WFWF New Nebula: They Got A Ranch They Call...

When I left this promotion a year ago, I was done with the WFWF. And not for a few months, not for a few years, not for a decade. Forever.

As far as I was concerned Lila Sleater had made this place unbearable and on a personal note, I had lost all interest. Being the International Champion meant nothing towards the end, and as for defending it, well let's just say I didn't plan on defending it for too long.

It wasn't a professional attitude, it was an emotional response to a s***storm that had spent months following me around. Defeat in the ring to Trace Demon, out of the ring to Lila Sleater and an increasing inability to do the things that had once come naturally, in the crisp confident manner required to win wrestling matches, had drained me. The WFWF was not a company I wanted to represent, and the quicker I got the hell out, got a chance to move away from this company and everything it represents, the better.

Why come back?

It's a good question, but a question that is very much secondary in my thinking right now. It's one I've been thinking about an awful lot of course, and one I have to address if I want to push forward. But of much greater concern for me, right now, is Bobby Hall.

And so I suppose I'm drawn not to my experiences in the last few months, or at the end of my second stint in the WFWF, but to my first forays into new promotions.

It's an intimidating process Bob, one that I'm sure anyone would admit is a little daunting, and I suppose – though I have no first hand experience of it – losing on your first night makes it all the more difficult to deal with. It gets people talking, 'is this guy just another dud?', 'does he really belong here?', can't be a particularly fun experience while you're trying to get to grips with a completely new style of wrestling. It takes a pretty talented wrestler to adapt quickly enough to make an impression, I should know I did just that. The weight of pressure added by an early defeat, means that you'll have to couple being a pretty talented wrestler with having the ability to cope with everybody questioning whether you really deserve your spot on the card. Responding to defeat is difficult for most professional wrestlers, for a rookie walking into the WFWF, well let's put it this way, I don't envy you.

But that doesn't mean, that I'm walking into this match expecting a walkover. I've been doing this too long, to ever walk into the ring expecting that. You are, in many respects, an unknown quantity. I don't know what you're like in the ring, I don't know if you've got a curveball up your sleeve. You could be an incredibly talented wrestler who got first night nerves, or you could be a dud. If it's the latter I impress no one with an easy victory, if it's the former then I just might get embarrassed. But for the good of this sport, I hope it's the former and I hope that you give me the challenge that I'll be preparing for.

I on the other hand, am very much a known quantity. One can only assume that if you have anything about you at all, you'll have done your homework. You'll have seen what I can do in that ring, you can go onto the net right now and find just about every match I've been in - at least in America - since I was 20 years old.

So it's not so much a match where a veteran of professional wrestling, who has spent what is in WFWF terms a pretty lengthy stay (thanks to the propensity for people to realise their mistake quickly as I did and get the hell out of here), gets an easy victory over a far less experienced opponent. It's a match where there are opportunities for either man to take advantage of, and the better man in that ring will do so.

What I want to see from you Bobby, is a willingness to take the opportunities that come your way. A commitment to find out everything you can about what I do in that ring, how my break from the WFWF has changed me. And I want to see you show what makes you deserving of a spot in this promotion, what makes you one of the finest athletes around because only the truly exceptional should be in the WFWF.

Will that make it tougher for me to get the victory? Of course.

But there's nothing rewarding about beating someone who doesn't belong in a ring. There's nothing rewarding about beating someone who can't handle the pressure of responding to a setback. Taking on someone who knows what they're doing, who has put hours into preparing to give you a real genuine challenge, taking on someone who clearly has the drive and the talent to make something of themselves, and still being just too good for them. Being a level above a worthy challenger, that's rewarding. Personally that's what I want, the challenge of a lifetime and a win to prove that a year away from the WFWF has made me stronger, quicker, tougher, better. And if that's what I get then I'll leave it at that, an impressive sporting contest for a competitor I will have real respect for.

Anything less, and as unrewarding as it will feel, I'll have to make sure you don't get the chance to stink up that ring again.


THWACK!

I've gone toe to toe with some of the finest wrestlers the WFWF has ever produced, Reverend Shadow, Trace Demon, Thunder, Scarlett Quinn, Yukio Blaze, it's not a complete list, but it's fairly impressive.

But never, had I experienced anything, like that first chop. It's fair to say I had a pretty rough introduction to Puroresu. Well actually it wasn't particularly rough by Japanese standards, but I wasn't to know that at the time.

“Jesus man calm down.”

If only I'd known what I'd gotten myself into.

THWACK!

Another thunderous chop. I'll never forget standing there, watching my chest swell to the size of Nikki Dean's as shot after shot after shot came pounding into my flesh. As you might expect my debut didn't go too well, nor did the rest of my run to be honest, you're not going to see anyone reference me as the greatest gaijin of all time. And in many respects my time in Europe and Britain wasn't much different. It was a rude awakening to the world of professional wrestling. I'd contained myself to American wrestling for ten years, the last year of my life has been a bloody good education.

I've learned an awful lot about professional wrestling, about myself, about what I need to bring to the table if I want to get anywhere in this sport.

On that first night though, all I learned was how to withstand a beating that would make Trace Demon grimace. I lasted about seven minutes, apparently, but it felt worse than every match of my career prior to that point combined. It wasn't nice. It certainly wasn't pretty. But it was important.

“Welcome Japan.”

Smiled my opponent in broken English as we walked through the curtain, not a bead of sweat on him as I clutched my gut and chest, hoping to keep all of my vital organs inside my body.

“Thanks”


“I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien, I'm an Englishman in New York”

“That's nice”

That I found myself singing in the changing room of this little British wrestling promotion, something that I certainly wouldn't have been doing in the WFWF, said as much about how uncomfortable I felt in the states, as my song choice.

Nonetheless, I wasn't quite confident enough, even here, to be anything other than embarrassed when it became apparent that a 300 pound mammoth of a man had walked in on me butchering Sting. Thankfully the man in question, Andy Yates, was one of those I had become fairly close to during my time wrestling in Britain. Indeed it had been my pleasure to clash and very briefly team with him during my stint in this little known Birmingham based promotion Bulldog Wrestling. A disgustingly patriotic little company, but a place where I could go out and wrestle. Naturally his intervention stopped me in my tracks, but unfortunately I wasn't going to be allowed to get away with both of us pretending that hadn't happened.

“Please, don't stop on my account, you've got a beautiful voice. It's great to see you letting your hair down”

I wasn't sure if the constant references to my hair that would take place were a hint that it needed to go, but in retrospect, based on the party that was held when it went, I suspect they just might have been.

“You're hilarious”

I responded, with my usual endearing dour charm.

“Chill out, I'm just messing with you. Got to admit, that was a damn good match you had out there.”

Aside from being a significantly more masculine presence, Andy is in many senses a lot like me. At least, we share pretty similar views about the state of professional wrestling, and where it's heading. Like me he appreciates solid technical wrestling between people who are here for the sport, and certainly doesn't appreciate people who are here for the attention that comes along with it. So it meant a lot to me that he appreciated my work, and I certainly wasn't going to argue, by the standards of my fellow competitors – in what was one of the less impressive promotions I encountered during my vacation – it was a fairly impressive showing. He interjected before I could get too side tracked.

“How long are you planning to stick around in this hole? You're far too good to be here.”

There was certainly an element of truth to that, I don't like to toot my own horn, there were plenty of promotions I'd visited, particularly in Japan, where I looked out of place for all the wrong reasons. But here I was undoubtedly the best of a bad bunch.

“Well I'm not going anywhere, the more opportunities I get to step in that ring right now the better, it's better than being shackled to one promotion for years of your life, facing the same five or six guys every week.”

“You... prefer working in a dump like this every other night to a match a week on TV?”

“Yes.”

I could tell he respected that, but it was also pretty clear that he was skeptical about how true it was.

“I give it three months before you're begging for the big leagues to take you back.”

“Ha!”

In the light of more recent events that response was probably the most embarrassing aspect of this interaction. But it had stuck with me not because of any real sense of embarrassment, but because of what he said next.

“Don't get me wrong, it might be different if you'd hightailed it off the back of a wave of glory. You'd have nothing to prove. But if twenty years in this business have taught me anything, it's that if you really care, the losses, man they eat away at you. You leave a place on a loss and it's not too long till you've got the itch to put it right.”

I didn't want to lose his respect, but at the time the thought of going back to the WFWF wasn't even close to being appealing.

“I mean, it's not a nice way to go. But for the first time in years, I'm enjoying what I'm doing. I felt so out of place in the WFWF, I hated the politics, I hated the atmosphere. I'm never going back.”

Famous last words.

“Trust me, it'll eat away at you.”

He reiterated, slapping my shoulder and heading out of the changing room. As I sat, believing I had been totally unaffected by his words – how wrong I was.


One of Andy's projects was his wrestling school, which proclaimed to offer a 'no frills approach to training the next generation of professional wrestlers: entertainers need not apply', what an ex-WFWF wrestler could offer I don't know. But Andy insisted that I came and spoke to a group of new recruits about what it takes to become a professional wrestler at the highest level.

I was naturally dismissive of the idea, but Andy is a persistent man, and after I was assured that it would take no more than a few minutes, and that not only would I not have to answer any questions, but they wouldn't feel inclined to ask any, I agreed. If there was one thing I missed about being on TV every week, it was the chance to correct the lies that the approach of a handful of wrestling promotions, backed by massive corporations, has instilled in the minds of people who should be the future of this sport. People who should be aware that professional wrestling is just that, a sport.

“There are a lot of things scouts are looking for. Guys, they're looking at you muscles, your size, basically they're looking for 'star quality', girls, generally they're looking at your chest. Maybe your butt. If you're lucky, they might take a peak at your hair. Blonde? Good.

That's basically how it goes.

Does not being able to put your arms by your side because you're a steroid fuelled freak make you a better wrestler? Probably not. Does having two great big air bags on your chest make you a better wrestler? Definitely not.

But they don't really care. You need to look sexy, or distinctive to attract the attention of a 'talent' scout when it comes to wrestling. At least if you want to make it to the big leagues.

Believe it or not, and I know it's a struggle for some people, but normal people can wrestle too. Some of them can do it quite well. But unless you've got that blood red emo hair or a fabulous moustache, you're screwed. Average doesn't sell t-shirts.

Is that a depressing introduction to professional wrestling? You're damn right it is. Does it mean you should be running off to the store and buying some hair dye or chucking away your razor? No.

You can't change a thing, like that. The only way you're going to change it, is by becoming the best. Becoming so good that they can't afford to ignore you, you make normal, but the damn best wrestler on the planet, the new cash cow and they'll come reeling in. It's not a one man job. But it's the only way to make a difference.

So my advice? Do everything you can to become the best damn wrestler on the planet and don't even think about discarding your principles to get there. Be yourself.

Spend every hour of every day working on your technique, on your approach, do everything you can to become better than everyone else in that ring and don't worry about what happens outside of it, that's what should matter and if enough of the next generation of professional wrestlers get behind it, then that's what will matter. Good luck.”

I appreciated the opportunity, and not because I thought it would make a difference. They, by-and-large, couldn't have appeared less interested in what I had to say. But it was good to get it out there, to let go of what had been unknowingly bubbling up inside me for seven months. I enjoyed a year of wrestling around the world, without a shadow of a doubt it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. So it came as something as a shock, a blow, when I realised just how much I still resented Trace Demon, in fact how much I resented most of the WFWF. How much the way I limped out of the place I called home for so long really hurt, that's when it started to eat away at me. As alien as the WFWF had felt, as right as wrestling just about anywhere else felt, there was only one place I could right the wrongs, not just my own, but the ills that plague professional wrestling.


You know, I used to think that Lila Sleater ruined the WFWF.

Ha!

See I made the mistake of thinking that because the WFWF pulls in the biggest crowds, because I've been drip fed – and believed - the story that the WFWF has the richest history in professional wrestling, that because the WFWF is the richest promotion in professional wrestling, it must be the best. I made the mistake of thinking that the WFWF and professional wrestling are synonymous. I'd been told the WFWF is the place to be so many times, that I started to believe it, I believed that this company used to represent everything wrestling should be, that it was bastardised by Lila Sleater.

I should have known better.

The last year, has been something of a wake up call for me. Not just because I've been able to experience all these new cultures, these new styles of wrestling. Not just because I've gone toe to toe with athletes that deserve ten times the recognition your average WFWF 'superstar' gets. For the first time, in a long time, I've had the chance to look back, not just on my time in the WFWF, but on my memories of the WFWF from the moment I first watched it on the box.

When you're a stupid, violent, 17 year old kid, Obo kicking Wayne McGurk off a scaffold, diving onto the already broken man's chest, seems pretty cool. Heck it looks damn impressive. But to an adult, professional wrestler, there's nothing impressive about it. If you have to resort to smashing your opponent to bits with a light tube, you shouldn't be anywhere near the 'best' promotion in professional wrestling. If you have to throw your opponent through a flaming table, you shouldn't be a professional wrestler. If you have to go down on Lila Sleater to get a contract, or if you're only here because your face would just look so damn good on the front of the programme then you don't belong in the best promotion in professional wrestling. Where do you belong?

Well, if 14 years have taught us anything, it's that you belong right here, in the WFWF. If you're one of those people, then you certainly wouldn't look out of place in this self proclaimed 'greatest promotion in the history of professional wrestling'.

So why come back?

If it's so good in Japan, in Britain, in Germany, in Holland, in Canada, in Mexico, why come back to the WFWF?

It's a good question. It's certainly not something I could see myself doing two or three months ago.

I have spent so many years of my life right here. And the funny thing is, I've hated almost all of them for one reason or another. Be it because I was a delicate flower who none of the other kids wanted to play with, or because I was desperately trying to beat the likes of Trace Demon or Dave Demento at their own game. Sometimes successfully, mostly unsuccessfully. I lowered myself to their level because I thought that's how you got to the top of this place.

I'm a romantic.

I know, I know, that's kind of difficult to believe. Why come back? I suppose it's because, I want to love this place.

I want those years to have been worth something, I want them to lead to something. I want a narrative that makes those years of pain, and suffering, and disappointment, worth it. A narrative that ends with me, lifting the WFWF Championship in a WFWF that's worth taking part in. I want to be a seventy year old man watching two of the finest athletes in the world going head to head in a promotion that I helped to elevate.

I've been here before, calling on the WFWF locker-room to join my fight against Lila Sleater. I was wrong to do that. Because the truth is, then, I wanted to replace her with more of the same. I wanted a change, that would keep everything the same. But with me being teleported from the bottom rung of the ladder to the top of it. Quick successful revolutions, they tend to look like that.

That's not what I want, not any more. But this promotion needs to change. If the WFWF wants to be what it claims to be, the greatest professional wrestling promotion on the planet, then it has to. I was wrong, about the answer to the WFWF's problems a year and a half ago. I thought throwing Lila Sleater to the guillotine, crushing the Saviours of Salvation under my boot, telling the sponsors and the businessmen where to go, would save this company. Purify it if you will. I thought a bloody Trace Demon or Joe Bishop led dictatorship was the answer to this companies very real problems. I'm glad we failed.

Fighting fire with fire isn't a good idea.

I want to make this promotion better, and the way to do that is not to burn it down and build it again in my image. Education is the way to do it, a year of it has changed me and it can change this place as well. The answer, the way I can shape a better WFWF, is pretty simple really. It's about leading by example, and that's exactly what I intend to do. If someone is here because they're marketable, then I need to send them packing by embarrassing them in that ring. If someone is here because they are willing to jump off a scaffold, throw someone through a table, swing a chair, then I need to beat them without lowering myself to their level. And, if I get beaten by somebody who is just plain better than me, by someone who can outwrestle me, by an athlete rather than a superstar, then that isn't a defeat. That's a victory. It's a sign that things can change.

An army doesn't have to march into your country and stick a flag over your monuments, to beat you. They just have to change the way people think.

Actually, I'd go further. An army can't beat you by marching into your country and sticking a flag over your monuments. They have to change the way people think.

It's time to take the Brawl out of SuperBrawl, the Scars out of Scars and Stripes. This is a sport, it's about being better than the other guy, not being more inventive with furniture. If you want to get to the top of the WFWF by hitting someone with a trashcan then you belong in one. Because you are holding this promotion down. You are teaching kids, like me six years ago, that that's the way to do it. You want to call this the greatest promotion in the history of professional wrestling?

Then it's high time the wrestlers start acting like wrestlers. Not celebrities, not angry hobos, not spot monkeys. This promotion's history, its legacy, its heroes, are s***. But they are the past. The future, is ours.

Bobby, show them you're better than that, or I'll show you the door.


OOC: So here this is. A little shorter than I would have liked in terms of the content I wanted to cover (post-University 'oh my God what am I going to do with my life' is taking up considerably more time than I expected). I'm hoping essentially to get better at scenes, using secondary characters and building story arcs during this run as I've never really had a knack for any of those things, so the first few shows are basically going to be me trying to put things in place to work on that, and as I've not written anything fictional since last time around, to shake off the cobwebs.