User Poets
The Shadow Pope
- Joined
- Jan 6, 1995
- Messages
- 2,192
- Points
- 36
- Age
- 44
- Location
- Top of the Pile
- Website
- www.valeriansgarden.com
There's something very anti - punk - rock about leaving the show and getting into a cab and taking it... home.
Knox Knote: Yeah, this is right after Reloaded, and long before the hurricane. Update on the family, Rose and I are fine, our respective families survived with minor cosmetic damage to their homes, and the bar had eighteen inches of water in the basement, ruining a few thousand dollars worth of dry goods. Far less than it could've been.
But that's the curse of a gig in and around New York: first of all, there's always a hundred interesting things happening on any given night, so you're never going to command the full attention of the territory. Second, with all of those distractions, it's easy to see what could've been.
Rose still loves the nightlife, she loves hitting the bars late at night and catching the reports of all of the bands that kicked ass in a dozen different venues, and all the drama that inevitably comes to pass when you get these guys and girls together.
It's amusing, but it also makes me sad, that so much talent has so narrow a world view.
Don't get me wrong, bands like PUi and Killcode definitely have wider aspirations, but how will they function past the boundaries of New York, past the boundaries of the land where they're the kings?
That's what it's all about, of course: pushing the boundaries, exploring uncharted territory, and, essentially, sticking your hand out and saying 'Hi, I'm Randall Knox, tell me all about this place.'
Adjusted for your own name, of course.
That's why Castor Strife is the single biggest name in the world of wrestling right now.
That's why I made it a point in the past to go wherever I could: to Just Wrestling, to the FWO, to the Empire, even an evening in PRIME... to clear the complacency from my eyes and force myself to reach farther than I should be able to.
I've said it before: to my way of thinking, an experience isn't worth having unless you come out of it five pounds lighter from burning lean tissue, and your eyes wide with new knowledge and experience.
And I've now survived my first Stairway to Hell match, and managed to both avoid getting hit - and hitting anyone - with razorwire. And I managed to win the match with a kick. It wasn't to Rook Black's jaw, but it did the job and cleared the ring long enough.
No thanks necessary, Rook.
I get it: I really do. You scrambled back into the ring as quickly as you could, just a few seconds late, and decided to save face by sour grapes-ing it.
No, Rook, we're not friends. But I don't consider you an enemy. I nothing you. Good luck with the title belt and defending it against Eric Dane because he really wants it even though he doesn't, and against the Hellfire Club because nothing says 'I want to destroy the NFW' like turning around and saying 'I want to be a NFW Champion.'
We'll get to that.
Troy Windham leaves the New Frontier, supposedly, and the New Frontier shrugs. What I said before about pushing the boundaries and exploring uncharted territory?
Troy Windham has never done it.
Troy Windham built his name on his brother's coattails in Greensboro and never ventured farther than his name could take him: his entire career outside Greensboro was based on going place where people knew his name and would react like 'Holy smokes, it's Troy Windham!'
Controlled chaos is still controlled, and there wasn't a single action that Troy Windham took in his eighteen months at the top of the mountain that was a surprise to anyone.
Well, his transformation into a mindless puppet of JJ's was a little bit of a surprise.
We'll get to that.
But with Troy Windham hopefully gone, that means Mike Randalls is also on his way out: he has nothing to prove in a wrestling sense, and he has no more reason to be here.
Which means the eyes of the wrestling world can move from the legends of yesterday who can still perform on a limited basis, and return to where they belong: on the NFW World Champion and his number one contender.
Because this is still the most cutting edge wrestling promotion in existence today, which makes Castor Strife the most important World Champion currently reigning. Which makes me the second participant in the most anticipated rematch in the past five years.
We'll get to that.
But we're supposed to be leaving Jones Beach with the thought in our heads that the Hellfire Club is the new big threat to take over the New Frontier.
Yawn.
Blaine Hollywood has never accomplished anything outside the confines of the Hollywood Wrecking Crew. He's spent his entire career beating the Suicide Kings, losing to the DRS, and failing at a singles career.
Sure, he gave me a rough go at it in my first official professional match here in the New Frontier, but I was also seventeen at the time.
Dorchester? His claim to fame is multi - layered: first, he put Tsunami out of action... and that didn't take. Then he was a top contender and Semi - Finalist for the vacant title and lost to Castor. He has spent most nights since playing Winger to Jack Bryant's Hulka on a regular basis.
JJ DeVille?
Finished.
He was so busy trying to be edgy, he removed the last vestige of interest anyone had in him.
I mean, it appears he finally roofie'd Troy Windham to the point where he was just his mindless puppet. Could you tell the difference between what Troy was saying and what JJ was saying while they were intensely studying Mike Randalls? Maybe it's for the best that Troy is now gone from the New Frontier forever, until he shows up again protesting the lack of anyone caring about him, because the two of them had this creepy Single White Female vibe about them, and we were probably one Reloaded away from Bobby Jack Windham getting stabbed in the eye with a stiletto.
I hear Troy is sharing the bill on a new made for TV movie where he plays a formerly great wrestler who makes off with what is essentially stolen money in exchange for the entertainment equivalent of Mama's Family. His knowledge of the role is almost method.
But I'm glad to see that we can finally close the door on JJ DeVille being any kind of threat in any sense of the word. Before Reloaded, the worst thing he could do was try to fire any of us, and the fact that he paid for all our transportation to Sweetwater, all our court costs from the misdemeanor charges, all of Rose's medical bills both times the Windham Clan's actions put her in the hospital, and had a bottle of piss dumped over his head and none of the perpetrators or masterminds of any of these public or private humiliations were fired. Not even a small fine and community service.
How is anyone supposed to take him seriously now that he's just another wrestler?
With the windham Clan effectively dissolved, there is no more Windham Clan for us to ignore when they try to throw their weight around. Now, when JJ demands things, Eddie Mayfield can feel free to laugh in his face without worrying about his roster having to get on a bus to Sweetwater.
Assuming he ever did to begin with.
But... this is the grand new threat of the New Frontier?
The Hellfire Club?
The professional wrestling equivalent of a codependent battered housewife, tossed from home to home but never complaining about the bruises because he only hits her because he loves her.
A sweaters - and - loafers country club kid who tries so hard to be the badass that he's become a caricature of of the caricature that Spock knocked out on the bus in Star Trek IV.
And a one dimensional, self proclaimed Locker Room Cancer whose Shock and Awe tactics are almost as jolting as a can of peanut brittle filled with spring - loaded snakes.
...
Pardon me if I don't care enough to pretend to be impressed.
And with all the fat cut away, with all the superfluous removed from the lens, it's the Marathon Man against the God of Snuff.
For your World Title, Castor.
I respect you.
After our initial encounters, I never thought I'd say that. After all, you stalked me, directed strange and disturbing homages to me, and insisted that I put on a mask.
Kinky, but not my bag.
I may not agree with the way you left the New Frontier to the Windham Clan to slum it up in the midcard with Eric Dane while holding the World Title, but you've defended the belt against everyone who's asked for a shot, you've carried the name of the New Frontier far and wide, and you've done so without compromising your vision.
I can respect that.
And I don't know if you respect me, Castor, but I can tell you're looking forward to this match. I can tell you're looking forward to the rematch between the two single greatest wrestlers that the New Frontier ever produced.
Why? Because I'm the only one of your opponents that was truly a peer.
Bubbles the Chimp was trying to live off his past accomplishments.
Eric Dane is still trying to convince us that he has past accomplishments.
Dorchester?
Pardon me while I laugh up a lung.
I earned my shot.
And I'm willing to tempt fate. I'm the consummate professional, Castor - I wrestle. I don't engage in theatrics or make empty threats. I wrestle my way and leave everything in the ring every time.
And you beat me to claim the New Frontier title as your own, in a clean, uncontested wrestling match.
Fine.
I won this shot in a contest that I had no business being in, so I'll ignore logic and reason and stick with my lucky streak.
Because things have a way of falling into place for me.
You won that title against me in my kind of match, Castor, so I'm willing to take my shot against you in yours.
Name the stipulation you want, even if you decide to make it up, and I'll be there.
My only caveat is that whatever you decide on - like last time, the winner will be decided between you and I. No third parties.
You're a bonafide hero to the New Frontier, Castor - especially after winning the Ultratitle. And I suppose, after defeating over ninety percent of the Windham Clan over the past year and change, I am, in some capacity, as well.
One of us is the hero the New Frontier needs, and the other is the hero the New Frontier deserves.
But we'll get to that.
Fade.
Knox Knote: Yeah, this is right after Reloaded, and long before the hurricane. Update on the family, Rose and I are fine, our respective families survived with minor cosmetic damage to their homes, and the bar had eighteen inches of water in the basement, ruining a few thousand dollars worth of dry goods. Far less than it could've been.
But that's the curse of a gig in and around New York: first of all, there's always a hundred interesting things happening on any given night, so you're never going to command the full attention of the territory. Second, with all of those distractions, it's easy to see what could've been.
Rose still loves the nightlife, she loves hitting the bars late at night and catching the reports of all of the bands that kicked ass in a dozen different venues, and all the drama that inevitably comes to pass when you get these guys and girls together.
It's amusing, but it also makes me sad, that so much talent has so narrow a world view.
Don't get me wrong, bands like PUi and Killcode definitely have wider aspirations, but how will they function past the boundaries of New York, past the boundaries of the land where they're the kings?
That's what it's all about, of course: pushing the boundaries, exploring uncharted territory, and, essentially, sticking your hand out and saying 'Hi, I'm Randall Knox, tell me all about this place.'
Adjusted for your own name, of course.
That's why Castor Strife is the single biggest name in the world of wrestling right now.
That's why I made it a point in the past to go wherever I could: to Just Wrestling, to the FWO, to the Empire, even an evening in PRIME... to clear the complacency from my eyes and force myself to reach farther than I should be able to.
I've said it before: to my way of thinking, an experience isn't worth having unless you come out of it five pounds lighter from burning lean tissue, and your eyes wide with new knowledge and experience.
And I've now survived my first Stairway to Hell match, and managed to both avoid getting hit - and hitting anyone - with razorwire. And I managed to win the match with a kick. It wasn't to Rook Black's jaw, but it did the job and cleared the ring long enough.
No thanks necessary, Rook.
I get it: I really do. You scrambled back into the ring as quickly as you could, just a few seconds late, and decided to save face by sour grapes-ing it.
No, Rook, we're not friends. But I don't consider you an enemy. I nothing you. Good luck with the title belt and defending it against Eric Dane because he really wants it even though he doesn't, and against the Hellfire Club because nothing says 'I want to destroy the NFW' like turning around and saying 'I want to be a NFW Champion.'
We'll get to that.
Troy Windham leaves the New Frontier, supposedly, and the New Frontier shrugs. What I said before about pushing the boundaries and exploring uncharted territory?
Troy Windham has never done it.
Troy Windham built his name on his brother's coattails in Greensboro and never ventured farther than his name could take him: his entire career outside Greensboro was based on going place where people knew his name and would react like 'Holy smokes, it's Troy Windham!'
Controlled chaos is still controlled, and there wasn't a single action that Troy Windham took in his eighteen months at the top of the mountain that was a surprise to anyone.
Well, his transformation into a mindless puppet of JJ's was a little bit of a surprise.
We'll get to that.
But with Troy Windham hopefully gone, that means Mike Randalls is also on his way out: he has nothing to prove in a wrestling sense, and he has no more reason to be here.
Which means the eyes of the wrestling world can move from the legends of yesterday who can still perform on a limited basis, and return to where they belong: on the NFW World Champion and his number one contender.
Because this is still the most cutting edge wrestling promotion in existence today, which makes Castor Strife the most important World Champion currently reigning. Which makes me the second participant in the most anticipated rematch in the past five years.
We'll get to that.
But we're supposed to be leaving Jones Beach with the thought in our heads that the Hellfire Club is the new big threat to take over the New Frontier.
Yawn.
Blaine Hollywood has never accomplished anything outside the confines of the Hollywood Wrecking Crew. He's spent his entire career beating the Suicide Kings, losing to the DRS, and failing at a singles career.
Sure, he gave me a rough go at it in my first official professional match here in the New Frontier, but I was also seventeen at the time.
Dorchester? His claim to fame is multi - layered: first, he put Tsunami out of action... and that didn't take. Then he was a top contender and Semi - Finalist for the vacant title and lost to Castor. He has spent most nights since playing Winger to Jack Bryant's Hulka on a regular basis.
JJ DeVille?
Finished.
He was so busy trying to be edgy, he removed the last vestige of interest anyone had in him.
I mean, it appears he finally roofie'd Troy Windham to the point where he was just his mindless puppet. Could you tell the difference between what Troy was saying and what JJ was saying while they were intensely studying Mike Randalls? Maybe it's for the best that Troy is now gone from the New Frontier forever, until he shows up again protesting the lack of anyone caring about him, because the two of them had this creepy Single White Female vibe about them, and we were probably one Reloaded away from Bobby Jack Windham getting stabbed in the eye with a stiletto.
I hear Troy is sharing the bill on a new made for TV movie where he plays a formerly great wrestler who makes off with what is essentially stolen money in exchange for the entertainment equivalent of Mama's Family. His knowledge of the role is almost method.
But I'm glad to see that we can finally close the door on JJ DeVille being any kind of threat in any sense of the word. Before Reloaded, the worst thing he could do was try to fire any of us, and the fact that he paid for all our transportation to Sweetwater, all our court costs from the misdemeanor charges, all of Rose's medical bills both times the Windham Clan's actions put her in the hospital, and had a bottle of piss dumped over his head and none of the perpetrators or masterminds of any of these public or private humiliations were fired. Not even a small fine and community service.
How is anyone supposed to take him seriously now that he's just another wrestler?
With the windham Clan effectively dissolved, there is no more Windham Clan for us to ignore when they try to throw their weight around. Now, when JJ demands things, Eddie Mayfield can feel free to laugh in his face without worrying about his roster having to get on a bus to Sweetwater.
Assuming he ever did to begin with.
But... this is the grand new threat of the New Frontier?
The Hellfire Club?
The professional wrestling equivalent of a codependent battered housewife, tossed from home to home but never complaining about the bruises because he only hits her because he loves her.
A sweaters - and - loafers country club kid who tries so hard to be the badass that he's become a caricature of of the caricature that Spock knocked out on the bus in Star Trek IV.
And a one dimensional, self proclaimed Locker Room Cancer whose Shock and Awe tactics are almost as jolting as a can of peanut brittle filled with spring - loaded snakes.
...
Pardon me if I don't care enough to pretend to be impressed.
And with all the fat cut away, with all the superfluous removed from the lens, it's the Marathon Man against the God of Snuff.
For your World Title, Castor.
I respect you.
After our initial encounters, I never thought I'd say that. After all, you stalked me, directed strange and disturbing homages to me, and insisted that I put on a mask.
Kinky, but not my bag.
I may not agree with the way you left the New Frontier to the Windham Clan to slum it up in the midcard with Eric Dane while holding the World Title, but you've defended the belt against everyone who's asked for a shot, you've carried the name of the New Frontier far and wide, and you've done so without compromising your vision.
I can respect that.
And I don't know if you respect me, Castor, but I can tell you're looking forward to this match. I can tell you're looking forward to the rematch between the two single greatest wrestlers that the New Frontier ever produced.
Why? Because I'm the only one of your opponents that was truly a peer.
Bubbles the Chimp was trying to live off his past accomplishments.
Eric Dane is still trying to convince us that he has past accomplishments.
Dorchester?
Pardon me while I laugh up a lung.
I earned my shot.
And I'm willing to tempt fate. I'm the consummate professional, Castor - I wrestle. I don't engage in theatrics or make empty threats. I wrestle my way and leave everything in the ring every time.
And you beat me to claim the New Frontier title as your own, in a clean, uncontested wrestling match.
Fine.
I won this shot in a contest that I had no business being in, so I'll ignore logic and reason and stick with my lucky streak.
Because things have a way of falling into place for me.
You won that title against me in my kind of match, Castor, so I'm willing to take my shot against you in yours.
Name the stipulation you want, even if you decide to make it up, and I'll be there.
My only caveat is that whatever you decide on - like last time, the winner will be decided between you and I. No third parties.
You're a bonafide hero to the New Frontier, Castor - especially after winning the Ultratitle. And I suppose, after defeating over ninety percent of the Windham Clan over the past year and change, I am, in some capacity, as well.
One of us is the hero the New Frontier needs, and the other is the hero the New Frontier deserves.
But we'll get to that.
Fade.
