WFWF Exodus: The Grey Area

People like telling stories, and the best are the simplest. Good and evil, right and wrong, 'face' and 'heel'. Everything has to be black and white.

That's what people want to see. That's what sells, so unsurprisingly, that's the story that litters our history books. That's the story that is recycled over and over again wherever you care to look, it seems even to subconsciously guide the actions of WFWF wrestlers, men like Drakz play the villain who lies and cheats their way to the top, and men like Josh Dean play the plucky, scrappy underdog, who will put everything on the line to bring them down. Why?

I suppose it's a combination of things. Society likes to push people into those roles for one, some get off on being hated, some on being loved and almost all get off on the attention that comes from giving people the story they want. Even when people don't conform to the roles, it's never too tricky to overlook the moral failings of the supposed good guy, and to explain away a supposed villain's acts of kindness.

I've never seen the appeal of either frankly. They're both lies.

I suppose it's bugging me for two reasons really. Firstly it seems that far too frequently, that's what the WFWF is about. It's about hatred and ideology. It's about two people who loathe each other, for some unfathomable reason, going at each others throats for the sake of justifying their ideological position. Even worse it's about two men with no animosity trying to kill each other for the sake of appearing interesting. When it should be about two people, who share a passion for wrestling, going head to head and finding out, simply, who is better.

I thrive on being in that ring. Far too many just thrive on being in front of a camera. And of course the higher ups, whether it's businessmen, sponsors, share holders, they love to stoke the fire. They love to feed that hatred, because it's popular, because it sells. They make sure that there's always a camera around to capture these real, human emotions – and they market them perfectly. The impact anything and everything has is measured purely in terms of finances, not what it does to our society, to individuals, to this sport that we all claim to love. At the risk of going all RevLeft, those sort of concerns always seem to go out of the window when money is thrown into the equation.

The second reason it's playing on my mind, is that I feel as though I'm being thrown into the middle of it.

At Exodus I take on a man who is seemingly embodying the dark side. Using others to propel himself to the top of the ladder, cheating to get to the top, not sparing a seconds thought for those he steps on, on his way to the top. At New Nebula, I was called out by a Marvel character. A perfect cookie-cutter, Yukio Blaze-before it was cool, good guy. The marketing department must be having a field day with 'The Future', masks, figures, lunch boxes, capes, you name it.

I shouldn't care. I really shouldn't.

At the end of the day it won't affect anything I do in that ring. The perception of fans, the way it's presented by those in authority, it doesn't make a difference. It's still about going out there and being better than the person you're taking on.

But I think it tells you everything you need to know about where the WFWF has gone wrong, about what is wrong with it.

Sports are fundamentally about competition. And that really comes across when you go to most countries, most promotions, it's all about proving that you are the best in that ring. The WFWF, it's not really about competition. It's about gimmicks, disposition, charisma. It's about telling a story that makes money, and the competition, the actual wrestling, is way down the list. There's no real structure, it's not about 'x wrestler has won x number of matches, he's earned a shot at a belt', far too often it's Trace Demon gifting a title shot to Cameron Stone if he'll sell away his principles, it's Shawn Malakai giving Dex the belt because he likes him.

I don't want saving. And I don't want enemies. I don't want to be cheered or booed. I don't want to be a part of a system that thrives on those things. But I do want to wrestle. If the chance comes to prove myself against a Hall Of Famer, a former Champion, then that is a chance to vindicate every criticism I have thrown at the WFWF and its history, a chance to prove myself once again in that ring, and I will take it with both hands. But if it happens, I assure you, it won't be about hate, or the story, it'll be about wrestling.

I don't want to fight somebody because they wear a cape, because they're a 'hero'. I don't want to fight someone because they're a cheat or a villain. I want to fight somebody, because that's what I am, what I do, what I love. Ich bin ein wrestler.

I can't help but feel like something of an anomaly here though.

---

March 2016

Joe: “You were right”

Andy: “I know”

How modest that man is.

Andy: “What about?”

Joe: “I've got to go back”

I sensed that he was waiting for me to elaborate, it wasn't a decision I was proud of. I had been so adamant that I was never going back, and here I was, a few months late, plotting my return to a promotion I'd done nothing but criticize.

Joe: “I know it's stupid, I know that... that I'm not going to enjoy it half as much as I enjoy doing this, but you were right. It's eating away at me.”

Andy: “Good.”

That wasn't exactly what I was expecting.

Joe: “That desperate to get rid of me?”

Andy: “You can't change a thing here. I want exactly the same thing as you, what's best for professional wrestling. You can change it, but we both know you're not going to do it in Brum.”

He was right, and it helped that I didn't really have to explain my reasoning. I couldn't change professional wrestling in this dump, and uncomfortable as I was with the idea of going back, doing nothing would have been the ultimate betrayal of everything I believe in.

Andy: “Make WFWF great again.”

He struggled to refrain from cracking a smile, knowing that was a comparison I wouldn't look particularly favourably on.

Joe: “Not funny.”

Didn't stop him laughing at his own joke though.

Andy: “Trust me, you're doing the right thing.”

So why do I feel this s***?

---

May 2016

*Crack*

Strips of wood fly off the kendo stick as Mike Jette thrusts it into the stomach of Frank Lynn.

*Crack* *Crack* *Crack* *Crack* *Crack* *Crack*

I of course kept a close eye on the WFWF while I was away. I may not like the way it runs, it's not an enjoyable 'product' – not that it should be a 'product' at all. But when you've dedicated years of your life to something. Invested so much in terms of blood, sweat, tears and other miscellaneous bodily fluids, you kind of want to keep track of how it's going. And I suppose, deep down, there was a desire to jump right back into the carnage. A masochistic urge to get back onto that battlefield was eating away at me.

Once I had made the decision to come back, and a legal team had finished the whole grovelling to Trace Demon, or Lila Sleater, or whoever they had to grovel to, process to get me back, I was of course keen to assess the WFWF. To see how far in the wrong direction it has headed. And at Black Hole Sun, I got my answer.

Andy: “You really want to go back then?”

Jette suplexes Lynn through a table, the two bleeding profusely on our screens, for seemingly no real reason; as I mulled over my response.

Joe: “You know I don't want to”

My eyes motioned to the TV screen as I made my point.

Joe: “I have to”

Both of us had our attention drawn back to the match in progress, as Mike Jette flew from the top turnbuckle, looking to smash his opponents face into a solid steel chair.

Andy: “Back to this”

My face told the whole story. What I was watching clearly left me uncomfortable, not that it wasn't something I'd seen a million times before. It just epitomized the bastardization of professional wrestling that has taken place since the WFWF opened its doors. Andy sympathised, of course, neither of us really, deep down, wanted anything to do with this. And yet I was about to be stepping back into the lion's den.

Joe: “I know”

Andy: “God help you”

A year wrestling around the world, feeling at home. Truly enjoying what I was doing, and I was preparing to throw it all aside for a moral crusade. To make a point. I'd be lying if I said that my brain wasn't screaming at me to stay away from the WFWF, to stay away from everything it stands for. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at listening to my brain, my heart does far too much of the thinking. I knew it was a mistake, and I knew that I was going to do it anyway.

A British citizen shooting themselves in the foot, how preposterous.

Poppy: “Shut up!”

Andy's daughter Poppy (what a cruel name), bluntly as ever, lifted her head up from her note taking to interject. Poppy had inherited her father's love of professional wrestling, unfortunately she didn't share our views on the state of the sport.

Poppy: “If you need to whinge about it, do it somewhere else. I'm trying to concentrate”

In many respects she was the enemy.

Following a brief failed stint training with her father, she had decided to pursue a career as a sports journalist, essentially contributing to the narrative heavy approach to professional wrestling that I and her father disdained. Not content with being part of the problem, she of course was looking to drag me into it. Since I was about to become a pretty convenient potential source, Poppy had started to pick my ear about the WFWF (Distasteful as this was, I could just about cope with it thanks to the aesthetics). Fortunately tonight she wasn't in a particularly forgiving mood.

Andy: “Wow, what happened to project flatter?”

Project flatter was a knowing reference to Poppy's attempt to use me as a way into the world of the WFWF. Unable to offer any legitimate defence, she threw a hate filled glare at her father. We decided to escape her wrath, sulking out quietly as her preparations to sell Black Hole Sun as the greatest thing that has ever happened continued.

Me?

I'd seen enough of the event to know that my assessment of the state of the WFWF had been bang on. Frank Lynn and Mike Jette had spent the night bashing each other to bits, not because of any personal grievance. Not because they loathe one another. But because that is the example that has been set by the people the next generation of professional wrestlers had to grow up with.

If there was a match that perfectly summed up what had to change, what the biggest problem the WFWF faces is, it was this.

---

June 2016

My first night back in the WFWF, New Nebula, was certainly an interesting experience.

I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I got.

My match with Bobby Hall was an interesting one, perhaps not what I've come to expect from my time abroad, but not particularly concerning either. The learning curve is a big one in the WFWF, and Bobby clearly has a fair way to go, but I was satisfied that there was no instant resort to cheating his way to a win. On the other hand I've felt more challenged.

Hopefully Lucas Crowe will answer that second complaint, and I'll have to prove that overcoming slightly more underhand tactics, is something that I'm capable of.

I enjoyed my match at New Nebula more than I expected, I'd love to talk about it all day.

Unfortunately, on a personal note, it was slightly overshadowed by the apparent return of a wrestler who just pre-dates my serious interest in the WFWF, The Future.

I've always had a knack for making friends, and apparently I've made another. I've never believed in Superheroes, I certainly wasn't going to be swept up, as a teenager, by The Future's heroics, so it was something of a surprise. I don't really know what to make of the return of The Future, or my place in it, I look forward to finding out.

There's an expectation though, that I should know what to make of it. That I should have all the answers already.

Unfortunately the interesting questions thrown up by New Nebula were coming persistently from my worst nightmare, a wannabe journalist who knows where I live, and in this case, where I shop.

Poppy: “So what was all that Future stuff about?”

She didn't seem to realise, or at least didn't care, that it was taking an incredible amount of self control on my part not to snap and kill everyone in the room as the persistent infuriating questions kept coming.

Joe: “I don't know”

Apparently that was worth jotting down in the notebook she carries everywhere she goes.

Poppy: “What about your match with Crowe then?”

Joe: “How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not saying a word before you take it in?”

She continued to follow me around, waiting for a scoop that wasn't coming.

Poppy: “I'm trying to help you as much as anything, it's not like I'm going to paint you in a bad light”

Joe: “Nobody's ever published anything you've written, trust me that's not the problem.”

Poppy: “Gee, thanks. Maybe they would if say, my father's best friend wrestled for the WFWF and would tell me wha...”

Joe: “Look I don't know what you expect me to say, I've given none of these things any thought. I'm shopping, there's no story here, The Future is not about to come round the corner and save you if you push me enough that I end up throttling you”

I hoped that the combination of a lie and a threat might get her off my back, and thankfully, for the time being at least, she was willing to deviate to discussing the British wrestling scene, something I'm far more comfortable with. Unfortunately, I got the impression that this isn't the last time that the parasitic nature of modern journalism is going to interrupt my day to day business. This won't be fun.



I'm supposed to hate you Lucas. You're a 'bad guy', a cheat. I need eyes in the back of my head because there's any number of people looking to help you steal this victory. Thankfully the puppet master is busy with the Thunderbirds (how apt) and Trace is all tied up finding some fodder for the leader of the gang, but there's still Tyme ready and raring to go, to cost me this match. That's not a particularly nice position to be in, and I should hate you for it.

I don't.

I pity you.

Because everybody knows that two years ago, that was me. I was the poor deluded fool who thought they could cheat their way up the ladder, cling to the coattails of Trace Demon, bypass years of perfecting my art on the way to the top. Not only did I think I could do it, but I thought doing it would feel fulfilling.

I told myself there was a noble cause, that I was being held down by a rotten system. All I did really was conform to the system, I became the bad guy that every story needs and I got a match with the World Champion, numerous International Championship matches and a chance to take on some of the 'best' this promotion has to offer, out of it.

Was it worth it?

With the benefit of hindsight, I can tell you categorically that it wasn't, and even if I'd succeeded, cheated and bludgeoned my way to the top, it wouldn't have been.

I want and wanted to be the WFWF Champion because I wanted to be the best, the reality is that even if I'd done what I'd set out to do, three years ago, I couldn't have been the best. At best, I could have been a big fish in a rotten pond.

Right now you're aiming for the same heights. You're aiming to become the top dog in a fed that will shout to the world that it is the greatest, that will invest millions in marketing itself as the best, but the reality is that that that doesn't stack up. And by turning every match you're involved in, every defence of the two main singles titles in this promotion, into a f***ing farce, you're making the problem worse and worse and worse.

You, as much as your Stan McManns and your Mantis Toboggans, are making this promotion a joke. That needs to end, and I don't want to have to do it by driving you out, because there is potential there.

I dislike your tactics, I dislike your approach, I dislike the politics and the Machiavellian schemes you're involving yourself in. But I don't hate you for it, because you are a symptom. As much a victim as I was, as much of a victim as Jette, Lynn, everybody who walks through that door, following in the footsteps of men who have set the WFWF on this course.

The two men above you are the problem and I will take great pleasure, one day, in making sure that they either have to adapt to a new WFWF, a WFWF that reflects this beautiful sport properly, or they have to close the door on their way out.

I won't take much pleasure from besting you Crowe, no more than I would from beating anyone else. But I truly honestly hope, that when I beat you, overcome whatever and whoever you throw my way, without resorting to the same underhand tactics, I hope that you realise the mistake you've made.

I hope you realise that there is a better way to a higher peak. Because the course you're on right now, it'll see you do the bidding of men who will hold you down, in a promotion that doesn't do justice to the sport. If the perks of doing their bidding are more important than that, more important than striving to achieve something special in that ring, then you really are – and I try to use the word sparingly – a monster. For now I prefer to believe that you're just as misguided as I was, it's safest to give people the benefit of the doubt.

If I want to make the WFWF a better place, then yours is exactly the kind of mindset I have to change. I have to make people like you, talented rookies, or at least not seasoned veterans, who have bought in to the reprehensible precedent set by the WFWF Hall of Fame, change. I have to try and get you to embrace something better, I have to encourage you to embrace a more legitimate path to where you want to go. The best way to learn, is by using your, and other peoples, experience. Cliched as it is, you have to learn from mistakes.

Continue down the path you're on, and your career will be a bleak one, whether you want to accept that now or not.

You have the rare opportunity of going face to face with a man who has made all of the mistakes you're making right now. Learn from them, ditch Demon, ditch Drakz, ditch Tyme, don't play their game. Because trust me, you won't win, and you shouldn't want to.