Post by Jules on Apr 5, 2013 11:12:56 GMT -4
Book II: An Emerging Force
Chapter I
“This is bullshit; you know it, I know it,” Lenny Lansbury declared as the doors closed and the lift began to rise.
Lenny wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d been back in the States a matter of hours following trips to Chile (for Meltdown) and New Zealand (for the Iron King tournament). He was severely jet-lagged, physically hurting, and mentally exhausted. It was a cocktail for an awful bout of grouchyness.
“Mr. Lansbury,” Mr. Black replied. “You are going to have to accept that this is your responsibility now, and I’d recommend you conciliate with that fact sooner rather than later.”
“Really – this had to be done on my day off? I’m going to see her in a couple of days anyway-”
“It’s what could happen in a couple of days that she’s worrying about.”
The lift reached its destination and the doors opened. Lenny and the lawyer stepped out of the lift to be a chirpy voice-
“Good morning gentlemen,” greeted Sienna Harrison, “I’m glad you could both be here at such short notice.” But the GM of Meltdown barely set her eyes upon Lenny.
They followed Sienna to her office, and once seated she opened the meeting.
“Lenny, I want to begin by saying it is not my wish for us to be enemies,” Sienna began in her silkiest tones.
“Miss Harrison, I’m sure my client would concur-”
“Hold on a second. Before the pair of you start to carry on like this is some custody meeting, and I’m the disobedient child, I’ve got no problem with anyone. But I’m not going to tolerate scheming and anyone trying to rump me.” Lenny paused to look them both squarely, then added: “If you act like slags, then you can expect to be treated as slags. Sienna, you got nothing to be worry about from my end as long as you don’t start trying to take liberties.”
Sienna gave Mr. Black a nervous glance.
“Nobody is taking any liberties, Lenny. Nobody wants to cause any trouble. As a matter of fact, now I have sole control of Meltdown I want to take the show forward; I want to make Meltdown a brand in its own right, on a par with Overdrive and Asylum, rather than simply being a feeder show that loses all of its prime talent.”
“Okay, but what’s that got to do with me? It’s your show, so you sort that out.”
“Well, in order to achieve that I need to keep hold of my talent, but I also need to acquire and maintain the right kind of talent.”
Sienna again looked to Mr. Black, seeking reassurance. He gave a short nod, which Lenny eyed.
“Listen love, I haven’t got all day, so if you’ve got some point to make, now would be a good time instead all this beating about the bush.”
“Mr. Lansbury,” Mr. Black intervened, “we want to resolve any outstanding issues surrounding your image as not just a Meltdown megastar, but as the champion of the brand.”
“Excuse me?”
“Lenny,” Sienna answered, “whether you were my ideal choice or not, you are the North American Champion, therefore you are the #1 representative of Meltdown, and I am willing to accept that situation.”
Lenny reclined in his seat and folded his arms, anticipating a reproach.
“But, I need you to start taking on the responsibility that comes with the role,” Sienna added as she shifted nervously, “and prove yourself worthy of being the champion to take Meltdown forward.”
Lenny switched his gaze between the pair of them.
“That’s it?” They nodded. “Well you don’t have to worry about me; I can assure you The Guv’nor will be a fighting champ every day of the week. Any slag on the roster who wants to take a pot-shot, or front up face to face, I’ll take them all on, and give them all the full course of grief Hackney-style.”
“Mr. Lansbury, we’re not talking about your competitive spirit; nobody is questioning that,” Mr. Black reassured. “Instead Miss Harrison believes, and ‘Touchstone’ agrees, that some refinement is required of your image as the North American Champion.”
“Refinement? My image? Leave it out!”
Lenny began to laugh vociferously; Sienna and Mr. Black looked on with concern.
“Lenny, I am very serious about this-”
“I’m sure you are, sweetheart; but I couldn’t give a fuck what you think about my image.”
“Mr. Lansbury!”
“Shut your fucking hole, you slimy prick. You drag me in here, on my one day off, to lecture me about image and responsibility. Let me ask you, do you even understand for one second what it means to be The Guv’nor?”
Sienna moved to answer.
“Don’t answer that because before you start gabbing some slippery answer, I know you wouldn’t have the first clue, and as for this slag here,” Lenny spat as he gestured to the lawyer and shook his head with derision.
“Let’s get this clear right now: The Guv’nor won’t become a stooge for no-one. I’ve got this title because I earned it by beating seven other slags that weren’t up to task, not because I wore the right mask, or kissed the right arses. All you need to know is that The Guv’nor will become the only champion he can be -- one that takes on all comers, smashes up any slag who comes knocking, creates a tear up for the fans to enjoy every night of the week.”
“Whether that makes The Guv’nor the best, the worst, or the most ideal champion won’t matter one bit at the end of the day, as long as he can stand on his own two feet and say he was a champ that mattered because he gave the belt all it deserved and didn’t become a sell-out or the face of some corporate agenda.”
There was silence as Lenny finished and folded his arms. Sienna, struggling to maintain the cool facade, leaned in towards Lenny and spat out with bitterness.
“Don’t say I didn’t give you an opportunity to co-operate. I wasn’t asking for a lot, but if you are going to obstinate then – well, you’re on your own!”
“I’ve been on my own since the day I walked in here, and I never once asked for a hand-me-up. What’s changed, princess?”
“Well you should know this, Lenny: there are plenty of megastars who would love to be in your shoes, would love to feel the weight of that championship. There are some who are willing to do anything to be the man -- or woman! You should know better than anyone, Lenny, that it is wild on Meltdown. It’s a dangerous place, full of hungry, brutal animals that will do anything to reach the top of the food chain, and as long as you remain stubborn and unwilling, I can’t guarantee you any special privileges.”
Sienna sat back, feeling satisfied with her threatening speech and glared at Lenny. On the champ’s face a wry smile appeared as he replied.
“Bring ‘em all to the party, sweetheart.”
*
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #8)
It’s a labour of love for the geeks and nerds, otherwise called the IWC, to waste too much time discussing the relative merits and faults of wrestlers: whether they are good or bad, great champions or lame ducks, legends or instantly forgettable. Personally I think only one question need be asked: how good is their aggro, know what I’m saying?
But when it comes to any discussion of the kind of man and champion The Guv’nor is I suspect many will miss the point altogether.
You see, The Guv’nor is not a man who needs a championship belt around his waist in order to carry himself with a bit of self-respect. Cash, honours, all that stuff is a nice side effect of being a professional wrestler and being good at it, but it certainly isn’t the be all and end all as far I’m concerned. What you need to understand is that every single day The Guv’nor is the same man: he’s his own man, making slags accountable for the liberties they take, and generally creating a proper tear up for the fans to enjoy.
Right now I’m the North American Championship, and I don’t disown that title in any way when I say this isn’t who I am, it won’t define The Guv’nor and it certainly won’t change me. As long as I hold this title I will fight for it like it were one of my own flesh and blood, but it, and no title, will ever be what I am.
I have been and lived as The Guv’nor for years, it was a status I earned long before the wrestling world heard of Lenny Lansbury, and it was a status granted by my impeccable standards for not taking a single ounce of bullshit from anyone in this world. It was a mark of respect granted by those who knew me, who trusted me. It doesn’t surprise me that the wrestling world will be slow on the uptake, given that 90% of the population are no-good bastards who wouldn’t know the first thing about respect; but sooner rather than later people will realise that it takes more than a bit of leather and gold to make you The Guv’nor. The titles will come and go like the wind, but what I am will always be the same.
So when people judge me and ask ‘is he a good champion?’ the only valid answer is ‘it doesn’t matter because he’s The Guv’nor’. The point is the standards are different. Champions are measured in terms of what is quantifiable -- duration, level of competition, and so on; being The Guv’nor, well that’s something of a purely qualitative nature.
But I know how the wrestling game works. Like the rest of the world it’s gone mad for statistics, basing all value on how the numbers crunch; they look at the bare facts without considering any of the context. I’ve heard people say I was lucky: I never had to pin the champion, all I had to do was climb a ladder and grab the title. In reality I didn’t beat anyone; I was just the right guy in the right place at the right time. I’ve also heard it said you aren’t the man until you’ve successful defended the title.
On the first count let me just say that if surviving a hell-like experience of chaos and brutality that is a ladder match is lucky, well then I’m your uncle Percy; if overcoming seven other wrestlers if just a stroke of good fortune, well then I’m a bear and I don’t shit in the woods. Yeah, I never pinned anyone to win the match, but it’s not like I was playing by different rules to anyone else. The conditions were the same for all of us: climb the ladder and claim the belt; and if you think that’s like taking sweets from a nipper well then I suggest you haven’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about.
I got this title because I was the best of the night. It isn’t about a three-count, a KO, a submission, or climbing a ladder. All of that is just incidentals. What separates winners from losers, the mugs and the slags from people like me, is the mental fortitude. That’s quite simply the ability to suck it all up – the pain, the exhaustion, the anguish – and keep on swinging.
But I get it; some people will remain doubters until the truth slaps one square on their nose. I know I’m wrestling for credibility this week, and I’ve never been one to turn away from a challenge.
This week the obstacle is Tommy Knoxville. I’m not a man to hand out compliments willy-nilly, but I’m also not the kind of slag that won’t give a man his due: Tommy Knoxville is among the few megastars that really impress me.
There’s going to be some who take that statement and have a proper giggle about it, probably thinking ‘leave it out, Guv, you’re having the crack, bruv’. But straight up, Tommy is someone I’d go as far as to say is one of your own, and that’s about as good a compliment as you’ll get from me, sunshine.
Sure, Tommy doesn’t come in with the sort of credentials the plastics admire, things like titles and big wins on the big occasions, but then has he really been given the chance yet? I know he’s not exactly a fresh face around these parts, but he’s gone about his business in the right kind of way. I remember the day he came to Meltdown, about the same time as yours truly, and he never starting gabbing on and mouthing off like some other mugs I could mention about what he was owed and what he was due.
Yeah, Tommy isn’t exactly a quiet little mouse, and it’s not beyond him to call some mug out that he feels he needs to try and put straight, but that’s all fair game in my eyes. He never had to take cheap shots or lower himself to sneaking around behind a mask, or taking up a microphone and talking the biggest game since Chael Sonnen. The way I see Tommy let his fists do the talking and the world has been listening ever since.
Last week he showed us all what he could do, and he’s got the right earned to come and stand toe-to-toe with The Guv’nor and learn all about that aggro that is specially MADE IN HACKNEY. Tommy’s got himself into the rare situation of being able to square off with The Guv’nor under a banner of respect. Unlike most of the opponents I’ve faced and smashed corner to corner around the ring, this isn’t about straightening out some rotten slag who needs himself checked; although if Tommy decides he’s going to try and start taking liberties with me, then something can be done about that.
But don’t mistake this for too much respect, Tommy. Don’t think I’m a soft touch just because I haven’t come looking for you, or because I haven’t yet caved in your skull with my size 12s. This won’t be a sparring session, bruv; I’m not going to keep my distance, dance around you, throw the odd jab and try to make you look good. I’m coming to hurt you Tommy, and I will not excuse you from the same kind of hatred I manufacture for every opponent before every fight. The way I see it, you’re trying to break and enter into my home, and after a proper tear up, when I’ve put you away with the Gypsy Kiss, I’ll have a tin or six with you -- because that’s the sort of bloke I expect you to be -- but that shouldn’t put any false ideas in your mind about the level of fury I will unleash on being any less than I give to the rest of the roster week after week. It’s not just this title you’re trying to take from me, but the very idea of The Guv’nor, and that’s an offense I just cannot tolerate.
Tommy, I know you’re going to believe you have just as much at stake. After all, this is your chance to show that you’re not just a great fighter, championship material, but that you’re singles career has some credibility. Your big return hasn’t exactly been big on that, and as long as you’re mixing it in these tag team matches, or in multi-person situations like last week, there is always going to be a doubt about whether you can really be trusted to deliver on your lonesome.
That’s the real challenge in life: to show you can dish it up when it’s just you, when there’s nobody else’s power and dominance to ride; no other person to turn to and blame if it all goes tits up out there. It’s on our own shoulders alone, but that’s kind of how I like it, mate, since the day I took my first steps I’ve felt it’s been Lenny against the whole world and no-one has ever come to my aide.
In fact this match is a bit like a metaphor for my whole life. It may look like a one-on-one match, but given who I am, given how I don’t exactly play Mr. Cordial, and how I’ve been marking cards since the day I walked in the building, there’s more than just you I’m up against, bruv. I’m facing Sienna who I know is desperate to see me fail since I’m hardly her ‘perfect megastar’, and who knows what schemes that slag might have prepared; I’ve got the whole roster willing to you to prove there is a chink in the armour, every single one who looks at The Guv’nor with envious eyes and with their card marked; even the judgement of history is against me since there are historians desperate to declare me another one-hit wonder.
That’s a pretty tall order, right? One great big giant opponent to take down. But it’s all wrapped up in the form of you, Tommy. All that pressure is coming down on you, Tommy – the hopes of Sienna, the roster, the judgement of history – all rests on your shoulders. Are you ready for that, bruv?
For me, this is just another day, another fight; the same fight I have been winning my whole life -- against the odds, against the whole world, in the name of The Guv’nor, showing what it means to be MADE IN HACKNEY!
I’m yet to lose that battle, bruv; and I sure as fuck ain’t about to give it up yet.
End.
It’s a labour of love for the geeks and nerds, otherwise called the IWC, to waste too much time discussing the relative merits and faults of wrestlers: whether they are good or bad, great champions or lame ducks, legends or instantly forgettable. Personally I think only one question need be asked: how good is their aggro, know what I’m saying?
But when it comes to any discussion of the kind of man and champion The Guv’nor is I suspect many will miss the point altogether.
You see, The Guv’nor is not a man who needs a championship belt around his waist in order to carry himself with a bit of self-respect. Cash, honours, all that stuff is a nice side effect of being a professional wrestler and being good at it, but it certainly isn’t the be all and end all as far I’m concerned. What you need to understand is that every single day The Guv’nor is the same man: he’s his own man, making slags accountable for the liberties they take, and generally creating a proper tear up for the fans to enjoy.
Right now I’m the North American Championship, and I don’t disown that title in any way when I say this isn’t who I am, it won’t define The Guv’nor and it certainly won’t change me. As long as I hold this title I will fight for it like it were one of my own flesh and blood, but it, and no title, will ever be what I am.
I have been and lived as The Guv’nor for years, it was a status I earned long before the wrestling world heard of Lenny Lansbury, and it was a status granted by my impeccable standards for not taking a single ounce of bullshit from anyone in this world. It was a mark of respect granted by those who knew me, who trusted me. It doesn’t surprise me that the wrestling world will be slow on the uptake, given that 90% of the population are no-good bastards who wouldn’t know the first thing about respect; but sooner rather than later people will realise that it takes more than a bit of leather and gold to make you The Guv’nor. The titles will come and go like the wind, but what I am will always be the same.
So when people judge me and ask ‘is he a good champion?’ the only valid answer is ‘it doesn’t matter because he’s The Guv’nor’. The point is the standards are different. Champions are measured in terms of what is quantifiable -- duration, level of competition, and so on; being The Guv’nor, well that’s something of a purely qualitative nature.
But I know how the wrestling game works. Like the rest of the world it’s gone mad for statistics, basing all value on how the numbers crunch; they look at the bare facts without considering any of the context. I’ve heard people say I was lucky: I never had to pin the champion, all I had to do was climb a ladder and grab the title. In reality I didn’t beat anyone; I was just the right guy in the right place at the right time. I’ve also heard it said you aren’t the man until you’ve successful defended the title.
On the first count let me just say that if surviving a hell-like experience of chaos and brutality that is a ladder match is lucky, well then I’m your uncle Percy; if overcoming seven other wrestlers if just a stroke of good fortune, well then I’m a bear and I don’t shit in the woods. Yeah, I never pinned anyone to win the match, but it’s not like I was playing by different rules to anyone else. The conditions were the same for all of us: climb the ladder and claim the belt; and if you think that’s like taking sweets from a nipper well then I suggest you haven’t got a fucking clue what you’re talking about.
I got this title because I was the best of the night. It isn’t about a three-count, a KO, a submission, or climbing a ladder. All of that is just incidentals. What separates winners from losers, the mugs and the slags from people like me, is the mental fortitude. That’s quite simply the ability to suck it all up – the pain, the exhaustion, the anguish – and keep on swinging.
But I get it; some people will remain doubters until the truth slaps one square on their nose. I know I’m wrestling for credibility this week, and I’ve never been one to turn away from a challenge.
This week the obstacle is Tommy Knoxville. I’m not a man to hand out compliments willy-nilly, but I’m also not the kind of slag that won’t give a man his due: Tommy Knoxville is among the few megastars that really impress me.
There’s going to be some who take that statement and have a proper giggle about it, probably thinking ‘leave it out, Guv, you’re having the crack, bruv’. But straight up, Tommy is someone I’d go as far as to say is one of your own, and that’s about as good a compliment as you’ll get from me, sunshine.
Sure, Tommy doesn’t come in with the sort of credentials the plastics admire, things like titles and big wins on the big occasions, but then has he really been given the chance yet? I know he’s not exactly a fresh face around these parts, but he’s gone about his business in the right kind of way. I remember the day he came to Meltdown, about the same time as yours truly, and he never starting gabbing on and mouthing off like some other mugs I could mention about what he was owed and what he was due.
Yeah, Tommy isn’t exactly a quiet little mouse, and it’s not beyond him to call some mug out that he feels he needs to try and put straight, but that’s all fair game in my eyes. He never had to take cheap shots or lower himself to sneaking around behind a mask, or taking up a microphone and talking the biggest game since Chael Sonnen. The way I see Tommy let his fists do the talking and the world has been listening ever since.
Last week he showed us all what he could do, and he’s got the right earned to come and stand toe-to-toe with The Guv’nor and learn all about that aggro that is specially MADE IN HACKNEY. Tommy’s got himself into the rare situation of being able to square off with The Guv’nor under a banner of respect. Unlike most of the opponents I’ve faced and smashed corner to corner around the ring, this isn’t about straightening out some rotten slag who needs himself checked; although if Tommy decides he’s going to try and start taking liberties with me, then something can be done about that.
But don’t mistake this for too much respect, Tommy. Don’t think I’m a soft touch just because I haven’t come looking for you, or because I haven’t yet caved in your skull with my size 12s. This won’t be a sparring session, bruv; I’m not going to keep my distance, dance around you, throw the odd jab and try to make you look good. I’m coming to hurt you Tommy, and I will not excuse you from the same kind of hatred I manufacture for every opponent before every fight. The way I see it, you’re trying to break and enter into my home, and after a proper tear up, when I’ve put you away with the Gypsy Kiss, I’ll have a tin or six with you -- because that’s the sort of bloke I expect you to be -- but that shouldn’t put any false ideas in your mind about the level of fury I will unleash on being any less than I give to the rest of the roster week after week. It’s not just this title you’re trying to take from me, but the very idea of The Guv’nor, and that’s an offense I just cannot tolerate.
Tommy, I know you’re going to believe you have just as much at stake. After all, this is your chance to show that you’re not just a great fighter, championship material, but that you’re singles career has some credibility. Your big return hasn’t exactly been big on that, and as long as you’re mixing it in these tag team matches, or in multi-person situations like last week, there is always going to be a doubt about whether you can really be trusted to deliver on your lonesome.
That’s the real challenge in life: to show you can dish it up when it’s just you, when there’s nobody else’s power and dominance to ride; no other person to turn to and blame if it all goes tits up out there. It’s on our own shoulders alone, but that’s kind of how I like it, mate, since the day I took my first steps I’ve felt it’s been Lenny against the whole world and no-one has ever come to my aide.
In fact this match is a bit like a metaphor for my whole life. It may look like a one-on-one match, but given who I am, given how I don’t exactly play Mr. Cordial, and how I’ve been marking cards since the day I walked in the building, there’s more than just you I’m up against, bruv. I’m facing Sienna who I know is desperate to see me fail since I’m hardly her ‘perfect megastar’, and who knows what schemes that slag might have prepared; I’ve got the whole roster willing to you to prove there is a chink in the armour, every single one who looks at The Guv’nor with envious eyes and with their card marked; even the judgement of history is against me since there are historians desperate to declare me another one-hit wonder.
That’s a pretty tall order, right? One great big giant opponent to take down. But it’s all wrapped up in the form of you, Tommy. All that pressure is coming down on you, Tommy – the hopes of Sienna, the roster, the judgement of history – all rests on your shoulders. Are you ready for that, bruv?
For me, this is just another day, another fight; the same fight I have been winning my whole life -- against the odds, against the whole world, in the name of The Guv’nor, showing what it means to be MADE IN HACKNEY!
I’m yet to lose that battle, bruv; and I sure as fuck ain’t about to give it up yet.
End.
