Post by Phil Atken on Oct 27, 2012 16:11:33 GMT -4
We find ourselves once more in the Tokyo based hotel room of Phil Atken. The warm and cozy living room set has disappeared, instead replaced by your run-of-the-mill hotel furniture. Sitting together at the coffee table overlooking the Tokyo skyline we find not only Phil Atken but as his closest colleague in the industry Dirk Dickwood having a lovely chat over some coffee and biscuits. (No, not those biscuits, the other ones)
Dickwood: Phil, are you feeling alright? You're looking a little out of it. You've seemed a bit out of it for weeks for.
Atken: I'm great Dirktrude, couldn't be better. Tremendous. Splendiferous even. I'm tippity top and there's no going back from those words that I just said.
Dickwood: It's just... you seem a little bit more on edge these days.
Atken: Well, I thought that's what you wanted Dirk. Wasn't it you who gave me that rather rude wake-up call just before Shockwave, after I'd devolved into a gibbering wreckage zone of a human being. Wasn't it you who ensured that our dealings with John Knucks at Shockwave had a certain air of finality to them. I'm not on edge Dirk, I'm follow the path you carved out for me.
Dickwood: I don't think I advised you to become a modern day moral crusader.
Atken: No, you advised me to buck up my ideas, the improve my standing in this company. The crusade has proven to be the vessel that drives me forward Dirk. I am achieving your goals due to it. As you said, I needed a purpose. I have that now. I have purpose, I have focus, I have drive.
Dickwood: I admire your focus, honestly. I'm just... a little freaked out. I've seen this slowly building over the past few weeks.
Atken: Dirk, don't worry about me. Although I may currently be a champion of a very important and just cause, I will soon have the belt to validate my words. To top it all off you'll still get your money. All that sweet, sweet agency cash-money that you get for having a champion. Not to mention all that exposure! Think of all the new clients this moment could bring it. It is a pivotal moment after all.
Dickwood: I'd rather have my friend of an uncountable number of years if it's all the same to you.
Phil snorts and shakes his head dismissively.
Atken: Dirk, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. The only thing that's about to change is my baggage getting 20 pounds heavier. That's all. I'm not claiming to be a changed man, merely that I have a change of focus.
Dickwood: You promise you won't start giving sermons and buying public access time to try to recruit followers to the Church of Common Sense and Decency.
Atken: Ah Dirk, that's silly. You're silly. Don't let my intense focus distract you, I'm still here. I want you to understand how seriously I'm taking this. It's no longer the time for japes, if it ever was. I have seen what I can achieve. The World Heavyweight Championship is no longer some far-fetched concept for me. It's no longer something to paw away at it some vivid day dream. It's a reality. It's within reach and it needs me. It's crying out for a true champion. I said it before and I'll say it again, a champion should have a just cause, they should not be in it to seek self-glorification. That is the folly of man Dirk.
Phil tries to give Dirk a re-assuring wink and smile that leave Dirk far more unsettled than he was seconds before the event.
Atken: Now, the reason I wanted to talk to you...
Dickwood: There's always an angle, isn't there Phil.
Atken: Look, I gave you and Hank the night off in China. I bet you both had a wonderful time!
Dickwood: I don't know if I would classify a police investigation as a wonderful time.
Atken: Speaking of Hank, is he out of prison?
Dickwood: Thanks to an expensive lawyer, yes, yes he is.
Atken: Great! I have an idea...
Phil signals to the camera crew to cut, using his hand to reach around, turning off the camera to ensure they do so. By the time to camera is back on, Dirk is gone from the table, Phil's coffee is finished and his chair is swung around to face the camera. He rests his chin on his thumb, forming some kind of hand pyramid like a bond villain.
Atken: My opponents, it seems that they would rather embrace fantasy than they would even pop their head into the door of reality. I guess it's an uncomfortable thing to face, the unknown. Now, I wouldn't normally consider myself “unknown” but my opponents seem to have all been wrapped up with their own unique power struggles, moral arguments and family warfare to even conceive to possibility that dear ole Philly would be a factor in this little chamber of theirs. After all, surely I'm the one on the outside looking in, how could ole pasty, flabber guts have any impact at One Night in Hell. Keaton Saint is of course a different story, he doesn't know who any of us are and my guess is he's too lazy to bother finding out. He's very much a man who falls into that trap of believing their own hype, that victory comes from sheer force of will alone. Sadly, much like the American Dream, that belief has been dead for decades and people like Keaton keeps it's shambling zombie corpse alive by continue to peddle the lie.
Still, it's interesting to see the labels they wish to apply to me, “underdog” being the most common. “He should just be happy to be there” springs up a lot, “undeserving”... surprising but has been known to be uttered. It's pure fiction. Just look at what I've achieved in the past two months, now ask yourself, what did Bailey achieve, he needed Shane Borderland's aid to conquer Ms. Talfourd, is that really progress? How about Sally, what did she get out of the last two months, some discussion over the mortality of interference in a wrestling match, does that set the world alright? Callahan lost his title then went on to bail Anthony Bailey's uncle out of prison in some vain attempt at mind games, I would hardly label that as progress. Rebel, hell, he didn't even get on the Shockwave card and he's hardly been setting the world on fire since his qualification bout. Now some may claim that was due to my strict adherence to the rules and regulations of professional wrestling during the time I fulfilled my role as a special guest referee but really, he has no one to blame but himself for his actions. Of course, the aforementioned Keaton Saint, couldn't quite win that Overdrive title at Shockwave, failed to find a voice on Overdrive but somehow expects to turn it around on Asylum. He expects to make up for all those past failures with this one big win. It's almost heartbreaking I'm going to have to deny that opportunity.
Atken pounds at his heart in the most insincere manner possible.
Atken: Yet, for the oddest of reasons I'm the one labeled as undeserving. The man the armchair pundits predict to be out of the chamber first. At first, I was offended, I mean just a few mere weeks ago while my chamber cohorts tried to play a game of one-upsmanship with each other I was the one who could actually seal the deal, I beat Shane Borderland, I made him tap out in the middle of the ring, I solidified my place as the last to enter the match and sent Shane off to drown his sorrows, effectively ending his APW career. Keaton, you should really be showing me a great deal of respect, without me, you wouldn't have a spot in this match, you'd still be toiling away on Overdrive, trying to find a small semblance of relevance. It was frustrating to me to look at my recent record and see these people dismiss me with the greatest of ease. My mind was racing as I tried to make sense of it. Then it finally clicked. These people, much like my chamber opponents would rather live in the world of fiction than face the uncomfortable truth that when I enter the Extreme Elimination Chamber, I will be coming out with the World Heavyweight Championship.
That makes people uncomfortable. Anthony Bailey is milquetoast, inoffensive, he doesn't force you to think or to believe, you can just sit back and watch him do. Watch him destroy personal relationships, watch him sit back as a violent man viciously manhandles his female co-worker and then have the gal to pin her and still claim to be a champion. That's a champion people can deal with, one that you can get wrapped up gossiping about at the water cooler with your dullard colleagues. He doesn't make you think, he makes you ramble on to your fellow worker drones about his latest piece of family drama.
I'm a champion that would make people uncomfortable. They'd have to face the reality that what I say about Asylum and indeed APW is true. That the company is a meat grinder and that every single person who buys a ticket is a braying dog, lusting for more of that violence, buying the t-shirts of the worst offenders, passing the message to future generations that concussions, broken bones and blood are all fine in the name of their own entertainment. The mentality that lived in the Roman Colosseum still lives on today with APW. An entire PPV with matches design to cause horrific injury, that's what One Night in Hell is and APW is proud of that fact. I'm not a champion people like to picture, the truth is an uncomfortable thing. People like to feel comfortable, that's why they elect Presidents that they “want to have a beer with”, not the one who treats them like the adults they claim to be.
Phil sneers at the camera, offended at the very idea.
Atken: A man like Anthony Bailey would rather play around on a movie set, pretending to find his way through the circles of hell than deal with the reality. Just more proof that the fantasy world is much more comfortable. It puts him at ease to look down upon costumed look-a-likes because he can't face real confrontation. He can't deal with the real issues in his life when it's much easier to create strawmen to verbally abuse. He's not alone in that though. We're not talking about one guilty party here.
Why just look at Johnny Rebel, a man who believes himself to be something of a... well... rebel. Jumping over to Asylum because much like Keaton Saint his voice was drowned out on Overdrive. You'd almost feel like Reginald was using Asylum as the Overdrive Retirement Home, for those who failed on their own brand to live out the twilight of their career with very little interruption. Johnny wishes to prove himself to be of value but when push comes to shove, he'd rather write himself in some Hunger Games self-insertion fan-fiction . It's a small relief at least that we're not talking about slashfiction. A small relief. We're still talking about a grown adult imaging himself as all conquering in his own construct because the he just can't deal with his place in the grand scheme of things. Same as Bailey, same as the rest.
And of course, we have the greatest wrestler in the history of mankind, a woman who no doubt stood in the crowd to cheer on Abe Lincoln's championship win, the way her history anecdotes have been growing lately. She's constructed a different kind of defense mechanism, she isn't writing herself into stories, she isn't hiring actors to dress up like her opponents so she can dish out sick ice-burns on them, she instead has buried her head in the past. Sally, as much as I'm a man who appreciates the history of the industry, if you want to live and die by it, it will cost you dearly. So, you came second in last years chamber? Who won that match? When did they enter the match? I mean if we want to predict this match from past results, I'd reckon I'm already champion. You've not been having the best of times recently Sals, I get that. That's no reason to burrow your head into the sands of time. It's no reason to feed our fans a lie about your victory, to pretend that you don't have a Plan B. You don't have a Plan B until you lose and you will lose. That's the facts of the matter.
As for dear Candidate Callahan. Your entire life is a fraud. Dismiss me out of hand if you wish but I have to ask, for a man who burst into the scene in an attempt to lift his political standing, I can't say I found you on any ballot I've come across which is doubly surprising with this being an election year. Did they run you out of town on the rails when they finally caught on to your snake oil pitch or was it the hypocrisy you've shown over recent weeks that killed your aspirations dead? I'd love to know. A man ready to betray his beliefs is a man at the end of his days, I smell blood Callahan.
My opponents would like to live in their own constructed fantasies, I almost feel bad to be the guy to upset that apple cart but I need to. For the greater good, they will snap back into life, back into reality.
Phil leans further into the camera with a distant, almost glassy-eyed, stare.
Atken: So I ask you, what do you think will happen when that bell rings? What do you think will happen when one by one my opponents exit their pods and enter the battlefield. Do you think they'll wait for the man they wish to brand as a soft-touch to enter the ring? Do you think as Michael Callahan and Anthony Bailey stand opposite each other they will reach an agreement to wait me out? Do you think Keaton Saint and Johnny Rebel will allow that chance of a World Heavyweight Championship go to waste? Do you think Sally Talfourd won't put on a show “for the fans”.
Atken smugly giggles at the idea of Talfourd's passion for the fans once more.
Atken: Of course not, that is pie in the sky, starry eyed drivel. Their egos won't let them. Their passion won't let them. They lust for the glory that the World Heavyweight Championship brings. I don't brag about the position I enter out of cowardice. I brag because I live in reality. I know what happens next. They want to destroy each other. They want to smash all who stand in their way, they won't bide their time for lil ole me to shown up.
By the time I enter the ring, I'm picking up the pieces. Anyone still in the ring should be very afraid though, very afraid indeed. The one man who can burst their bubble, the one man who can drag them kicking and screaming out of the self-delusions and shine the harsh light of day into their downtrodden faces will make his presence known. It won't be pretty but it will be very, very real.
Dickwood: Phil, are you feeling alright? You're looking a little out of it. You've seemed a bit out of it for weeks for.
Atken: I'm great Dirktrude, couldn't be better. Tremendous. Splendiferous even. I'm tippity top and there's no going back from those words that I just said.
Dickwood: It's just... you seem a little bit more on edge these days.
Atken: Well, I thought that's what you wanted Dirk. Wasn't it you who gave me that rather rude wake-up call just before Shockwave, after I'd devolved into a gibbering wreckage zone of a human being. Wasn't it you who ensured that our dealings with John Knucks at Shockwave had a certain air of finality to them. I'm not on edge Dirk, I'm follow the path you carved out for me.
Dickwood: I don't think I advised you to become a modern day moral crusader.
Atken: No, you advised me to buck up my ideas, the improve my standing in this company. The crusade has proven to be the vessel that drives me forward Dirk. I am achieving your goals due to it. As you said, I needed a purpose. I have that now. I have purpose, I have focus, I have drive.
Dickwood: I admire your focus, honestly. I'm just... a little freaked out. I've seen this slowly building over the past few weeks.
Atken: Dirk, don't worry about me. Although I may currently be a champion of a very important and just cause, I will soon have the belt to validate my words. To top it all off you'll still get your money. All that sweet, sweet agency cash-money that you get for having a champion. Not to mention all that exposure! Think of all the new clients this moment could bring it. It is a pivotal moment after all.
Dickwood: I'd rather have my friend of an uncountable number of years if it's all the same to you.
Phil snorts and shakes his head dismissively.
Atken: Dirk, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. The only thing that's about to change is my baggage getting 20 pounds heavier. That's all. I'm not claiming to be a changed man, merely that I have a change of focus.
Dickwood: You promise you won't start giving sermons and buying public access time to try to recruit followers to the Church of Common Sense and Decency.
Atken: Ah Dirk, that's silly. You're silly. Don't let my intense focus distract you, I'm still here. I want you to understand how seriously I'm taking this. It's no longer the time for japes, if it ever was. I have seen what I can achieve. The World Heavyweight Championship is no longer some far-fetched concept for me. It's no longer something to paw away at it some vivid day dream. It's a reality. It's within reach and it needs me. It's crying out for a true champion. I said it before and I'll say it again, a champion should have a just cause, they should not be in it to seek self-glorification. That is the folly of man Dirk.
Phil tries to give Dirk a re-assuring wink and smile that leave Dirk far more unsettled than he was seconds before the event.
Atken: Now, the reason I wanted to talk to you...
Dickwood: There's always an angle, isn't there Phil.
Atken: Look, I gave you and Hank the night off in China. I bet you both had a wonderful time!
Dickwood: I don't know if I would classify a police investigation as a wonderful time.
Atken: Speaking of Hank, is he out of prison?
Dickwood: Thanks to an expensive lawyer, yes, yes he is.
Atken: Great! I have an idea...
Phil signals to the camera crew to cut, using his hand to reach around, turning off the camera to ensure they do so. By the time to camera is back on, Dirk is gone from the table, Phil's coffee is finished and his chair is swung around to face the camera. He rests his chin on his thumb, forming some kind of hand pyramid like a bond villain.
Atken: My opponents, it seems that they would rather embrace fantasy than they would even pop their head into the door of reality. I guess it's an uncomfortable thing to face, the unknown. Now, I wouldn't normally consider myself “unknown” but my opponents seem to have all been wrapped up with their own unique power struggles, moral arguments and family warfare to even conceive to possibility that dear ole Philly would be a factor in this little chamber of theirs. After all, surely I'm the one on the outside looking in, how could ole pasty, flabber guts have any impact at One Night in Hell. Keaton Saint is of course a different story, he doesn't know who any of us are and my guess is he's too lazy to bother finding out. He's very much a man who falls into that trap of believing their own hype, that victory comes from sheer force of will alone. Sadly, much like the American Dream, that belief has been dead for decades and people like Keaton keeps it's shambling zombie corpse alive by continue to peddle the lie.
Still, it's interesting to see the labels they wish to apply to me, “underdog” being the most common. “He should just be happy to be there” springs up a lot, “undeserving”... surprising but has been known to be uttered. It's pure fiction. Just look at what I've achieved in the past two months, now ask yourself, what did Bailey achieve, he needed Shane Borderland's aid to conquer Ms. Talfourd, is that really progress? How about Sally, what did she get out of the last two months, some discussion over the mortality of interference in a wrestling match, does that set the world alright? Callahan lost his title then went on to bail Anthony Bailey's uncle out of prison in some vain attempt at mind games, I would hardly label that as progress. Rebel, hell, he didn't even get on the Shockwave card and he's hardly been setting the world on fire since his qualification bout. Now some may claim that was due to my strict adherence to the rules and regulations of professional wrestling during the time I fulfilled my role as a special guest referee but really, he has no one to blame but himself for his actions. Of course, the aforementioned Keaton Saint, couldn't quite win that Overdrive title at Shockwave, failed to find a voice on Overdrive but somehow expects to turn it around on Asylum. He expects to make up for all those past failures with this one big win. It's almost heartbreaking I'm going to have to deny that opportunity.
Atken pounds at his heart in the most insincere manner possible.
Atken: Yet, for the oddest of reasons I'm the one labeled as undeserving. The man the armchair pundits predict to be out of the chamber first. At first, I was offended, I mean just a few mere weeks ago while my chamber cohorts tried to play a game of one-upsmanship with each other I was the one who could actually seal the deal, I beat Shane Borderland, I made him tap out in the middle of the ring, I solidified my place as the last to enter the match and sent Shane off to drown his sorrows, effectively ending his APW career. Keaton, you should really be showing me a great deal of respect, without me, you wouldn't have a spot in this match, you'd still be toiling away on Overdrive, trying to find a small semblance of relevance. It was frustrating to me to look at my recent record and see these people dismiss me with the greatest of ease. My mind was racing as I tried to make sense of it. Then it finally clicked. These people, much like my chamber opponents would rather live in the world of fiction than face the uncomfortable truth that when I enter the Extreme Elimination Chamber, I will be coming out with the World Heavyweight Championship.
That makes people uncomfortable. Anthony Bailey is milquetoast, inoffensive, he doesn't force you to think or to believe, you can just sit back and watch him do. Watch him destroy personal relationships, watch him sit back as a violent man viciously manhandles his female co-worker and then have the gal to pin her and still claim to be a champion. That's a champion people can deal with, one that you can get wrapped up gossiping about at the water cooler with your dullard colleagues. He doesn't make you think, he makes you ramble on to your fellow worker drones about his latest piece of family drama.
I'm a champion that would make people uncomfortable. They'd have to face the reality that what I say about Asylum and indeed APW is true. That the company is a meat grinder and that every single person who buys a ticket is a braying dog, lusting for more of that violence, buying the t-shirts of the worst offenders, passing the message to future generations that concussions, broken bones and blood are all fine in the name of their own entertainment. The mentality that lived in the Roman Colosseum still lives on today with APW. An entire PPV with matches design to cause horrific injury, that's what One Night in Hell is and APW is proud of that fact. I'm not a champion people like to picture, the truth is an uncomfortable thing. People like to feel comfortable, that's why they elect Presidents that they “want to have a beer with”, not the one who treats them like the adults they claim to be.
Phil sneers at the camera, offended at the very idea.
Atken: A man like Anthony Bailey would rather play around on a movie set, pretending to find his way through the circles of hell than deal with the reality. Just more proof that the fantasy world is much more comfortable. It puts him at ease to look down upon costumed look-a-likes because he can't face real confrontation. He can't deal with the real issues in his life when it's much easier to create strawmen to verbally abuse. He's not alone in that though. We're not talking about one guilty party here.
Why just look at Johnny Rebel, a man who believes himself to be something of a... well... rebel. Jumping over to Asylum because much like Keaton Saint his voice was drowned out on Overdrive. You'd almost feel like Reginald was using Asylum as the Overdrive Retirement Home, for those who failed on their own brand to live out the twilight of their career with very little interruption. Johnny wishes to prove himself to be of value but when push comes to shove, he'd rather write himself in some Hunger Games self-insertion fan-fiction . It's a small relief at least that we're not talking about slashfiction. A small relief. We're still talking about a grown adult imaging himself as all conquering in his own construct because the he just can't deal with his place in the grand scheme of things. Same as Bailey, same as the rest.
And of course, we have the greatest wrestler in the history of mankind, a woman who no doubt stood in the crowd to cheer on Abe Lincoln's championship win, the way her history anecdotes have been growing lately. She's constructed a different kind of defense mechanism, she isn't writing herself into stories, she isn't hiring actors to dress up like her opponents so she can dish out sick ice-burns on them, she instead has buried her head in the past. Sally, as much as I'm a man who appreciates the history of the industry, if you want to live and die by it, it will cost you dearly. So, you came second in last years chamber? Who won that match? When did they enter the match? I mean if we want to predict this match from past results, I'd reckon I'm already champion. You've not been having the best of times recently Sals, I get that. That's no reason to burrow your head into the sands of time. It's no reason to feed our fans a lie about your victory, to pretend that you don't have a Plan B. You don't have a Plan B until you lose and you will lose. That's the facts of the matter.
As for dear Candidate Callahan. Your entire life is a fraud. Dismiss me out of hand if you wish but I have to ask, for a man who burst into the scene in an attempt to lift his political standing, I can't say I found you on any ballot I've come across which is doubly surprising with this being an election year. Did they run you out of town on the rails when they finally caught on to your snake oil pitch or was it the hypocrisy you've shown over recent weeks that killed your aspirations dead? I'd love to know. A man ready to betray his beliefs is a man at the end of his days, I smell blood Callahan.
My opponents would like to live in their own constructed fantasies, I almost feel bad to be the guy to upset that apple cart but I need to. For the greater good, they will snap back into life, back into reality.
Phil leans further into the camera with a distant, almost glassy-eyed, stare.
Atken: So I ask you, what do you think will happen when that bell rings? What do you think will happen when one by one my opponents exit their pods and enter the battlefield. Do you think they'll wait for the man they wish to brand as a soft-touch to enter the ring? Do you think as Michael Callahan and Anthony Bailey stand opposite each other they will reach an agreement to wait me out? Do you think Keaton Saint and Johnny Rebel will allow that chance of a World Heavyweight Championship go to waste? Do you think Sally Talfourd won't put on a show “for the fans”.
Atken smugly giggles at the idea of Talfourd's passion for the fans once more.
Atken: Of course not, that is pie in the sky, starry eyed drivel. Their egos won't let them. Their passion won't let them. They lust for the glory that the World Heavyweight Championship brings. I don't brag about the position I enter out of cowardice. I brag because I live in reality. I know what happens next. They want to destroy each other. They want to smash all who stand in their way, they won't bide their time for lil ole me to shown up.
By the time I enter the ring, I'm picking up the pieces. Anyone still in the ring should be very afraid though, very afraid indeed. The one man who can burst their bubble, the one man who can drag them kicking and screaming out of the self-delusions and shine the harsh light of day into their downtrodden faces will make his presence known. It won't be pretty but it will be very, very real.
