Post by Stuart Slane on Feb 28, 2016 17:46:40 GMT -5
Mission Statement
February 21, 2016
AT&T Center
San Antonio, Texas
During WCF Slam
The bittersweet lyrics of Procol Harum’s “Conquistador” keened from the arena’s speakers as Stuart Slane walked the ramp that led to his latest challenge as Television Champion: CJ Phoenix. Slane didn’t know much about his latest opponent beyond the fact he had won his Number One Contender’s match in convincing fashion, and that he was cultivating a reputation as a wrestling “Svengali”, a would-be manipulator who mentally toyed with the opposition before defeating them in the ring. Neither piece of information impressed the former Scoutmaster much; Phoenix had beaten weak competition to get to this point and his idea of mind games seemed to be song parodies directed towards his opponents and try to predict what they might say about him before the match. To his credit the young man hadn’t tried any of that foolishness with Stuart; in fact the only words that came at all from Mister Phoenix in the build to their fight were some “Be Prepared” boilerplate on Twitter. Slane had expected more. He looked towards the approaching ring where CJ Phoenix waited expectantly in his corner.
Maybe there was more, and it just hadn’t happened yet.
A piercing, staccatto voice caught the TV Champ’s attention, “Stuart Slane!!” it repeated over and over. Slane looked to his left, and saw a pudgy young man in a Teo Del Sol mask frantically reaching out to him from the rail that stood sentry between the ramp and the arena’s floor seats. He veered from his course enough to shake the boy’s hand.
“Hello, son- have a goo-AIIIGGHHHH!!!”
That’s when the phony fan showed his true colors by spraying Stu square in the eyes with an aerosol can.
If you “watched” Slam that week you know what happened next. No need to fully recap it: the ‘boy’ was in fact Little Green Man, a WCF jobber and member of the nascent ‘Hue World Order’. He and several other members of this pigment preoccupied party had had words with Slane earlier in the week, and were matching those with deeds. The beatdown would be halted when a steel chair brandishing CJ Phoenix made the save, but the nature of Stuart’s injury meant the Television Title match would be cancelled. You should know this.
What you don’t know was what went through the mind of Slane when he was momentarily sightless. What he thought, and the order he thought them in, is what’s truly important for what happens next.
“This stings like the dickens!”
“I can’t see!!”
“What if I’m blind forever?”
“That smell- paint?!?”
“If I’m blind Camp Slane will have to close.”
“I’ll never see my children again.”
“I’ll never wrestle again.”
“Who’s kicking me in the ribs?!”
Later, when Stuart Slane was recuperating overnight in a San Antonio hospital, he’d reflect on the consuming fear that came when he thought about how losing his vision would affect the young people in his life; not his sons and daughter, of whom he had decided years ago the best way he could be a father to them was by staying away, but those seventeen souls across the border in Mexico whose very lives depended on him. Children with no other home and no other options than the primitive encampment he had created to gather the world’s castoffs and imprint his values upon. They had become his greatest responsibility; and the focus of his life when he was away from WCF.
So far Slane had been able to get by keeping his roles as “leader of men” and “wrestler seeking redemption” largely separate, but the attack and his obligations as champion made him aware such a strategy was no longer tenable.
It was time for Stuart to start building a bridge between the two worlds he inhabited.
Feburary 23, 2016
Camp Slane
Some desert in Mexico
The day’s work was done by early afternoon. The gardens had been weeded; the goats tended; the pigs (we need to get back to the pigs someday) slopped. This was done by design; Stuart wanted the more strenuous activities completed before the sun had risen so high that the temperature became oppressive. It was during this time that the children would be taught the life lessons the rugged outdoorsman considered important; knot tying, first aid, floral/faunal/fungal identification, etc. There would be lectures on morality as well (liberally plagiarized from the Boy Scout Handbook). Slane would march his troop to the base of the massive rock by his camp to make use of its shade, have his charges unfurl the reed mats they had woven themselves, and sit in a circle Indian style while he went through his spiel. Assume everything spoken below is translated from its original Spanish.
Today’s talk began when Slane reached into his rucksack and produced a leather and gold plated belt to show the children, “This,” he told them, “is the Television Championship. I won it while working as a wrestler in America.”
He passed the TV Title off to his second in command, the noble Pepito, who sat to his right. The young man examined it curiously, before handing it to the child beside him.
“I wanted to show you this because it is the reason I have not been at the camp as often. As the man who holds this belt, as its champion, I must defend it constantly. Therefore, I must travel with the company the belt represents, the Wrestling Championship Federation, and fight for the honor to keep it.”
While Slane spoke the strap made the circuit. Some of the children studied their Boss’s prize intently, running their work worn fingers across its metal buckle and grommets. Other just gave it a cursory glance before pawning the heavy totem off to the next person.
“I am telling you this now to explain why I am not around as much, and why more has been expected of you. All of you have done well while I am away. The Camp continues to run smoothly, and I have had no reports of rule breaking.”
The Television Championship was returned to its current owner, who left it draped in his lap.
“Now is the time to ask me about this.”
He tapped the belt for emphasis.
One child, a boy, raised his hand.
“You are recognized, Miguel.”
Miguel rose to his feet as per procedure to give his question, “How did you win that belt?”
“I pinned the former Champion, a man named Dustin Beaver. This happened several weeks ago.”
Miguel had a follow up, “Why is it called the Television Championship?”
“Because the rules say it must be defended every week when the company I work for has a show on television.”
A girl’s hand shot up.
“You are recognized, Adriana.”
Adriana stood, “Can we watch this show?”
Several of the other children nodded their heads and looked to Slane expectantly. Living out in the desert with no electricity had denied them access to any broadcast medium.
Stuart crushed their hopes, “I am afraid not. We do not have the resources. Also, I do not feel much of Slam is appropriate for children.”
The girl sat back down glumly. Miguel was not willing to give in so easily, however.
“The sisters used to let us watch wrestling at the orphanage. They said it taught us valuable life lessons; about what it meant to be good and evil.”
Stuart stroked his chin thoughtfully, “That…. is not a question, Miguel.”
“Oh. Uh, sorry Boss,” Miguel struggled to find a way to rephrase his statement, “Do, um, your matches teach valuable life lessons?”
“I suppose,” the TV Champion smiled slightly, “About the value of hard work, and why it is important to fight for what you believe in, and to fight fairly.”
“Then, perhaps, if it is possible, we could see them in order to learn these things?” Miguel inquired in as innocent a tone as possible.
More nods. These kids were starved for entertainment. The weekly Pinewood Derby rally only provided so much amusement for them at this point.
“I will see what I can do,” was Slane’s final word on the matter.
Another hand, another query: “What do you get for being Television Champion?”
“I get some extra money which I use to help run the camp. Also, I get a chance to prove myself when I fight against people who want to be Champion too.”
“So it is fun?”
It was an obvious question, but one Slane wasn’t appropriately wired to answer. “Uh, well… yes. It is…. engaging. But it is also an important responsibility.”
“Why? What would happen if you were no longer Television Champion?”
“It would mean I failed, and I don’t want to do that. Also, there is always the fear I could lose the title to someone who does not deserve to be a Champion.”
“But if they beat you, don’t they deserve to be champion?”
Jeez, who is this kid: Mexican Orphan Clarence Darrow? “Yes, but remember, there is a right way and a wrong way to do things,” Stuart told his flock.
“Rules are rules,” they noted in rehearsed agreement.
Noble Pepito held up his hand to speak.
“Does being the Television Champion mean you are the greatest wrestler in the Wrestling Championship Federation?” he asked his Boss.
“No. The company has many title belts, and even more wrestlers who are as good as or better than me. But that is not as important as making sure that the Television Championship matters. It is my job to keep it relevant by fighting to possess it as hard as I can without breaking the rules. That adds to the belt’s glory, to my glory, and the company’s glory.”
A little girl blurted out, “Why is glory important?”
“It…. well in the wrestling world…. in any sport really, you want to add to its history, and hopefully in a good way. Because that is what you train to do. That is what you work for. Wrestling, like life, is a struggle, and if you meet that struggle head on and succeed without giving up on following the rules… that is its own reward.”
Rosa Marie, the assigned girl’s leader of the camp, raised her hand to ask a question.
“Can you teach us how to wrestle?”
“I could, yes; if there was enough interest among you.”
Most of the assembled youth seemed excited by the prospect. A child who was not stood up with a different request; one far more to these boys’ and girls’ future, and one The Boss was wholly unprepared for.
“I don’t want to be a farmer or a wrestler. Can we go to a real school and learn things?”
Stuart Slane was stunned by both the question and the tone it was asked. Completely flummoxed; which, for the author, was incredibly convenient. We’ll pick up on this subplot at a later date when my role play needs more padding.
February 28, 2016
American Airlines Center
Dallas, Texas
Counting Down to Timebomb
Stuart Slane is in ring gear, which amounts to a green compression tee shirt and tan cargo shorts. The Television Title is fastened around his waist. He speaks to the camera.
“Before I begin my promo proper I wish to address a lingering issue. Last week at Slam I was targeted by a new faction within the WCF: the Hue World Order. One individual member attempted to blind me with a hazardous chemical. The official penalty for this act was a two week suspension without pay. There will be further punishment, however; coming from my hand. I’ve demanded a match with my assailant, and have been told it will take place at the next WCF Wednesday Night taping. This is acceptable. The HWO’s crusade, whatever it is, needs to be stamped out as quickly as possible, and my size fifteen boot is means enough to do it. Incidentally, did you see the group’s pronouncement on last Wednesday’s show when they hijacked WCF’s feed and broadcast their Enemies List?”
You didn’t? Well, go take a look: wcfwrestling.proboards.com/thread/28749/wcf-wednesday-night-24-16?page=1&scrollTo=239798
“Please notice that in their earnestness to call out certain members of the WCF Galaxy for their ‘monotone style’ they failed to do the most basic of proof-reading and misspelled their own initials. HMO? That’s what they will need when I’m done with them. As it is, it’s just more evidence that the group’s mission is flawed. They are concerned with trivia; obsessing more over the color of their schemes rather than the construct of their characters.”
Big smile from Slane. He’s quite proud of that turning of a phrase. As is the author, who now insists that the typo was deliberate just so he could add that line.
“Now that that is out of the way, I can discuss the match I’m having tonight. Timebomb is a Pay Per View that marks the beginning of the Trilogy Cup Tournament. This contest runs through WCF’s spring pay per views with the winner becoming Number One Contender for the World Championship at Asesinato de Mayo. It is the Trilogy Cup that dominates Timebomb; that’s what makes this particular event special. But Timebomb has a certain relevance for me as well, because it is where I lost the last title I had, the United States Championship, in 2013. The man who beat me is none other than the current World Champion Jayson Price. Looking back on it now, there was little shame in that loss; Mister Price is a Hall of Fame caliber wrestler who at the time was especially motivated. He needed to win the US Belt to complete his quest of having held what was then every title in WCF. But despite this, I am not interested in repeating history. I do not want another of my reigns to end at Timebomb; especially given who I am facing.”
Stuart folds his arms across his barrel chest and glares at the camera dourly.
“My opponents tonight, CJ Phoenix and Lucious Starr, are not on my level. They certainly aren’t on Mister Price’s level. They are two middle of the road talents who’ve made it to WCF’s median without getting squashed. I admire their perseverance, and will always owe CJ Phoenix for coming to my defense against the Hue World Order when they Pearl Harbored me. However, that does not mean I’m going to take it easy on either man during our match.”
“Mister Phoenix, you may have won the chance to fight for the Television Title, but you did so against inferior competition. The two men you faced for the privilege of facing me have already ready washed out of the company. I suppose you could take credit for the departures of “Life Coach” Corey Flemming and “Mister Average” Lee Roberts, but that would be braggadocio, something you seem to be familiar with, since most of your public comments seem to dwell on how much of a ‘master manipulator’ you are without actually demonstrating the ability. You’re Machiavellian in the sense that all you’ve done is talk about being devious, while his contemporaries in the Medici family actually lived it.
“Your theoretical mind games are not going to play a part in this match, Mister Phoenix. Nor is the one physical advantage you have over me, your speed. I’m much stronger than you, I’ve proved my stamina is greater, and I believe my style of combat trumps yours. It might not be pretty what I do between the ropes, but it is effective. It is pure blunt force administered selectively and efficiently on to whoever is in the other corners. This week it will be you and Mister Starr, and neither of you have the power to stand up to me.”
“Which brings me to the final man in the Television Title match, “Hades’ Avenger” himself, Lucious Starr. A man so confident in his status as a “Living Legend” he had his management team post an announcement to that effect on WCF.com- which quickly degenerated into a ontological discourse about Al Envy. It speaks volumes about Mister Starr that his arrival to the company was quickly overshadowed by a wrestler who theoretically may not even exist. If I were a crueler man I might even say that’s proof enough he has no chance against me tonight. But for the sake of sportsmanship I’m going to soldier on.”
“To me, Lucious Starr is notable for three things he has done during his tenure. I would call them sins, which, given his quasi-Satanically-versed persona, seems apropos. Two of them are venal. One, however, is cardinal and in this sport, inexcusable.”
“First is Mister Starr’s habit of calling people by the incorrect appellation. This is an attempt to deride and ridicule his opponents in a manner reminiscent of a grade school bully, or Chris Jericho circa 1999. Either way it’s bad form. Calling me “Stuart Lame”, or “Stuart Lame’” or “Stew Flambe’” isn’t clever or cutting. To be honest, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop with this tactic. I’ve wondered if he is secretly hoping someone is going to try and make hay out of his own unquestionably silly nomenclature, so he can retaliate with a riposte so pointed his target literally bleeds out before the match even begins. I’d test that theory, but as an adult I’m above such petty name calling.”
There’s a long pause. Stuart, arms still folded, tapping both index fingers against his meaty biceps, before letting slip:
“Loogie Starr.”
Slane gives a brief nod of satisfaction to himself and then moves on.
“The second of my opponent’s sins against the sport of pro wrestling is another common mistake; the constant references to past glories. And not ones achieved here in WCF, since he had had none. As an aside, I would like to state I don’t hold Mister Starr’s poor win-loss record entirely against him. He has faced some stiff competition while part of WCF, wrestlers who are undeniably his superior. There are such things as ‘quality losses’ in pro-wrestling, and Lucious Starr has suffered a few of these. Perhaps that is why he insists on reminding us that somewhere, sometime, he has had success. On more than one occasion he has brought up that he was a World Champion for another federation as an attempt to impress. It is a tactic doomed to failure. Looking at his roster page his run as World Champion occurred around five years ago in a company that no one has ever heard of. Mister Starr, you’ll find most in WCF don’t care who held what title five years ago here, let alone some long dead federation you once dominated. It is the present that matters, not the past, and certainly not the past of your old stomping grounds.”
“As I said previously, these are venal crimes; acts worthy of derision but not full blown condemnation. It is your last, most infamous attempt at attention that galls me the most, Mister Starr. One that happened early in your WCF tenure and perhaps one you now regret. That’s not going to stop me from referencing it anyway. I am of course talking about your claim that you threw your match at the January 17th Slam. It was a four man tag, with you, Jordan Wolfram, Bernard Core, and Dag Riddick against the freshly formed Rebellution stable. You stated, on the record, that you took it easy on your opponents, and that was what allowed them to win.”
A look of sheer incredulousness crossed Slane’s face.
“This, coming from a man who claims the Main Event ‘needs’ him. If your lack of ability was not proof enough to make this belief untrue, your own words cinch it. Mister Starr, this is the Wrestling Championship Federation. Half measures are not awarded here. You either go all out or not at all. I understand you didn’t particularly like your chosen partners in that match. I agree none of them were pillars of virtue. However, you’re not there to fight for them. You’re not there to fight just for yourself. You are there to fight for the fans, and what the fans want is a match where everyone gives one hundred percent towards winning within the boundaries of the rules. Otherwise there is no point to any of this. Pro wrestling as a sport might as well close its doors and be replaced with pantomime.”
“I honestly don’t understand what you hoped to gain from this ‘confession’, Mister Starr. Was it the thanks of Rebellution? If so, you clearly miscalculated. As you found out Bonnie Blue didn’t take too well to the idea that you were the reason she won the match for her team. You learned that the hard way when she beat you and Adam Young for a spot in the Final Destination Match at Fifteen. Perhaps that was your plan. You thought running your mouth and disparaging the performance of your betters would lead to a contest where you would have your moment to prove yourself. Well, I suppose that almost worked, in the sense you got a chance to do just that, and didn’t have to eat the pin. Still, your little gambit probably cost you a spot on Rebellution’s Christmas Card list.”
Stuart moves his arms so that he now as his hands clasped behind his back.
“What you did, or didn’t do, or didn’t do but claim to have did anyway during that match was an affront to the sport, Mister Starr. Someone with your ‘experience’ should have known that. Even if you hated working with Core and company, you should have done your best to win the match. In my past I’ve had to fight alongside some of the most reprehensible men ever to lace up a pair of boots. Monsters like Nathan von Liebert. Eric Price, who is literally the worst person ever, was my tag team partner on more than one occasion; and he is a man so loathsome he makes Dag Riddick seem cuddly. And do you know what I did, Mister Starr, when I was put on a team with these men? I sucked it up, I did my best, and in many cases I went out and won the match for us. That’s what you should have done, Mister Starr. And maybe you know that now. You did get subsequently shafted last week in another tag team match, where your opponents left you high and dry against a team of The Beach Krew’s elite, and no one has heard a complaint or a rationalization from you. That is to your credit.”
Another pause, as Stuart unhooks the Television Title around his waist. He takes the trophy and hoists it up to eye level, turning enough so the camera can get a side shot of him doing so.
“The Television Title is an instrument of learning; both for the holder and those who watch him. For the champion, defending the belt test himself weekly in the crucible that is WCF. For the witnesses to his reign, it is an indicator of who is on the rise in the company. The longer you can hold the title, the more likely it is you are meant for bigger and better things. Like the Trilogy Cup. Like the WCF Classic. Like Ultimate Showdown. “
A look of doubt crosses Stuart’s face.
“This is a Championship to be fought over by newcomers to the federation, or those who never held WCF Gold before. I fall into neither of those categories. I’ve been on and off with this company for going on four years. Here I’ve defeated real legends and Hall of Famers: past, present, and future. So some say I should not be Television Champion, that I’m disrupting the natural flow of WCF.”
Slane turns to consider the camera. With a rueful smile and a shrug, he puts the Television Championship back on.
“They have a point. This is a title meant for the next generation of WCF stars. Me holding it can be construed as tantamount to me holding down this new crop of talent. And thinking that is fine, if that’s what motivates one to take the belt from me. That’s what I want now, from the WCF Galaxy; to not only be tested, but to teach. To show people what you have to do, what kind of work you have to put in, to succeed here. I believe it is the champion that makes the belt matter, and not the other way around. Me holding this title for as long as possible, to keep it out of the hands of the ‘right’ kind of champion, well, that will have to be my legacy with this belt. To be the bump the road, the keeper of the gate. I’ll accept those titles. In my time here in WCF I’ve been called worse for better reasons.”
Stuart looks down at the title, and then to the audience again.
“This week has been a learning experience for me. Now, I hope to return the favor. It’s going to start in a few hours when I beat CJ Phoenix and Lucious Starr for the Television Title, and it will continue until someone among the deserving challengers, and there are several, proves themselves by taking the belt from me. Until then, I will be your Television Champion, and I will fight every week as hard as I can to remain so. Scout’s Honor.”
