Post by Jack of Blades on May 9, 2006 16:39:55 GMT -5
Tyler Hale typed away his methodical calculations on a laptop. Twenty years previous, Tyler Hale had graduated from Caltech with a degree in business. Twenty minutes ago, Tyler Hale had stopped at a quasi-dilapididated gas station that doubled as a greasy spoon. His driver had purchased a egg sandwich which after its consumption had been repeating on him producing very audible gurgles. Gurgles that distracted Tyler Hale from his typing. Twenty minutes ago, Tyler Hale was urinating. Tyler Hale was urinating in the lavatories of the aforementioned gas station. Twenty minutes ago, a trucker had unleashed its siren to the accord and request of a few children while he was fuelling. And twenty minutes ago, Tyler Hale had heard a loud screech while urinating causing the ‘yellow tang’ to spray onto his Guccis.
Of course, Tyler Hale knew he should not focus his perception solely on past occurrences. This re-imagining of philosophy, this concern with the future over remembrance of the past was being appropriated by large parts of the WCF nexus. The investors, the board members, the fans and most notably the veterans were all beginning to perceive the future as having more precedence than historical events.
Within the past two months, Tyler Hale, Caltech graduate, had seen more talent permeate the WCF roster than he had before. Unfortunately, Tyler Hale was ignorant to this fact. He did not see the beauty in an Asian drunkard caning everyone in sight. He did not warrant the physique of JJ Biggs as particularly impressive. And, he certainly did not describe the abstract persona of Ellis through hyperbole. Tyler Hale did not like wrestling. What he did like however was fiscal gain whether it be personal or pertaining to his business. When Hale got his degree he did not expect to be heading up the finance of a wrestling federation. McDonalds? Maybe. Universal? If he was good enough. AOL Time Warner? If he was evil enough. But not wrestling.He was a Lacrosse man and all-American at track and field. He did not enjoy wrestling in the slightest. Tyler Hale enjoyed dressing finely, the music of the Dire Straights and fiscal gain.
But in defence of wrestling, Tyler Hale had noticed that this industry was helping his fiscal gain no end. Ever since, the introduction of the Daioh Corporation into the dichotomy, Tyler had appreciated the value in this manufactured sport. Looking at the figures on his laptop now, he was thankful for that correspondence with Yoshimitsu.
Tyler Hale had worked for the WCF five years previous to the phone-call. The meek secretary saying that a ‘Mr. Dough’ was on the phone. Tyler Hale chuckled at how prophetic the secretary’s mistake. Mr Daioh did turn out to be ‘Mr Dough’ promising to catalyse the WCF’s evolution from national to worldwide. The call was immediately transferred to Lerch who was surprised to hear that Daioh would be arriving at WCF headquarters within twenty minutes. Fifteen of those minutes later and Mr Daioh rode in on his helicopter and landed on the skyscraper’s summit. The jovial eccentric wandered out of his chopper to the aghast of his welcoming party. He soon broke the tension with pleasantries and an explanation of his arrival. He was on his way to Monica to observe some kind of racing competition until a thought popped into his head. The thought was inspired from a conversation he had had with his daughter a night previous about her client, Josephine Miyazaki and how they were going to operate in America due to certain circumstances. On the plane, ‘Mr Dough’ had realised that wrestling was an untapped environment in terms of marketing and he asked that the plane be stopped and a helicopter be ordered to take him to WCF Headquarters.
Tyler Hale recounted how Lerch had practically bitten Mr Daioh’s hand off when he offered financial backing and propagandising. It wasn’t as if the company needed it. But the benefits were vast and the hindrances were minute. First of all, Daioh’s interest in the business was not as an owner but as an advertiser. Mr. Lerch would still be in full control of the direction (that was until, a lowly wrestler manipulated the order of things to become Logan, C.E.O). Daioh would only act as a ‘invested consultant’ to ideas although it should be noted that he made numerous demands.
In his quest to make the WCF global, Daioh consulted his daughter and they both came to the realisation that a new talent injection would be necessary. Miyazaki was an obvious choice due to her connections. A ‘JJ Biggs’ could be called forth due to the collapse of his previous federation. Apparently he was a competent figure established through word of mouth whose only real fault was his self-doubt. The return of Ripper, Burn Out and Road Rage would flesh the roster out and the inclusion of ‘David Alistair’ would make it vibrant. A wrestler known as ‘Ace’ had built a cult following in Canada due to his ‘catch-as-catch-can’ style. Slow methodical groundwork and surprising aerial ability made him essential. The oddest name proposed was done so by Daioh on the recommendation of his daughter make one. The name was ‘Ellis.’ No one had heard of her before. The fact the wrestler was a she was painful enough but the fact they had to hire an unknown irritated some board members.
Kikyo-Chan, the daughter of Daioh, also noted that it would be a great idea to appeal to her and her father’s homeland with something known as ‘puroreso.’ But as Daioh retold the story, he was put off by the claims of Josephine and the fact she ‘did not go for that shit.’ Kikyo also reminded her father that certain stipulations meant that Josephine was not well liked with workers of her own country. This caused a world-wide search for someone who could supply this style. They found it in Jack of Blades, a British wrestler who was said to be extremely proficient at submission and ‘technical wrestling.’ The looked and liked his work which led to him being approached.
Tyler Hale drank his stale coffee as he realised the key mistake. Jack of Blades was not meant to ascend to his current station of power. He was meant to, as a more ‘educated’ board-member put it, be like ‘how Paulie used Benwor and Eddy.’ But then they gave him a microphone, and a T-Shirt. And that’s when they started to worry. And now as Tyler Hale stroked his staining-brown cup, he was worried as well. In twenty minutes time, Tyler Hale would be confronting the future with a list of recommendations and complaints. And as a consequence, Tyler Hale wanted another twenty minutes alone with his cheap coffee and his reams of statistics.
