time I met Troy Windham Troy in the ring, he screwed me out of beating him and staking another false claim to his title... speaking of which, hi Professor Tremendous!... well, I'm really pissed off.

Now, I know what you, the average viewer at home, is thinking. Why is this masked freak b*tching all of a sudden? Doesn't he know that we hate whiners? Well, it's not without a point. I know what needs to be done in the ring, but I'm here tonight to tell you that's what I'm going to do. I'm not going to sit back anymore and watch as flavors of the week like Anger Bot or High on Acid Flyer or whatever the hell other star they're plucking from the Pee-Tee-See or eff-Dubya-oh world race ahead of me in UNIFIED status. No. I'm tired of sitting back and watching while I have to fight Borinators and guys named Christian Canyonero. I'm taking what's mine, and what's mine is that UNIFIED Championship.

I've been with this company for over a year now. I mean, I know we've only run about four or five shows in that year's time, but I can't help but feel that I've put the load on my shoulders to be a face... errr mask on top of a face for this company. It's time now for me to step up and start asserting myself as being THE face... or the mask... well, you get it.

It starts with the first ring. Yeah, I still remember that I have this... [pats the G-boro belt], and I'm damn proud of that. I know I've only defended it, what, twice? I was kinda hoping to defend it for forty days and forty nights of straight defenses before I let my people go... errr... well, you know what I mean. I like having it, but now, it's time to trade up. FIrst, I go through everyone who wants a piece of me in my own ring, the Anglo Luchador ring. Then, it's on to teach a certain Epitome of Jackassery a lesson.

That's right, He-Troy, I'm talking to you. You who's held the UNIFIED Championship hostage for a year, with smoke and mirrors, by hook AND by crook. While you may serve as a role model for the Roderick McRatricks of the world, you certainly aren't fit to hold the gym socks of guys like Jo-Jo Melton or the Big Bad Bug let alone the title belt whose lineage you're disgracing with every day that passes. Now, never let it be known that I'm anything more than a jackass myself. Hell, I've been told that every day of my life. The difference between you and me, Troy-Boy... I'm a jackass who at least knows how to wrestle and knows the meaning of the words honor, respect and glory. Which is more than I can say for you or your two toadies.

That's why you're going down. You lost respect for the treasure you have, and now, it's nothing more than a trinket for you, along with your Cable Ace Awards and your parchment that certified you as a bonafide extra cum laude in movies like Snakes on a Plane and Showgirls. Well, I'm pretty damn sure they'll let you keep a replica.

Because it's about time for someone who's going to carry the real thing with the pride it deserves to hold it.

Fade to the CSWA logo.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, with the NYC skyline behind him.)

TROY: What the hell does Jericoholics Anonymous even mean? I'm doubling the bounty. $50,000 to the person who dumps this moron out of a ring and takes the title I held ten years ago. Don't make fun of my Cable Ace Awards, son, when you can't even get a show on public access.

 

[GreggG]

Dreams

“Well … that’s a surprise.”

The mild tone of his voice belied the astonishment that Jay Phoenix felt on reading the transcript of the latest CSWA’s press release. In fact … after ripping open the envelope and perusing the words within that informed him about the forthcoming Gold Rush pay-per-view in which his title – the Presidential Title – would be on the line against any and all comers … he was in the running to pick up the prestigious Oscar for best understatement.

At least he would be if the Oscars gave out such an award. As it was, Jay Phoenix was left speechless.

Knowing that he was still counted as a rookie amongst the CSWA alumni hadn’t prepared him for the feeling of being excluded quite as much as he supposed that it should have. Sure, he may have won the Presidential Title in a hard fought tournament but that didn’t entitle him to actually expect to be informed about something like this pay-per-view ... where his title would be on the line ... in advance, did it?

Reading down the words on the paper his brows furrowed as he realised that it didn’t actually state that he would be defending his title – just that it would be on the line. One of four, he realised as he continued reading, each title being hung above a ring. His frown started to recede as full understanding came to him. ALL the titles would be on the line, each one being fought for in an open battle royal type match with the winner not only gaining that title but an automatic chance at one other belt.

The single most prestigious and respected belt in the industry – bar none. The CSWA Unified Title itself.

A small smile played around Phoenix’s mouth as he thought through the ramifications of the press release. On the down side his title was on the line, possibly at great risk as there was no way to know who – or even how many opponents there would be – he would be facing; no way to prepare. A chuckle escaped his lips as he thought back to something that his grandfather had once said to him.

“The only way to prepare for any eventuality, my child,” came the words as clear as if they were being spoken right beside him, “is to accept the fact that you cannot be prepared and deal with whatever assails you to the best of your abilities.”

In other words, Phoenix thought to himself, suck it up and play the hand that Fate deals you. No point moaning or *****ing about things that you have no control over, just face it and do your best.

Just like the Oscar for best understatement Phoenix was now well on his way for best cliché in a motivational internal dialogue but you, dear reader, already realise that that doesn’t exist either so suffice it to say that he internalised with the best of them.

History is written by the victors, as Phoenix knew, and what better way to actually MAKE history than by walking into a historic event such as the CSWA’s eighteenth birthday celebrations as the Presidential Champion but walking out as both the Presidential Champion AND the Unified Champion?

Fate may have dealt the hand that Phoenix was now faced with but it would up to him to play the winning cards. All in, closing gambit, and no looking back. This was his time to step up from a superstar in the World of wrestling to a Superstar.

… and in the World of fictional Oscars the award for the best use of a subtle punctuation change in a capital letter was being engraved with the very familiar name of Jay Phoenix - current CSWA Presidential Champion, and aspirations for so much more.

For while the imaginings of the Native American Warrior, the Eternal Flame known as Jay Phoenix may have seemed egotistical to the uninformed, and while his unspoken words may have sounded like the vainglorious boastings of man whose words were more hot air than anything else he knew something that other people – other wrestlers who may even take part in the event themselves – didn’t know, something that most people lost when they lost their childhood innocence. Nothing is impossible, no stars are out of reach and every single fairy story begins with just a few words.

“Once upon a time …”

With another smile Phoenix carefully folded the letter back into the envelope, reaching into his pocket for his cell-phone and dialling the by now familiar numbers of the CSWA offices. It was time to let them know that he was onboard for the match, so that, in the not too distant future, history would be written and his tale could end with 'a happily ever after'.

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, with the NYC skyline behind him. Troy smirks, as a hand off camera gives him a large white-feathered headdress. Then the second hand gives him a bottle of Mad Dog 20-20, a $1.49 bottle of alcohol. Troy straps on the headdress and cracks open the swill.)

TROY: (Troy starts to cup his hand and makes a war howl.) Thank you, Fire God, for I am so glad the CSWA paychecks actually cash! This means more alcohol for me! No more selling my food stamps behind the reservation Quickie Mart. Maybe I can get the fans to do the Tomahawk Chop? I'd rather they just give me their spare change, though. (Troy continues with the war yelp.)

 

[DBrunkGXW]

FADE IN......

A large palatial ranch somewhere on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. The shot quick-cuts to the inside of a spacious office, with a mahogany desk front and center. On a leather chair behind this desk, lit by the sun streaming in a window behind him is a large man about six-foot-seven or so. He looks to be north of three hundred pounds, but we can't really tell exactly how much. Maybe 335 or so. He's wearing a mask, so we can't see his face. But this mask - this black mask - has the letters "DR" stitched across the front.

The man is dressed in a shirt that says "EPW" in very bold large font, as if trying to get someone's attention - in addition to blue jeans. On the desk, various paperwork is stacked in various heights and on the desk, suspiciously turned to be seen by the camera - is a photo of Alaina Troy and Dan Ryan, with Alaina holding an infant in her arms.

In the middle of the desk, in the front is a small nameplate, with the words "Dan Ryan's Alter Ego" chiseled into it. Curiously the " 's Alter Ego" portion of the plate seems more recently carved.

DRAE: "Interesting, the way things always seem to work out in this sport don't you think Troy?"

"I was watching that night - the night you proclaimed so loudly and arrogantly that you wouldn't defend your title against Dan Ryan or Mark Windham. And I was there too, watching as Stephen Thomas declared that he would grant your wish - that he would not allow either Mark Windham or...'Dan Ryan'...to enter this Gold Rush match at Anniversary."

"So so clever of you, Troy. So Clever."

"But hey, the way I look at it you aren't as clever as you might think you are. See, it's in the power of the proclaimer to designate the parameters of all stipulations when making statements like who you won't defend against or who is allowed to compete in a match. So you made your statement, laid out your parameters - and I thought to myself, I said self....what to do? What to do?"

"Believe you me, Troy. I'll be in the ring at Anniversary. There's really nothing you can do to stop that - and despite the amazing lengths I've gone to to make sure no one knows exactly who I am - I think by time the bell rings you'll have it all figured out. But you'll stand there in that center ring and watch...helpless....as inevitability takes over."

"And I don't care about all of these pretenders to the throne either. Not Jay Smash or JA or J. Crew or Jake and the Fatman or anyone else crawling their asses to the ring for a shot at the golden ring. The golden ring I might add that belongs to me, and will belong to me again."

"I wish I could be like you, Troy - able to take comfort in who you are and what you've done without having the need to defend what you hold most dear against the best that your profession has to offer. I couldn't look in the mirror and see myself content with that knowledge over my head."

"But make no mistake, Mr. W. You have to pay the piper eventually whether you like it or not."

"So no. I won't bore with backdrops and props and cutesy little stories on how tortured my childhood was. I won't read off my motivation like a hollywood script and pretend that anyone should give a damn. But I think you know what I will bring. Because you've been there before - you've seen it, you've felt it and you know...you know that at any given moment just like......."

"THAT"

"...Your belt is mine. Just like that all of your clever little parlor tricks, the urinating on people, forcing Lindsay to marry you, sneaking away from the match on the Cruise with the belt - it all goes down the drain in an instant."

"It only takes that moment, because yes...you've been in the ring with Dan Ryan before haven't you? You've been there, and you know how close you were. That's why you refused to face the one man who came closer to that dream of being the greatest of all time than anyone you ever met. You know who made you s*it your pants in the middle of the ring at the thought of a rematch."

"And me? That man's alter ego? Dan Ryan's Alter Ego?"

Smile....

"Well....I'm sure you know what I bring, too."

"Doncha?"

FADE OUT....​

 

[MrWest]

(CUT TO: Troy Windham, with the NYC skyline behind him. Troy smirks, as a hand off camera gives him a large white-feathered headdress. Then the second hand gives him a bottle of Mad Dog 20-20, a $1.49 bottle of alcohol. Troy straps on the headdress and cracks open the swill.)

TROY: (Troy starts to cup his hand and makes a war howl.) Thank you, Fire God, for I am so glad the CSWA paychecks actually cash! This means more alcohol for me! No more selling my food stamps behind the reservation Quickie Mart. Maybe I can get the fans to do the Tomahawk Chop? I'd rather they just give me their spare change, though. (Troy continues with the war yelp.)

(CUT TO: Professor Tremendous, reclining in the CondoT hot tub with his CSWA Unified World Title Belt strapped around his waist.)

PROF: Wow. Who the heck is this schmuck thinking he can defend MY title with nothing more that a series of snippy rejoinders and simple one-liners? A handjob from a midget for whoever gets rid of this idiot before I arrive at the arena.

 

[EBWFPrezAsh]

Feeling the Gold Rush

(He had caught wind of this CSWA Gold Rush Tournament from a friend of a friend, and he thought there was no better way to prove he was everything he said he was than by winning the Unified World Title. The ticking clockwork of his brain could scarcely be heard over the pounding of his heart as he tucked the CSWA Press Release in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He had heard of some of his competition, mammoths in his eyes. This man however simply blended in with the crowd. Wes Ikeda stood at 6’4 and 254 pounds and while his last name suggests otherwise he isn’t Japanese. Actually the last name is a really long story, and it doesn’t matter much unless you really want to get to know him, and what’s better is that no one gets to really know The Rebel without a Cause. He had stepped out of the shadows of nearly all of the competition in the Extreme Measures Federation which was the federation that currently held his contract. It was time for something else. He ducked into a hole in the wall building. His senses were filled with aroma and sound. His eyes stung until they watered. The heat was comparable to the fiery depths of hell. He would have been better off outside.)

“You’re home. I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised you always come home before a big match. How’s the wife?”

“Which one?” Wes smirked. He’d only been married once and his old friend Steve Marsden watched as he slipped the wedding ring off of his finger and tucked it away in his gym bag. “How’s Detroit?”

“You’re sitting in it. Don’t ask me questions like that. This is where you grew up. This is where you come to unwind. You must have a huge match coming up if you’re sitting in my hole in the wall gym. At least that’s what you always say.” Steve sat down on a bench and he stared intently at the young man. He had been wrestling for almost eleven years. He knew Wes by now. “Funny thing is I’ve known all about your matches since you got your contract four years ago. I haven’t heard that you had anything coming up. You blowing off steam?”

“You heard about this?” Wes reached into his pocket and pulled out the CSWA press release. Steve took it and looked it over.

“And you think you can do this?” He asked. Steve didn’t sound so sure.

“What? You don’t think I can do it? Look, my brother doesn’t think that I can do it either, and my brother is the Legendary Badd Boy Tony Ikeda. Well, let me tell you something my star will outshine his when the Unified Title is around my waist.”

“You’re doing this to spite your brother? Now Wesley are you sure that’s such a good idea. I mean you’re going to unleash the Rebel without a Cause on an entire unsuspecting federation all because…”

Wes quickly cut Steve off.

“Amy thinks I can do it.”

“Your wife also thinks you can move mountains. It doesn’t mean that you can. The Rebel is a well trained animal. You can’t just let him go uncaged on wrestlers who don’t know who you are.” Steve was trying to talk some sense into his old friend.

“I try really hard not to live my gimmick Steve. You of all people know that…”

“What gimmick?” Steve laughed. Wes had always been known for being himself times ten in the ring. Some had even called him more of a stuntman than a wrestler.

“Shut up you know what I mean. Everyone who has ever crossed paths with me has learned why I’m the underrated, underappreciated, underdog. I don’t speak in catchphrases usually, but that sums me up in three words. Now are you going to shut the hell up and let me work out?” Wes was indignant.

“There’s no talking you out of this is there? It’s not enough to be the best where you are. You got to go tread on someone else’s territory. Troy Wi…”

“Will lose his title just like all of the others.”

“And if your dreams are smashed?” Steve asked.

“I’m still the best where I’m at.” Wes gave a crooked smile. “Now get out of here and let me workout. I got a lot to think about. The CSWA isn’t going to know what hit it.”

“Especially when IT’S TIME TO GO COAST TO….”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Wes stopped him. “Not yet buddy. Don’t get to ahead of yourself.”

(Steve Marsden shook his head and went toward a dingy corner office as Wes Ikeda decided to start his stretches. There was a lot to digest before he made his arrival in CSWA, but Wes Ikeda knew one thing for certain once he got there no one would forget his name.)