Post by King Richius on Sept 29, 2018 16:14:44 GMT -5
Prologue: Opening the box
Mexico City : Sept. 13, 2018 : El Grito de Dolores
F***ing hell.
My knee feels like someone just hit it with a sledgehammer, like when Kathy Bates broke James Caan’s ankles in Misery.
I wonder why.
Heh, my sarcasm always comes out when I’m in pain.
I know full well why. Ante Whitner tried to go all Spanish Inquisition on me tonight.
The pain didn’t hit me until after the match, after I pinned Ante Whitner for hopefully the last time. I’m honestly over him and could easily go the rest of my life never having to utter his name or wrestle him again.
Please don’t let him be the one to answer my open challenge. I might slit my wrists.
More sarcasm. My knee really f***ing hurts.
After the match… after my announcement… that’s when the adrenaline wore off and the pain really kicked in. I barely made the walk up the ramp. I didn’t make the walk back to the locker room. I offered no resistance to the medics when they came up to me with a wheelchair.
Yes indeed boys, I’ll take that ride. My pride and dignity could only carry me so far and it was about two steps past the gorilla position.
That’s how the reigning, defending International Champion made it to his locker room - sitting in a wheelchair trying not to cry from the pain.
Three cheers for the conquering hero.
The icepack isn’t helping much. Neither are the pills the medics gave me.
Knock knock champ.
Her again. The bane of my WFWF existence.
She leans against the doorframe, one hand on her hip and the other toasting me with a bottle of water, the kind with bubbles in it. Regular water isn’t good enough for her.
Hello Lila. I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence, you coming to my locker room after every match. Are you here to gloat? Or is it more blackmail? I did my part. So did Daphne.
She most certainly did, although it was hard to see her shaking that cute ass while sitting behind the announcer’s table. T and A Frank. That’s what I want out of Daphne.
Lila makes a crude attempt at gyrating her hips that is about as far from suggestive or sexual as I can imagine. It’s like watching that Seinfeld episode when Elaine tries to dance. Eww.
Where is Miss Daphne?
Hell if I know. She said she needed some air and went for a walk.
It’s the truth. I don’t know how Daphne kept her cool during the match but she did it. I’d bet she’s probably looking for a bar to get stinking drunk and start a fight or two.
Well, when she comes back be sure to remind her. I want to see her ass… * she draws out the “s” for a half second * …ets on display for every lecherous perv in the audience.
Duly noted, massah. Anything else on your mind? The drugs are starting to kick in so talk fast.
Lila saunters around the room looking around, taking her time to spread a clean towel on a bench across from me before finally taking a seat.
What the hell were you doing out there?
Winning my match. Sorry to disappoint you but I’m still your International Champion.
I’m talking about after the match. Who do you think you are issuing an open challenge? I book the matches here, not you.
You seem too busy with the tournament and the New Epoch a-holes to bother with little ole me. There’s no way I’m missing the London show so I took matters into my own hands.
Lila leans back, her usual stern look melting away into something almost friendly. It scares me. What does she have on her mind?
Does it really have to be this way Frank? Do we have to be adversaries? You’ve made something of yourself and now you’re a box office draw. I would have found a spot on the card for you.
I wasn’t so sure of that after our last conversation.
Be a good soldier and we’ll get along fine. I guess I don’t mind too much that you made your open challenge. It’s good PR for London. Every fan will be on the edge of their seat wondering who will challenge the great Frank Lynn.
Hard to miss the obvious sarcasm dripping from the word “great”.
So you’re not mad at me?
Not mad, just disappointed. I wish you had come to me first. I would have cleared you to go ahead with your open challenge. I know a good idea when I hear it.
Then we don’t have a problem, do we?
I don’t but you do. You opened Pandora’s Box. Even I don’t know who’s going to come out of it. It could be literally anybody Frank. Think about it. How do you prepare for the unknown?
Lila has a point. Damn post victory euphoria and adrenaline. Textbook case of open mouth and insert foot.
But I’m the fighting champion and lethal weapon. I get myself into tough spots all the time and so far I keep getting out of them.
I’ll do what I always do. Train hard, study film of every WFWF wrestler past and present, and put on a show for a hundred thousand screaming Brits.
Good luck. You’re going to need it.
Lila winks at me, stands up, and heads for the door… almost bumping into Daphne as she storms into the locker room.
Sorry. Excuse me your highness. It wont happen again.
I can hear Daphne’s teeth grinding with each word. Keep it together Daphne. Just let Lila leave in peace.
Don’t worry about it. Take care of your man. We all want him at one hundred per cent for London.
Lila waves goodbye and disappears, leaving a slightly confused Daphne behind for me to deal with.
Don’t let Lila get under your skin. Your balls are way bigger than hers.
Ha! We can handle Lila. I’ve got a different puta on my mind.
Huh? Daphne’s got a serious case of crabs and she didn’t get it from Lila. I feel sorry for whoever she is mad at.
WFWF London Calling RP
Pandora’s Box
featuring Frank Lynn
“They gave Pandora a box. Prometheus begged her not to open it. She opened it. Every evil to which human flesh is heir came out of it.
The last thing to come out of the box was hope. It flew away.”
The Challenge
Call me crazy.
You wouldn’t be the first.
Fact is, it may not be the smartest move I’ve ever made issuing an open challenge for London Calling. I’ve opened Pandora’s Box and nobody knows who will come crawling out of it to get a piece of me and my International Championship.
Why would I do something so reckless?
Contrary to popular opinion I am not an idiot.
I still have something to prove to Lila, the locker room, and the fans. Ante Whitner isn’t the only person who questions why I bother getting out of bed each day. So many doubters question my drive, my abilities, my very reason for being a WFWF wrestler.
I can’t say it any simpler than I did in the ring at El Grito de Dolores. I am a fighter. I crave the best competition in the world so I can see where I stand and what I need to improve on. Every time I step into the ring with the elite wrestlers of the WFWF, I learn something about myself and my wrestling abilities.
Life is a constant drive to excel at something, to perfect your skills until you are the best at what you do. I fight. I learn from every fight, those that I win and those that I lose. I keep getting better.
That’s what gets me out of bed every morning and pushes me to spend eight hours a day working in the gym and another two to four hours studying film.
It’s the drive for perfection.
Now it would be crazy for me to assume I could ever reach perfection but it’s more about my burning desire to come a little closer each time I enter the ring.
That’s why I made the open challenge. It’s the ultimate test of my skills and my progress as a WFWF wrestler. I’m putting my title on the line against an unknown quantity. I can’t prepare for a specific wrestler, studying their past matches for their strengths and weaknesses so I can develop a game plan for taking them down.
I’m going to London relying entirely on my own abilities, particularly the ability to analyze my opponent and adapt to them on the fly. I’ll have to be fast on my feet and even faster in my mind if I’m going to come out on top.
I’ll have to come one step closer to being the perfect Lethal Weapon.
This isn’t a challenge to some lucky wrestler in the locker room. It’s a challenge to me. Can I do it? Can I stack the odds against me and still come out on top?
I believe I can.
I know I can.
So go ahead. Call me crazy for making an open challenge.
Crazy like a fox!
Boston, MA : September 27, 2018
Good News
I walk into the Legacy facilities arm in arm with Sarah, our baby girl strapped to my chest. All the people in the facility look at us with smiles but aren’t sure how to act so for the most part they keep their distance and holler a few cheery greetings. Amazing how uncomfortable all these tough guy wrestlers are around an infant. Pretty much exactly how I felt the first time I took her in my arms afraid I might break her.
We ignore the awkwardness as I hand off Laura to Sarah. She heads off in the direction of the office and the new day care center she convinced Abe to add to the facilities. Knowing Sarah as well as I do, I doubt Abe had a chance to say no. Turned out to be a good idea as several people working at Legacy had infants and appreciated not having to pay full time nannies or daycare center fees.
I go in a different direction, checking the clock to see that I’m somehow fifteen minutes early for my appointment with the staff doctor despite all the added prep time needed when preparing Laura for travel.
I take a seat outside the office the doc uses for his once a week visits to oversee the health of all the Legacy wrestlers. Even as my butt hits the padded leather couch (only the best for Legacy!), Daphne comes out of the office with a smile worthy of a cat who just ate a flock of canaries.
Hey Daphne. How’d it go?
She practically runs over to me and traps me in a huge bear hug.
You won’t believe it! My neck is fully recovered!
You mean…
I can wrestle again! I CAN WRESTLE AGAIN!
She starts dancing around like a clumsy ballerina, coming within inches of knocking over a lamp, a table, a large potted plant, and me.
That’s great news! You gonna’ go see Abe and get your title rematch asap?
Actually, not yet.
What? Why not?
Oh, I want my title back but I’ve got a year of rust to work off. I have an idea how I can do that and scratch an itch that’s been bothering me.
An itch that’s been bothering her? Must be revenge against Ante Whitner for breaking her neck in the first place. I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He’s a tough bastard who might break her neck all over again to get to me.
Is this itch named Ante Whitner?
No. You took care of him. He’s old news.
Really? My fiery latina friend and wrestler turned manager doesn’t want a piece of Ante? This is news to me.
Then who or what is this itch you have to scratch?
I’d rather not tell you right now. It’s personal.
Okay… have your little secret. At least this gets you out from under Lila’s thumb. No more shaking your ass just to please her. Even she can’t hold it against me if you quit as my manager because you have your own wrestling career to get back to.
She stops twirling about long enough to grab me by the shoulders and get serious for a moment.
Frank, the deal still holds. I’m your manager and will be at your side as long as I don’t have a match of my own on the same night. Neither you nor Lila can get rid of me that easily. I’m all in for Frank Lynn. I’ll continue to be a good little girl for Lila until we figure a way out of her blackmail.
And as quick as a wink she’s back to dancing around the room like Mesh on meth.
“All in for Frank Lynn.” That’s kinda’ catchy. I’ll have to pass it along to Scott for possible future use.
Well if it isn’t Ante Whitner then I have no idea who but I wish you the best of luck. And I’m grateful to have you around, ‘specially for the open challenge. I’ll need you to keep me sharp… Ginzu knife sharp if you know what I mean.
Daphne starts to slow down, no longer twirling all over the room, happy to bounce in place. I’m relieved. She was making me dizzy.
I thought you took one too many shots to the head when you made the open challenge. You’ve seen the kind of wrestlers who show up when the WFWF opens its doors. Everyone from psycho animals like Schneider to past champions like Cameron Stone to total jokes like the Dog Who Eats Cheeseburgers.
I sense a “but” coming.
But after I thought about it, it was probably a stroke of genius taking the booking out of Lila’s hands. I’m sure she would have put you up against Zmey in a last man standing match hoping he would do to you what he did to Drakz.
I shiver a bit at the thought. I’m good but Zmey is a freaking monster. He doesn’t care about wins or losses. He’s a weapon of mass destruction that you aim at someone you want destroyed. He’s the one wrestler in the locker room I would be most worried about accepting the challenge except he only does what Kyzer says and I don’t think Kyzer cares enough to sic Zmey on me. He’ll probably want to keep him fresh for the main event as backup against Drakz and Brennan.
I may be counting my chickens before they hatch but I’m positive I won’t be facing Zmey in London.
You have any tips for how to train for an open challenge?
Just one. We put you in the ring against every different style wrestler we can think of… technician, high flyer, striker, brawler, submission specialist, and so on. We have the entire Legacy roster to pull sparring partners from.
Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you go grab a few right now who are up for some sparring while I get my knee checked out.
That’s right, the knee that Ante tried to break. He failed but still managed to do some damage. The doc’s been taking care of it and it feels a lot better. Hopefully today I get the good word that the knee is fully recovered. At worst, I should still get clearance for full contact training if I wear a brace.
I think I hear the Dixons breaking things. They always love a chance to spar with you.
You mean they love a chance to beat the hell out of the boss. Go ahead and get them. Daryl’s a damn good technician, Eli is personally offended by gravity, and Zeke is a walking mountain of bad intentions. That’s three different styles covered right there.
Daphne bounces off to give the Dixons the good news. That should get them bouncing around too.
The doctor sticks his head out of the office and signals that he’s ready to see me.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later I’m in the locker room changing into my workout gear, my knee fully cleared and no brace needed. I put on the brace anyway because it’s the Dixons. Better safe than sorry.
Daphne’s good mood prove infectious. I’m in a good mood now too. It gives me an inspiration.
I reach for my phone, scrolling through the names until I come to one I haven’t called in a long time. Well, no time like the present. I’m going to be in his neck of the woods soon enough. Why not call him and see if he’d like to get together. He’s seen it all and done it all, so I’m sure he will have some words of wisdom for me about handling an open challenge.
London : October 3, 2018
Fish and Chips
I have to give it to Joe, when I asked him to meet me in London I never expected him to choose a quaint English pub so far off the beaten track that only the locals knew about it.
I like it. It reminds me of a sports bar in Boston I used to frequent. A nice quiet place full of friendly people, as long as there isn’t a soccer game on the TVs to get them riled up. The lager is served warm, as is proper, and the fish and chips are as good as any you’d get at one of Gordon Ramsay’s overrated restaurants.
You’re really going through with it? An open challenge.
Yep.
Joe cock’s his eyebrows, about the most animated he’s been the entire time.
Good luck with that.
Funny, that’s the exact same thing Lila said to me.
Now that gets a reaction as Joe slowly drops his half eaten chip to glare at me.
Don’t compare me to Lila. We have nothing in common.
Sorry mate but it’s true. Everyone thinks I’m off my rocker for making an open challenge. What am I supposed to do? Hide in my closet waiting for Lila to hand pick my challengers? All she’s done so far is send Drakz and a vengeful Ante Whitner after me. I can’t imagine my open challenge producing anyone worse than those two.
Maybe but at least you could prepare for them. What if Phillip Schneider shows up? Are you ready for his brand of violence? What about Tugarin Zmey? Can you handle a seven foot monster?
So Joe has been paying attention during his absence. I had my doubts considering how little enthusiasm he had shown so far in our dinner conversation.
I’m ready to find out.
Like I said, good luck with that.
And he’s back to his melancholic meal: sip of beer, bite of fish, bite of chip, repeat. What happened to you Joe Bishop?
Is that it? I expected more from you.
Like what Frank? You want me to pat you on your back and tell you what a good job you’re doing?
Well, it would be nice. I’m the International Champion. I’m having clean matches, at least on my part, and setting a good example.
Is that what the Revolution has come to? You stole the belt from Brennan and because you haven’t broken any rules since then it’s all okay?
Well, I didn’t actually break any rules in winning the title.
Joe slams his fist into the table.
Only because you were the one making the rules! You were as bad as Trace Demon… no, worse! Trace never claimed to be an angel. You were a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Joe’s outburst draws the attention of a few people at the bar. I get the dirty looks though. It’s obvious who they would side with in any argument between the ugly American and the hometown hero.
I know what I did at Back to Basics wasn’t exactly kosher but it HAD to be done. I tried playing it straight, winning my way to a title shot but it was never going to happen. I got thrown into the gauntlet. I had to beat three people on my way to Brennan only to have that f*** Schneider ruin it.
I pause to sip some of my beer. My skin crawls at the thought of speaking out to Joe. It feels like I’m a teenager back talking to my mother. I respect this man, at least I respect the man he used to be. I’m not so sure the same man is sitting opposite me tonight. Too much may have changed.
I should have been given a title shot after what happened in the gauntlet but Brennan got wrapped up in all this New Epoch crap. I was shut down, left to crawl my way back up the ladder. So shoot me for taking advantage of an opportunity that was wasted on Ante Whitner. I don’t regret it.
Are you finished? It’s a nice sob story but I don’t buy it. You sold out.
Jesus flippin’ Christ, in a company where titles have changed under far more dubious circumstances, including literally being handed to someone so not worthy that his name has become a running joke, I will never live down a perfectly legal and within the rules Golden Opportunity cash in.
Some see it that way. I don’t. Regardless, since winning the title, I’ve done everything right. I’ve defended against all comers, I’ve wrestled clean matches even if my opponents didn’t. I’m setting a good example.
Weren’t you the one who said setting an example wasn’t enough? That we had to do more. I thought you were doing more right up to Back to Basics.
True, I said that. But I learned my lesson. Think of it as Darwinism in action. Adapt or die. I adapted. I played within their rules and won a title. Now I’m using it to represent the best of pro wrestling.
You sold out.
I thought you’d be happy for me. I’m doing something with the International Championship that you couldn’t with the World Heavyweight Championship.
I regret my choice of words the instant they come out of my mouth.
This time Joe slams both fists into the table rattling our plates and almost knocking over our beers. Every single face in the pub turns in our direction.
That wasn’t my fault. I was injured.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it negatively. I know you got injured. It was out of your hands. But that’s why I thought you’d be happy for me. My fate is in my hands. The revolution continues, but in a more subtle way. Leading by example is the only way that works.
Sure is making an impression on rookies like Payne and Priceless.
He has been watching. Too bad he’s only seeing the negatives.
What about Mesh, Shuggy, and Billy? They’re a move in the right direction.
If you think that then you really have sold out. They’re very much part of the circus side show. A social media queen, an over the hill janitor, and… and… a Shuggy.
Good guys come in as many different flavors as the bad guys. Each one of them has earned my respect.
Good guys? Bad guys? The point of this really did fly over your head didn’t it? F***ing idiot.
Ouch. I don’t have a comeback for that one. I can feel the jealousy and regret emanating from him. I’m sorry I asked him to meet me. I’m getting depressed.
I eat my food in silence. So does he. Apparently we’ve said all there is to say. The revolution is dead. Our friendship died with it.
Finally, when our mugs and plates are empty, I have to speak again but I don’t want to set myself up for anymore of Joe’s negativity. In his current mood he’d find a way to be offended by “Have a nice day”.
I’m sorry things didn’t work out Joe. I’m sorry we couldn’t have been the World and International Champions together leading the WFWF in a new revolution. It wasn’t meant to be. Lila and the Board of Directors don’t want change. They know what the WFWF brand is and will fight tooth and nail to protect the status quo. All I can do is be the best champion I can. I really hope you’ll come to Wembley and cheer for me. After all, if not me then who? Drakz? Kyzer? Brennan? I’m the best thing going in the WFWF. That’s not me bragging. That’s the damn truth.
It’s your truth. You keep believing. I’ve got other plans.
That’s as close to civil as Joe’s gonna’ get. Damn shame. I’d love to have him in my corner at Wembley. Too bad it’s not gonna’ happen.
I place a twenty pound note on the table hoping it’s enough to cover my half of the check but not really sure. I could be shorting Joe or I could be leaving the biggest tip this pub has ever seen. I’m not inclined to care either way right now.
Well, I guess that’s it then. I better get going. Take it easy Joe.
Cya’ round, Frank.
I hope not, unless Joe’s mood changes drastically between now and the next time we meet.
Who’s Next?
I’d love to start off telling you I know everything about my opponent, all their strengths and weaknesses. I’d be ecstatic if I could say that I have a foolproof plan for countering their every move, getting the dub, and retaining my International Championship.
Problem is I can’t do that. I don’t know who will step out onto the stage and make the long walk down to the ring to challenge me for my title in Wembley Stadium in front of a hundred thousand rabid British wrestling fans.
I could run down the list of all the possible challengers but it’s a very long list of active, inactive, retired, and undiscovered wrestlers that would bore you to tears. Plus, why waste my words on the dozens of people it won’t be on the chance that I happen to hit on the one wrestler who does show up in London?
Bottom line is I don’t know who my opponent will be. I prepared for every possibility and I will adapt in the ring once my challenger makes his presence known. That’s all I can say about it so…
What I do know is that there are still doubters.
People who don’t think I deserve this title because of the way I won it. People who think I dumped my revolutionary cause as soon as an opportunity presented itself. People who think I’ve lost touch with who I am and question why I bother getting out of bed. People who just plain don’t like having me around for reasons I can’t quite fathom (my best guess is that they are afraid of real competition).
Rather than delivering a specific message for my opponent, I’ll keep my comments general. I’ll address all the doubters assuming my eventual challenger is amongst them, thinking his or her anonymity has given them the secret advantage necessary to beat me and become the new International Champion.
I AM the International Champion… whether you like it or not. I capitalized on a perfectly legal golden opportunity and have turned it into one of the most successful International Championship reigns in WFWF history, going on 200 days with no end in sight.
I’ve taken on all comers and will continue to do so because I’m not blowing smoke up your ass when I say I am a fighting champion.
What’s the point to being a champion if you’re going to run and hide? There’s so much more to being a champion than walking around with a shiny belt around your waist and lots of braggadocio about being the best. You have to back it up in the ring or it becomes meaningless.
Becoming champion isn’t the end of the journey, it’s the beginning. Getting to the top isn’t half as easy as staying on top. You have to work twice as hard because you are a marked man. Every other wrestler wants what you have: a title to add to their name, a bigger paycheck, respect. Whatever it is that drives you to want my title, know that I have the same in spades to keep my title.
At the risk of sounding cliche, you will have to pry this belt from my cold dead hands. Whoever accepts my challenge better be ready for the fight of their f***ing life. That’s what I bring to the ring every time I wrestle and I expect no less from my opponents. Push me to my limits. I want everything you’ve got and then some.
I know that being a champion comes with a target on my back. That much is obvious when everyone from returning vets like Mak Cross to rising stars like Mesh to rivals with vendettas like Ante Whitner all get in line for a shot at me.
In other words, the challengers are coming for me. I’m not doing anything special by issuing an open challenge. Odds are pretty damn good that whoever accepts would have gotten a title shot at some point anyway. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no time like the present to add another notch to my belt.
The open challenge isn’t about my unknown opponent. It’s about me. It’s about my desire to earn the respect of the wrestling world by showing that I stand behind my words. That I’m a champion you can be proud of. At the very least a champion you know will put it all on the line every time out and give you your money’s worth.
I am a fighting champion so I will fight.
I am the lethal weapon so I will win.
I am the International Champion.
This is my challenge.
Step up.
Fight me.
Make me earn this title all over again!
Who’s next?
Mexico City : Sept. 13, 2018 : El Grito de Dolores
F***ing hell.
My knee feels like someone just hit it with a sledgehammer, like when Kathy Bates broke James Caan’s ankles in Misery.
I wonder why.
Heh, my sarcasm always comes out when I’m in pain.
I know full well why. Ante Whitner tried to go all Spanish Inquisition on me tonight.
The pain didn’t hit me until after the match, after I pinned Ante Whitner for hopefully the last time. I’m honestly over him and could easily go the rest of my life never having to utter his name or wrestle him again.
Please don’t let him be the one to answer my open challenge. I might slit my wrists.
More sarcasm. My knee really f***ing hurts.
After the match… after my announcement… that’s when the adrenaline wore off and the pain really kicked in. I barely made the walk up the ramp. I didn’t make the walk back to the locker room. I offered no resistance to the medics when they came up to me with a wheelchair.
Yes indeed boys, I’ll take that ride. My pride and dignity could only carry me so far and it was about two steps past the gorilla position.
That’s how the reigning, defending International Champion made it to his locker room - sitting in a wheelchair trying not to cry from the pain.
Three cheers for the conquering hero.
The icepack isn’t helping much. Neither are the pills the medics gave me.
Knock knock champ.
Her again. The bane of my WFWF existence.
She leans against the doorframe, one hand on her hip and the other toasting me with a bottle of water, the kind with bubbles in it. Regular water isn’t good enough for her.
Hello Lila. I hope this isn’t going to be a regular occurrence, you coming to my locker room after every match. Are you here to gloat? Or is it more blackmail? I did my part. So did Daphne.
She most certainly did, although it was hard to see her shaking that cute ass while sitting behind the announcer’s table. T and A Frank. That’s what I want out of Daphne.
Lila makes a crude attempt at gyrating her hips that is about as far from suggestive or sexual as I can imagine. It’s like watching that Seinfeld episode when Elaine tries to dance. Eww.
Where is Miss Daphne?
Hell if I know. She said she needed some air and went for a walk.
It’s the truth. I don’t know how Daphne kept her cool during the match but she did it. I’d bet she’s probably looking for a bar to get stinking drunk and start a fight or two.
Well, when she comes back be sure to remind her. I want to see her ass… * she draws out the “s” for a half second * …ets on display for every lecherous perv in the audience.
Duly noted, massah. Anything else on your mind? The drugs are starting to kick in so talk fast.
Lila saunters around the room looking around, taking her time to spread a clean towel on a bench across from me before finally taking a seat.
What the hell were you doing out there?
Winning my match. Sorry to disappoint you but I’m still your International Champion.
I’m talking about after the match. Who do you think you are issuing an open challenge? I book the matches here, not you.
You seem too busy with the tournament and the New Epoch a-holes to bother with little ole me. There’s no way I’m missing the London show so I took matters into my own hands.
Lila leans back, her usual stern look melting away into something almost friendly. It scares me. What does she have on her mind?
Does it really have to be this way Frank? Do we have to be adversaries? You’ve made something of yourself and now you’re a box office draw. I would have found a spot on the card for you.
I wasn’t so sure of that after our last conversation.
Be a good soldier and we’ll get along fine. I guess I don’t mind too much that you made your open challenge. It’s good PR for London. Every fan will be on the edge of their seat wondering who will challenge the great Frank Lynn.
Hard to miss the obvious sarcasm dripping from the word “great”.
So you’re not mad at me?
Not mad, just disappointed. I wish you had come to me first. I would have cleared you to go ahead with your open challenge. I know a good idea when I hear it.
Then we don’t have a problem, do we?
I don’t but you do. You opened Pandora’s Box. Even I don’t know who’s going to come out of it. It could be literally anybody Frank. Think about it. How do you prepare for the unknown?
Lila has a point. Damn post victory euphoria and adrenaline. Textbook case of open mouth and insert foot.
But I’m the fighting champion and lethal weapon. I get myself into tough spots all the time and so far I keep getting out of them.
I’ll do what I always do. Train hard, study film of every WFWF wrestler past and present, and put on a show for a hundred thousand screaming Brits.
Good luck. You’re going to need it.
Lila winks at me, stands up, and heads for the door… almost bumping into Daphne as she storms into the locker room.
Sorry. Excuse me your highness. It wont happen again.
I can hear Daphne’s teeth grinding with each word. Keep it together Daphne. Just let Lila leave in peace.
Don’t worry about it. Take care of your man. We all want him at one hundred per cent for London.
Lila waves goodbye and disappears, leaving a slightly confused Daphne behind for me to deal with.
Don’t let Lila get under your skin. Your balls are way bigger than hers.
Ha! We can handle Lila. I’ve got a different puta on my mind.
Huh? Daphne’s got a serious case of crabs and she didn’t get it from Lila. I feel sorry for whoever she is mad at.
WFWF London Calling RP
Pandora’s Box
featuring Frank Lynn
“They gave Pandora a box. Prometheus begged her not to open it. She opened it. Every evil to which human flesh is heir came out of it.
The last thing to come out of the box was hope. It flew away.”
The Challenge
Call me crazy.
You wouldn’t be the first.
Fact is, it may not be the smartest move I’ve ever made issuing an open challenge for London Calling. I’ve opened Pandora’s Box and nobody knows who will come crawling out of it to get a piece of me and my International Championship.
Why would I do something so reckless?
Contrary to popular opinion I am not an idiot.
I still have something to prove to Lila, the locker room, and the fans. Ante Whitner isn’t the only person who questions why I bother getting out of bed each day. So many doubters question my drive, my abilities, my very reason for being a WFWF wrestler.
I can’t say it any simpler than I did in the ring at El Grito de Dolores. I am a fighter. I crave the best competition in the world so I can see where I stand and what I need to improve on. Every time I step into the ring with the elite wrestlers of the WFWF, I learn something about myself and my wrestling abilities.
Life is a constant drive to excel at something, to perfect your skills until you are the best at what you do. I fight. I learn from every fight, those that I win and those that I lose. I keep getting better.
That’s what gets me out of bed every morning and pushes me to spend eight hours a day working in the gym and another two to four hours studying film.
It’s the drive for perfection.
Now it would be crazy for me to assume I could ever reach perfection but it’s more about my burning desire to come a little closer each time I enter the ring.
That’s why I made the open challenge. It’s the ultimate test of my skills and my progress as a WFWF wrestler. I’m putting my title on the line against an unknown quantity. I can’t prepare for a specific wrestler, studying their past matches for their strengths and weaknesses so I can develop a game plan for taking them down.
I’m going to London relying entirely on my own abilities, particularly the ability to analyze my opponent and adapt to them on the fly. I’ll have to be fast on my feet and even faster in my mind if I’m going to come out on top.
I’ll have to come one step closer to being the perfect Lethal Weapon.
This isn’t a challenge to some lucky wrestler in the locker room. It’s a challenge to me. Can I do it? Can I stack the odds against me and still come out on top?
I believe I can.
I know I can.
So go ahead. Call me crazy for making an open challenge.
Crazy like a fox!
Boston, MA : September 27, 2018
Good News
I walk into the Legacy facilities arm in arm with Sarah, our baby girl strapped to my chest. All the people in the facility look at us with smiles but aren’t sure how to act so for the most part they keep their distance and holler a few cheery greetings. Amazing how uncomfortable all these tough guy wrestlers are around an infant. Pretty much exactly how I felt the first time I took her in my arms afraid I might break her.
We ignore the awkwardness as I hand off Laura to Sarah. She heads off in the direction of the office and the new day care center she convinced Abe to add to the facilities. Knowing Sarah as well as I do, I doubt Abe had a chance to say no. Turned out to be a good idea as several people working at Legacy had infants and appreciated not having to pay full time nannies or daycare center fees.
I go in a different direction, checking the clock to see that I’m somehow fifteen minutes early for my appointment with the staff doctor despite all the added prep time needed when preparing Laura for travel.
I take a seat outside the office the doc uses for his once a week visits to oversee the health of all the Legacy wrestlers. Even as my butt hits the padded leather couch (only the best for Legacy!), Daphne comes out of the office with a smile worthy of a cat who just ate a flock of canaries.
Hey Daphne. How’d it go?
She practically runs over to me and traps me in a huge bear hug.
You won’t believe it! My neck is fully recovered!
You mean…
I can wrestle again! I CAN WRESTLE AGAIN!
She starts dancing around like a clumsy ballerina, coming within inches of knocking over a lamp, a table, a large potted plant, and me.
That’s great news! You gonna’ go see Abe and get your title rematch asap?
Actually, not yet.
What? Why not?
Oh, I want my title back but I’ve got a year of rust to work off. I have an idea how I can do that and scratch an itch that’s been bothering me.
An itch that’s been bothering her? Must be revenge against Ante Whitner for breaking her neck in the first place. I don’t think that’s such a good idea. He’s a tough bastard who might break her neck all over again to get to me.
Is this itch named Ante Whitner?
No. You took care of him. He’s old news.
Really? My fiery latina friend and wrestler turned manager doesn’t want a piece of Ante? This is news to me.
Then who or what is this itch you have to scratch?
I’d rather not tell you right now. It’s personal.
Okay… have your little secret. At least this gets you out from under Lila’s thumb. No more shaking your ass just to please her. Even she can’t hold it against me if you quit as my manager because you have your own wrestling career to get back to.
She stops twirling about long enough to grab me by the shoulders and get serious for a moment.
Frank, the deal still holds. I’m your manager and will be at your side as long as I don’t have a match of my own on the same night. Neither you nor Lila can get rid of me that easily. I’m all in for Frank Lynn. I’ll continue to be a good little girl for Lila until we figure a way out of her blackmail.
And as quick as a wink she’s back to dancing around the room like Mesh on meth.
“All in for Frank Lynn.” That’s kinda’ catchy. I’ll have to pass it along to Scott for possible future use.
Well if it isn’t Ante Whitner then I have no idea who but I wish you the best of luck. And I’m grateful to have you around, ‘specially for the open challenge. I’ll need you to keep me sharp… Ginzu knife sharp if you know what I mean.
Daphne starts to slow down, no longer twirling all over the room, happy to bounce in place. I’m relieved. She was making me dizzy.
I thought you took one too many shots to the head when you made the open challenge. You’ve seen the kind of wrestlers who show up when the WFWF opens its doors. Everyone from psycho animals like Schneider to past champions like Cameron Stone to total jokes like the Dog Who Eats Cheeseburgers.
I sense a “but” coming.
But after I thought about it, it was probably a stroke of genius taking the booking out of Lila’s hands. I’m sure she would have put you up against Zmey in a last man standing match hoping he would do to you what he did to Drakz.
I shiver a bit at the thought. I’m good but Zmey is a freaking monster. He doesn’t care about wins or losses. He’s a weapon of mass destruction that you aim at someone you want destroyed. He’s the one wrestler in the locker room I would be most worried about accepting the challenge except he only does what Kyzer says and I don’t think Kyzer cares enough to sic Zmey on me. He’ll probably want to keep him fresh for the main event as backup against Drakz and Brennan.
I may be counting my chickens before they hatch but I’m positive I won’t be facing Zmey in London.
You have any tips for how to train for an open challenge?
Just one. We put you in the ring against every different style wrestler we can think of… technician, high flyer, striker, brawler, submission specialist, and so on. We have the entire Legacy roster to pull sparring partners from.
Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you go grab a few right now who are up for some sparring while I get my knee checked out.
That’s right, the knee that Ante tried to break. He failed but still managed to do some damage. The doc’s been taking care of it and it feels a lot better. Hopefully today I get the good word that the knee is fully recovered. At worst, I should still get clearance for full contact training if I wear a brace.
I think I hear the Dixons breaking things. They always love a chance to spar with you.
You mean they love a chance to beat the hell out of the boss. Go ahead and get them. Daryl’s a damn good technician, Eli is personally offended by gravity, and Zeke is a walking mountain of bad intentions. That’s three different styles covered right there.
Daphne bounces off to give the Dixons the good news. That should get them bouncing around too.
The doctor sticks his head out of the office and signals that he’s ready to see me.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later I’m in the locker room changing into my workout gear, my knee fully cleared and no brace needed. I put on the brace anyway because it’s the Dixons. Better safe than sorry.
Daphne’s good mood prove infectious. I’m in a good mood now too. It gives me an inspiration.
I reach for my phone, scrolling through the names until I come to one I haven’t called in a long time. Well, no time like the present. I’m going to be in his neck of the woods soon enough. Why not call him and see if he’d like to get together. He’s seen it all and done it all, so I’m sure he will have some words of wisdom for me about handling an open challenge.
London : October 3, 2018
Fish and Chips
I have to give it to Joe, when I asked him to meet me in London I never expected him to choose a quaint English pub so far off the beaten track that only the locals knew about it.
I like it. It reminds me of a sports bar in Boston I used to frequent. A nice quiet place full of friendly people, as long as there isn’t a soccer game on the TVs to get them riled up. The lager is served warm, as is proper, and the fish and chips are as good as any you’d get at one of Gordon Ramsay’s overrated restaurants.
You’re really going through with it? An open challenge.
Yep.
Joe cock’s his eyebrows, about the most animated he’s been the entire time.
Good luck with that.
Funny, that’s the exact same thing Lila said to me.
Now that gets a reaction as Joe slowly drops his half eaten chip to glare at me.
Don’t compare me to Lila. We have nothing in common.
Sorry mate but it’s true. Everyone thinks I’m off my rocker for making an open challenge. What am I supposed to do? Hide in my closet waiting for Lila to hand pick my challengers? All she’s done so far is send Drakz and a vengeful Ante Whitner after me. I can’t imagine my open challenge producing anyone worse than those two.
Maybe but at least you could prepare for them. What if Phillip Schneider shows up? Are you ready for his brand of violence? What about Tugarin Zmey? Can you handle a seven foot monster?
So Joe has been paying attention during his absence. I had my doubts considering how little enthusiasm he had shown so far in our dinner conversation.
I’m ready to find out.
Like I said, good luck with that.
And he’s back to his melancholic meal: sip of beer, bite of fish, bite of chip, repeat. What happened to you Joe Bishop?
Is that it? I expected more from you.
Like what Frank? You want me to pat you on your back and tell you what a good job you’re doing?
Well, it would be nice. I’m the International Champion. I’m having clean matches, at least on my part, and setting a good example.
Is that what the Revolution has come to? You stole the belt from Brennan and because you haven’t broken any rules since then it’s all okay?
Well, I didn’t actually break any rules in winning the title.
Joe slams his fist into the table.
Only because you were the one making the rules! You were as bad as Trace Demon… no, worse! Trace never claimed to be an angel. You were a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Joe’s outburst draws the attention of a few people at the bar. I get the dirty looks though. It’s obvious who they would side with in any argument between the ugly American and the hometown hero.
I know what I did at Back to Basics wasn’t exactly kosher but it HAD to be done. I tried playing it straight, winning my way to a title shot but it was never going to happen. I got thrown into the gauntlet. I had to beat three people on my way to Brennan only to have that f*** Schneider ruin it.
I pause to sip some of my beer. My skin crawls at the thought of speaking out to Joe. It feels like I’m a teenager back talking to my mother. I respect this man, at least I respect the man he used to be. I’m not so sure the same man is sitting opposite me tonight. Too much may have changed.
I should have been given a title shot after what happened in the gauntlet but Brennan got wrapped up in all this New Epoch crap. I was shut down, left to crawl my way back up the ladder. So shoot me for taking advantage of an opportunity that was wasted on Ante Whitner. I don’t regret it.
Are you finished? It’s a nice sob story but I don’t buy it. You sold out.
Jesus flippin’ Christ, in a company where titles have changed under far more dubious circumstances, including literally being handed to someone so not worthy that his name has become a running joke, I will never live down a perfectly legal and within the rules Golden Opportunity cash in.
Some see it that way. I don’t. Regardless, since winning the title, I’ve done everything right. I’ve defended against all comers, I’ve wrestled clean matches even if my opponents didn’t. I’m setting a good example.
Weren’t you the one who said setting an example wasn’t enough? That we had to do more. I thought you were doing more right up to Back to Basics.
True, I said that. But I learned my lesson. Think of it as Darwinism in action. Adapt or die. I adapted. I played within their rules and won a title. Now I’m using it to represent the best of pro wrestling.
You sold out.
I thought you’d be happy for me. I’m doing something with the International Championship that you couldn’t with the World Heavyweight Championship.
I regret my choice of words the instant they come out of my mouth.
This time Joe slams both fists into the table rattling our plates and almost knocking over our beers. Every single face in the pub turns in our direction.
That wasn’t my fault. I was injured.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it negatively. I know you got injured. It was out of your hands. But that’s why I thought you’d be happy for me. My fate is in my hands. The revolution continues, but in a more subtle way. Leading by example is the only way that works.
Sure is making an impression on rookies like Payne and Priceless.
He has been watching. Too bad he’s only seeing the negatives.
What about Mesh, Shuggy, and Billy? They’re a move in the right direction.
If you think that then you really have sold out. They’re very much part of the circus side show. A social media queen, an over the hill janitor, and… and… a Shuggy.
Good guys come in as many different flavors as the bad guys. Each one of them has earned my respect.
Good guys? Bad guys? The point of this really did fly over your head didn’t it? F***ing idiot.
Ouch. I don’t have a comeback for that one. I can feel the jealousy and regret emanating from him. I’m sorry I asked him to meet me. I’m getting depressed.
I eat my food in silence. So does he. Apparently we’ve said all there is to say. The revolution is dead. Our friendship died with it.
Finally, when our mugs and plates are empty, I have to speak again but I don’t want to set myself up for anymore of Joe’s negativity. In his current mood he’d find a way to be offended by “Have a nice day”.
I’m sorry things didn’t work out Joe. I’m sorry we couldn’t have been the World and International Champions together leading the WFWF in a new revolution. It wasn’t meant to be. Lila and the Board of Directors don’t want change. They know what the WFWF brand is and will fight tooth and nail to protect the status quo. All I can do is be the best champion I can. I really hope you’ll come to Wembley and cheer for me. After all, if not me then who? Drakz? Kyzer? Brennan? I’m the best thing going in the WFWF. That’s not me bragging. That’s the damn truth.
It’s your truth. You keep believing. I’ve got other plans.
That’s as close to civil as Joe’s gonna’ get. Damn shame. I’d love to have him in my corner at Wembley. Too bad it’s not gonna’ happen.
I place a twenty pound note on the table hoping it’s enough to cover my half of the check but not really sure. I could be shorting Joe or I could be leaving the biggest tip this pub has ever seen. I’m not inclined to care either way right now.
Well, I guess that’s it then. I better get going. Take it easy Joe.
Cya’ round, Frank.
I hope not, unless Joe’s mood changes drastically between now and the next time we meet.
Who’s Next?
I’d love to start off telling you I know everything about my opponent, all their strengths and weaknesses. I’d be ecstatic if I could say that I have a foolproof plan for countering their every move, getting the dub, and retaining my International Championship.
Problem is I can’t do that. I don’t know who will step out onto the stage and make the long walk down to the ring to challenge me for my title in Wembley Stadium in front of a hundred thousand rabid British wrestling fans.
I could run down the list of all the possible challengers but it’s a very long list of active, inactive, retired, and undiscovered wrestlers that would bore you to tears. Plus, why waste my words on the dozens of people it won’t be on the chance that I happen to hit on the one wrestler who does show up in London?
Bottom line is I don’t know who my opponent will be. I prepared for every possibility and I will adapt in the ring once my challenger makes his presence known. That’s all I can say about it so…
What I do know is that there are still doubters.
People who don’t think I deserve this title because of the way I won it. People who think I dumped my revolutionary cause as soon as an opportunity presented itself. People who think I’ve lost touch with who I am and question why I bother getting out of bed. People who just plain don’t like having me around for reasons I can’t quite fathom (my best guess is that they are afraid of real competition).
Rather than delivering a specific message for my opponent, I’ll keep my comments general. I’ll address all the doubters assuming my eventual challenger is amongst them, thinking his or her anonymity has given them the secret advantage necessary to beat me and become the new International Champion.
I AM the International Champion… whether you like it or not. I capitalized on a perfectly legal golden opportunity and have turned it into one of the most successful International Championship reigns in WFWF history, going on 200 days with no end in sight.
I’ve taken on all comers and will continue to do so because I’m not blowing smoke up your ass when I say I am a fighting champion.
What’s the point to being a champion if you’re going to run and hide? There’s so much more to being a champion than walking around with a shiny belt around your waist and lots of braggadocio about being the best. You have to back it up in the ring or it becomes meaningless.
Becoming champion isn’t the end of the journey, it’s the beginning. Getting to the top isn’t half as easy as staying on top. You have to work twice as hard because you are a marked man. Every other wrestler wants what you have: a title to add to their name, a bigger paycheck, respect. Whatever it is that drives you to want my title, know that I have the same in spades to keep my title.
At the risk of sounding cliche, you will have to pry this belt from my cold dead hands. Whoever accepts my challenge better be ready for the fight of their f***ing life. That’s what I bring to the ring every time I wrestle and I expect no less from my opponents. Push me to my limits. I want everything you’ve got and then some.
I know that being a champion comes with a target on my back. That much is obvious when everyone from returning vets like Mak Cross to rising stars like Mesh to rivals with vendettas like Ante Whitner all get in line for a shot at me.
In other words, the challengers are coming for me. I’m not doing anything special by issuing an open challenge. Odds are pretty damn good that whoever accepts would have gotten a title shot at some point anyway. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no time like the present to add another notch to my belt.
The open challenge isn’t about my unknown opponent. It’s about me. It’s about my desire to earn the respect of the wrestling world by showing that I stand behind my words. That I’m a champion you can be proud of. At the very least a champion you know will put it all on the line every time out and give you your money’s worth.
I am a fighting champion so I will fight.
I am the lethal weapon so I will win.
I am the International Champion.
This is my challenge.
Step up.
Fight me.
Make me earn this title all over again!
Who’s next?
