Post by Jules on Mar 8, 2013 9:16:20 GMT -4
Book I: Beginnings
Chapter VI
Chapter VI
How do you express the relief and satisfaction at surviving a week in wrestling comprising 3 gruelling matches in 3 days across 3 countries and two continents, and involving ? miles of travel?
“Cher, I’m home! Get your kit off love, ‘cause I’m desperate for a shag.”
The words spoken by Lenny Lansbury as he walked through the door of the Greenwich Village apartment shared with his fiancé Cheryl ‘Cher’ Underwood. Lenny was feeling on top of the words as he tore off his shirt and dropped it to the floor. Not only was fulfilling his sanity-defying schedule a reason to be cheerful, but Lenny had also done it with a great deal of success. Okay, Visionary’s Clash of The Titans didn’t quite go as hoped, but victories over Kevin Dahlia on Meltdown, and Juan Ramirez in the first round of PW’s Iron King tournament had cemented the fact that Lenny was now one of the fastest rising talents in the wrestling world.
“Cher! Where are you?” Lenny called out again before muttering to himself: “I hope the silly bitch hasn’t gone out.”
Lenny stepped into the kitchen and there was Cher, her back to him, pouring a cup of coffee. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a welcoming smile.
“Hey Len.”
With a naughty little chuckle he skulked right up to her, wrapping his arms around her, fondling her, pushing his hands underneath her dressing down.
“Lenny!” She exclaimed as she tried to wriggle free and put a stop to his wandering hands.
“Come on, babe,” Lenny replied, kissing her neck. “Lenny’s home; he needs some love.”
He let her turn around in his arms and started feasting on her neck. Again she wriggled, this time managing to push him away.
“Lenny, stop!”
Disappointed, he stepped back and his shoulder slouched.
“What, so now you don’t to give Lenny some loving now?” Then with a smile, he moved back. “Or are you just telling The Guv’nor he needs to try a little harder?”
She put out her arms to stop him, then gestured to her left with a nod of her head. Lenny turned and a look of confusion spread across his face when he saw Mr. Black standing in his kitchen. He looked at Cher, then back at Mr. Black and pointed.
“What the fuck is he doing here? I hope you’re not thinking of putting any moves on The Guv’nor’s girl, ‘cause I’ll fucking have you rotten slag!”
Lenny was spitting with rage as he finished that threat, even making a move towards Mr. Black, only for Cher to put her hand on his arm and put a halt to his temper. He turned to her, the anger still evident on his screwed up features.
“Len,” Cher said in her most reassuring tone, “behave yourself, love. He got here ten minutes ago. And please, give me some credit.”
With that she walked out, leaving the two men alone.
“So what are you doing in my home this time of the morning? I’ve only just got back from Tonga, and the first thing I have to see is your ugly mug.”
“I’m here because I knew precisely what time to expect you.”
“Well, give the lad a prize. So you knew what time my flight; your people booked after all. What do you want?”
“You, specifically. You’ve got half an hour before the car gets here.”
“Hang on a second, bruv. I just got back from jetting halfway across the world and back to wrestle a match that fits your agenda, and now you want to drag me out of my home again before I even get say hello to my missus.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to kiss and make-up in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks,” Lenny laughed incredulously. “You’re having a bubble mate! What makes you think I’m coming with you? In fact, fuck the thirty minutes,” Lenny continued as his temper flared and his eyes bulged, “I’m giving you thirty seconds to get your slaggy arse out of my house, or I’ll do you right here in the kitchen.”
Mr. Black sighed, picked up his mug of coffee and sank its contents. Lenny nodded along, feeling satisfied that he would soon be rid of this vermin.
“Mr. Lansbury,” Mr. Black continued in that passive aggressive level tone he always took when he felt he had to talk to Lenny like a disobedient child. “The clock is now 28 minutes.”
Lenny took a step towards the lawyer.
“Listen here, you mug! Maybe you didn’t hear me-”
“I heard you fine, Mr. Lansbury,” came Mr. Black’s sharp retort, without backing his eyes down off the approaching wrestler. “But if I leave here and have to report to ‘Touchstone’ that you were non-compliant,” he paused to let a slimy smirk appear on his face “well, then I can’t promise you will have any home to kick me out of.”
The alarm sounded in Lenny’s head; he backed away. He may have given Mr. Black a slap a few weeks ago when he tried to go behind Lenny’s back over medical clearance for a match, but in this game Lenny knew Mr. Black was holding all the cards.
“What’s this all about?”
“We’re putting you into lockdown.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s an intensive training programme you will undertake for the new weeks, under my strict supervision.”
“Have you seen my fight? Actually, you know exactly how hard I punch. How’s the chin?”
Lenny chuckled at the memory; Mr. Black shifted uncontrollably, but realising the true power lay in his hands, he easily composed himself.
“Unfortunately, the training regime you’ve utilised to date does not meet the requirements of ‘Touchstone’.”
“What would a bunch of faceless mugs like them know about fighting?”
“Enough to know that a diet of excessive over-indulgence is not suitable for an elite athlete. Besides, since they are your paymasters, you’ll do whatever they expect you to.”
Lenny had to beat down the temptation to rise to that taunt from the laywer.
“The fact is in a few weeks, at Rasslemania, you are going to be competing for the North American Championship.”
“I’m what?”
Mr. Black handed Lenny a press release, issued following the huge announcement on last week’s Meltdown about the 8-person ladder match for the North American Championship. He read it through and looked at Mr. Black.
“It’s probably come a little sooner than we anticipated, but it’s happening nonetheless. ‘Touchstone’ want that championship around your waist; they do not want you to waste an opportunity as good as this one.”
“And what makes you think I can’t just walk into that match under my terms and knock all them slags spark out, take that championship, and make those wankers you serve happy as a pig in shit?”
“Because this is a challenge unlike any you have faced.”
“You think I haven’t been jumped by a posse of cheap slags who fancy themselves as a bit tasty when they gang up on The Guv’nor?”
“That’s irrelevant. The point is ‘Touchtone’ doesn’t care if you’ve beaten half the population of London in one sitting. They’ve ordered you into lockdown; they want you in the best shape you have ever been in for Rasslemania.”
Mr. Black looked at his watch.
“You have 21 minutes, Mr. Lansbury.”
As Lenny turned away Cher walked back into the kitchen; she was still in her dressing gown.
“Babe, we’ve got twenty minutes; get a fucking move on.”
She ignored him; Mr. Black answered instead.
“Miss Underwood will be staying here.”
“Excuse me.”
“The situation has been explained to her. We cannot afford any distractions during lockdown.”
Lenny turned to Cher and appealed to her with his eyes.
Len, Mr. Black is right. You need to focus on the match. You can’t do that here in New York.”
“But you’ve always been there for my matches in APW.”
“Not this time, Len. You’re going to have to do this one alone.”
Lenny shook his head, feeling completely dispirited by the thought of several weeks away from Cher.
“You won’t be alone, Mr. Lansbury. ‘Touchstone’ want regular updates and a steady hand to oversee lockdown. I’ll be your chaperone the whole time.”
As if it couldn’t get any worse! Lenny would have preferred a week strung up by the balls to this. Oh well, let’s get on with it, he thought to himself.
*
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #5)
I wasn’t in the arena for last week’s ‘epic’ announcement by Sienna Harrison; I was making haste to catch a flight to the other side of the world. So it wasn’t until getting back from my trip to Tonga that I realised, out of absolute desperation, the old girl threw The Guv’nor’s name into the hat for the ‘epic’ Rasslemania ladder match for the North American Championship.
They say that inspiration flows more freely in times of desperation, and I’ve always thought it an impressive trait for someone to be able to talk themselves to safety when they’ve got their back to the wall, the barrel of some shooter staring them right between the eyes. Got to admit that it never worked with me. I’ve always lived by the principle that any slag that I had got me to that stage, well he’d obviously taken so many liberties to provoke my anger that no words and no amount of talking was going to save him.
But at least it shows some cobblers, right? And fair play to Sienna, she showed she got some by conjuring up that dream idea in the face of adversity, which is more than could be said for Alexander Duvall. While that wanker was scrambling around, playing with himself, in the hope that he might find some greasy talk to save his skin, Sienna was playing with destiny and making the greatest decision in Meltdown history.
Yeah, I’m giving myself the big GEE, but you know it makes sense to have The Guv’nor in that match. Sure all them others, they got plenty of talent, but they’re not The Guv’nor. It wouldn’t have been right for that lot to fight it out for Meltdown’s prestigious title without The Guv’nor involved. Even if one of them mugs does walk away at Rasslemania, they’ll be better off for it knowing they had to survive me in order to get there.
So kudos to Sienna, you did right girl; fuck what that yellow slag Duvall has to say about it, because I’m sure he’s dying to find some way to exclude me.
The management finally getting their bleeding act together on something all said and done, it brings us onto this week’s business. While I’m more inclined to carry on making myself a tear away in singles action, I got no grief with the occasional tag match. True, I’m not exactly ‘Mr. Team Ethic’, but the way I square it away is that when there’s a collaboration involved I get to smash up two for the price of one. That luvvly-jubbly in my book; especially when everyone involved has already played a part in The Guv’nor’s history.
Now the man I get to ‘team’ with is none other than the Champ himself – Warren Peace. I suppose I should be all humbled and proud that I’m the one who gets to stand alongside the best Meltdown has to offer right now. Well I’m not exactly reaching for the autograph book, you know what I’m saying, but I’d certainly rather have Warren Peace for a partner than those two slags who’ll be standing opposite us.
It is funny though how life works itself out. Just a few weeks ago I made my debut against Warren Peace. As it turned out some mug of an official saw it fit to throw me out of that match, leaving Warren Peace to slurp up the scraps left by Trevor Hyatt and Donny Osmond. You all know the outcome, Warren profited by my little misdemeanour and got himself that nice bit of gold around his waist. I can’t help but feel if only I’d kept my temper in check, maybe I’d be the kid carrying the ball into Rasslemania.
Listen here Warren. Kudos to you, bruv: you’ve made the most of the opportunity that fell at your feet. Maybe you didn’t have to beat The Guv’nor to get there, but you did beat those put in front of you. We haven’t got to worry about the rights and wrongs of all that this week. As long as you keep your head, don’t suddenly start behaving like a right mug because you got a belt around your waist, there’ll be no aggro between us before Rasslemania.
On the other side we’ve got two men I know all too well, two proper slags who’ve had to take their fair share of medicine from The Guv’nor in recent weeks.
Last week Kevin Dahlia had his chance to prove to the whole of APW that he could move up it a level from the Cid Phoenixs and the Trevor Hyatts of this world. If I see an apple I don’t call it an orange, and fair play to Dahlia, his talk may be as flowery as his name, but inside the ring he proved he could live with The Guv’nor. Whether he could get the job done, well that’s a different matter, but I learnt a few good things about Kevin Dahlia last week.
In this business it’s easy to get a bit too wrapped up in the image of someone. You get about five mugs for every geezer who is one of your own, but being a no-good bastard doesn’t mean when the going gets tough the slag can’t scrap and claw as well as anyone. I probably couldn’t share two sentences of conversation with Kevin Dahlia because with all that waffle coming out his mouth I’d want to punch his teeth down his throat. But when that gob of his is closed and he’s letting his fists do the talking, well mateys, Kevin Dahlia talks a language I can understand.
Kev, I’m not taking anything from you. Last week you gave me a fight to remember; a fight I could still feel hours after I’d twisted you into submission with the Hackney Lock. However, I know a spade from a shovel, and I know on another day you would have had me. But maybe that’s the difference between us, maybe that’s why I’m The Guv’nor and you’re just Kevin Dahlia. I get shit done, while you are left pondering what you could’ve done more.
I’m not so sure this ‘New Cancer’ of yours spread very far last week, but it certainly let its presence be known. I’m taking nothing for granted, bruv; I know as long as you’re in the match you’re going to be a threat – next week on Meltdown, in a few weeks time at Rasslemania. But like the battle against the real cancer you got to find a way to fight it early, so before you can even think about building some momentum for Rasslemania I’m making sure I give your hopes another blast of chemo this week.
That leaves just Nathaniel Havok. I’ve knocked Nathaniel spark out twice now in recent weeks, but even I can’t shut him up. I think he’s just one of those slags who doesn’t know when the turkey’s cooked. For weeks he’s been throwing a tantrum about getting this title shot, now he’s got it I expect he’s still got something to complain about.
No doubt, he’s annoyed that he has to team up with someone who he thinks will bring him down. He’s probably got a right chip on his shoulder about the fact there are six others in this Rasslemania match, when it should be Havok versus Peace. Duvall is probably making a grave mistake by putting in six ‘irrelevent rookies’ into the biggest match in Meltdown history. Yeah, Havok, we all get it: we all know you think the main event of every show should be you alone in that ring; and we all know you think that is what the fans want. But let’s be honest here Havok, who in their right mind would want to come and listen to miserable slag like you rattle on about how you think the world should be set to right?
The problem I have with people like Nathaniel Havok is that they give themselves the big GEE in words, but they either can’t or don’t have the cobblers to put that GEE into action. Nathaniel Havok has been telling the world how if nobody listens he is going to make them listen – well nobody is listening to you fucking mug! I pricked up ears a few weeks ago and TWICE I put you down for being an irritating buzz in my ears.
I heard the buzz backstage when you turned up Havok; everyone chatting how things would never be the same, how the whole edifice would be shaken to the ground. A lot of people are still waiting, but not The Guv’nor. I don’t have time to wait for you to find a pair, bruv, and show the world you’re not just a noisier version of Stefan Raab. I’ve been too busy smashing slags left, right and centre, showing the world how lairy we do it in HACKNEY.
Either put up or shut up, you mug. Whatever it is I’ll still knock you spark out and for a third time show you how this is done when it’s...
End.
I wasn’t in the arena for last week’s ‘epic’ announcement by Sienna Harrison; I was making haste to catch a flight to the other side of the world. So it wasn’t until getting back from my trip to Tonga that I realised, out of absolute desperation, the old girl threw The Guv’nor’s name into the hat for the ‘epic’ Rasslemania ladder match for the North American Championship.
They say that inspiration flows more freely in times of desperation, and I’ve always thought it an impressive trait for someone to be able to talk themselves to safety when they’ve got their back to the wall, the barrel of some shooter staring them right between the eyes. Got to admit that it never worked with me. I’ve always lived by the principle that any slag that I had got me to that stage, well he’d obviously taken so many liberties to provoke my anger that no words and no amount of talking was going to save him.
But at least it shows some cobblers, right? And fair play to Sienna, she showed she got some by conjuring up that dream idea in the face of adversity, which is more than could be said for Alexander Duvall. While that wanker was scrambling around, playing with himself, in the hope that he might find some greasy talk to save his skin, Sienna was playing with destiny and making the greatest decision in Meltdown history.
Yeah, I’m giving myself the big GEE, but you know it makes sense to have The Guv’nor in that match. Sure all them others, they got plenty of talent, but they’re not The Guv’nor. It wouldn’t have been right for that lot to fight it out for Meltdown’s prestigious title without The Guv’nor involved. Even if one of them mugs does walk away at Rasslemania, they’ll be better off for it knowing they had to survive me in order to get there.
So kudos to Sienna, you did right girl; fuck what that yellow slag Duvall has to say about it, because I’m sure he’s dying to find some way to exclude me.
The management finally getting their bleeding act together on something all said and done, it brings us onto this week’s business. While I’m more inclined to carry on making myself a tear away in singles action, I got no grief with the occasional tag match. True, I’m not exactly ‘Mr. Team Ethic’, but the way I square it away is that when there’s a collaboration involved I get to smash up two for the price of one. That luvvly-jubbly in my book; especially when everyone involved has already played a part in The Guv’nor’s history.
Now the man I get to ‘team’ with is none other than the Champ himself – Warren Peace. I suppose I should be all humbled and proud that I’m the one who gets to stand alongside the best Meltdown has to offer right now. Well I’m not exactly reaching for the autograph book, you know what I’m saying, but I’d certainly rather have Warren Peace for a partner than those two slags who’ll be standing opposite us.
It is funny though how life works itself out. Just a few weeks ago I made my debut against Warren Peace. As it turned out some mug of an official saw it fit to throw me out of that match, leaving Warren Peace to slurp up the scraps left by Trevor Hyatt and Donny Osmond. You all know the outcome, Warren profited by my little misdemeanour and got himself that nice bit of gold around his waist. I can’t help but feel if only I’d kept my temper in check, maybe I’d be the kid carrying the ball into Rasslemania.
Listen here Warren. Kudos to you, bruv: you’ve made the most of the opportunity that fell at your feet. Maybe you didn’t have to beat The Guv’nor to get there, but you did beat those put in front of you. We haven’t got to worry about the rights and wrongs of all that this week. As long as you keep your head, don’t suddenly start behaving like a right mug because you got a belt around your waist, there’ll be no aggro between us before Rasslemania.
On the other side we’ve got two men I know all too well, two proper slags who’ve had to take their fair share of medicine from The Guv’nor in recent weeks.
Last week Kevin Dahlia had his chance to prove to the whole of APW that he could move up it a level from the Cid Phoenixs and the Trevor Hyatts of this world. If I see an apple I don’t call it an orange, and fair play to Dahlia, his talk may be as flowery as his name, but inside the ring he proved he could live with The Guv’nor. Whether he could get the job done, well that’s a different matter, but I learnt a few good things about Kevin Dahlia last week.
In this business it’s easy to get a bit too wrapped up in the image of someone. You get about five mugs for every geezer who is one of your own, but being a no-good bastard doesn’t mean when the going gets tough the slag can’t scrap and claw as well as anyone. I probably couldn’t share two sentences of conversation with Kevin Dahlia because with all that waffle coming out his mouth I’d want to punch his teeth down his throat. But when that gob of his is closed and he’s letting his fists do the talking, well mateys, Kevin Dahlia talks a language I can understand.
Kev, I’m not taking anything from you. Last week you gave me a fight to remember; a fight I could still feel hours after I’d twisted you into submission with the Hackney Lock. However, I know a spade from a shovel, and I know on another day you would have had me. But maybe that’s the difference between us, maybe that’s why I’m The Guv’nor and you’re just Kevin Dahlia. I get shit done, while you are left pondering what you could’ve done more.
I’m not so sure this ‘New Cancer’ of yours spread very far last week, but it certainly let its presence be known. I’m taking nothing for granted, bruv; I know as long as you’re in the match you’re going to be a threat – next week on Meltdown, in a few weeks time at Rasslemania. But like the battle against the real cancer you got to find a way to fight it early, so before you can even think about building some momentum for Rasslemania I’m making sure I give your hopes another blast of chemo this week.
That leaves just Nathaniel Havok. I’ve knocked Nathaniel spark out twice now in recent weeks, but even I can’t shut him up. I think he’s just one of those slags who doesn’t know when the turkey’s cooked. For weeks he’s been throwing a tantrum about getting this title shot, now he’s got it I expect he’s still got something to complain about.
No doubt, he’s annoyed that he has to team up with someone who he thinks will bring him down. He’s probably got a right chip on his shoulder about the fact there are six others in this Rasslemania match, when it should be Havok versus Peace. Duvall is probably making a grave mistake by putting in six ‘irrelevent rookies’ into the biggest match in Meltdown history. Yeah, Havok, we all get it: we all know you think the main event of every show should be you alone in that ring; and we all know you think that is what the fans want. But let’s be honest here Havok, who in their right mind would want to come and listen to miserable slag like you rattle on about how you think the world should be set to right?
The problem I have with people like Nathaniel Havok is that they give themselves the big GEE in words, but they either can’t or don’t have the cobblers to put that GEE into action. Nathaniel Havok has been telling the world how if nobody listens he is going to make them listen – well nobody is listening to you fucking mug! I pricked up ears a few weeks ago and TWICE I put you down for being an irritating buzz in my ears.
I heard the buzz backstage when you turned up Havok; everyone chatting how things would never be the same, how the whole edifice would be shaken to the ground. A lot of people are still waiting, but not The Guv’nor. I don’t have time to wait for you to find a pair, bruv, and show the world you’re not just a noisier version of Stefan Raab. I’ve been too busy smashing slags left, right and centre, showing the world how lairy we do it in HACKNEY.
Either put up or shut up, you mug. Whatever it is I’ll still knock you spark out and for a third time show you how this is done when it’s...
End.
