Post by Phil Atken on Apr 20, 2013 20:53:27 GMT -4
We find ourselves, as can happen, sometimes often, sometimes not, in the company of the magician they call Phil Atken (magic abilities not included), along with his long time pal, buddy, friend and compatriot, the man known only as Dirk... Dickwood... the third. They seem to be enjoying the company of each other in what was later declared by outside observer to be a “hotel room”, although the tautology of such things is still under deep investigation.
Atken: Dirk, where have you been the past two weeks? I haven't seen you, you, Hank and Saul seem to slink off after each show and then I get left to myself like some kind of gosh darn dang rootin' tootin' leopord, as those from Seattle would say.
Dickwood: You do know that as much as you are my prized client, as much as you are the bread winner, I still have other people to represent, right?
Atken: When the hell did that happen?
Dickwood: When you became APW World Heavyweight Champion. Turns out being the agent of DA CHAMP does wonderful for your profile in the wheelin' dealin' world of wrestling management. Got this tag team on the burner just now, just won the belts in their home organisation. I'M KILLING IT.
Atken: So, you're tied up with these lessers...
Dickwood: One of them is British aristocracy...
Atken: With these lessers...
Dickwood: The other is Hank.
Phil pauses for second, almost silenced by the bomb that Dirk just dropped in his lap. Phil blinks his eyes a few times as the preceding statement from his compadre slowly begins to wash over him.
Atken: Hank? HANK? You mean the man I personally pay for to GUARD me. That Hank?
Dirk shifts backwards and forwards, looking like a mixture of shifty and nervous about answering the question.
Dickwood: Well, it's not like you use him much when you're at the house shows. You are in and out for that stuff. Less you be infected by the breathing of lessers from what you told me last time.
Atken: Seriously Dirk, I read that on the internet, that is a terrible smell from the breathe of a wrestling house show crowd that can embed in your brain and cause you to slowly turn in to human slush.
Dickwood: Are you sure you're not just making an excuse because you hate the general public and anyone you consider common?
Atken: Of course not. I'm a man of the people.
An awkward and heavy silence drops once more in the room.
Atken: Well, I can tolerate them when I need to.
Once again, more silence.
Atken: Well, I can survive three hours in an arena full of them before I run away screaming.
Dickwood: There's my boy! That's the Phil that we all know and love.
Phil shakes his head and turns back toward Dirk.
Atken: We're getting off the track here. HANK is mine, you don't get to use him to pair up with some inbred Etonian whenever the hell you want to suit your ever expanding empire and waistline.
Dickwood: Look Phil, don't worry about it. You are and still will be our top priority, all of us are here for you but you have to face facts, your profile rose highly when you made Sally Talfourd tap out. People were going to take interest in the men behind the man, people were going to want a taste and we just can't turn them away.
Atken: Well you could...
Dirk pulls a small note of paper out of his jacket pocket, unfurls it and shows it to Phil. Phil's eyebrows raise highly.
Atken: Then again.
Dickwood: That doesn't change to goal though Phil, we all became in demand because of your struggle to the top, the fact that you overcame and adversity, the fact that you finally laid to rest the myth of Michael Callahan. You are the man who managed these things, we merely supported you on doing it and we will support you to slay the biggest beast of them all... you know who.
Atken: Callahan already tapped out and he's on Overdrive now...
Dickwood: Are you being intentionally obtuse?
Atken: Of course I am but the fact is, this week I have to tolerate Terry Marvin. I have to stand in the ring with him and lay a few boots in the direction of Keaton Saint and his racialist friend. I can't exactly start pointing out how to be established as the FINEST APW has ever seen I must bring an end to the Marvin era, that I must be the brick wall for Terry Marvin to crash head first in to. That's after Asylum stuff. That is a problem for future Phil that shouldn't be discussed right now.
Dickwood: But you just said it right there.
Atken: So I did, you are quite right. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to address this camera here in the hopes what I just said is immediately forgotten about.
Dickwood: Just remember, we're still here Phil.
Dirk leaves what is the best mid-range hotel accommodation a man who spends slightly above the average can afford. It has a shower and a bath, that's the kind of classy joint that Phil finds himself within at this precise moment in time. Phil waves off his good friend, buddy and pal before centering himself back right slap bang in front of the camera.
Atken: I didn't ask for this. I don't particularly want it either but I suppose at a certain point in our careers we have to take the opportunities that are tossed in front of us and gobble them up with a delightful grin smashed all across our wonderful mug less our overlords question our loyalty. I gave Reginald the option, he could've sent him over to Overdrive to allow me to reclaim what is rightfully mine, to take away the throne from the false pretender who got to the top not through dedication but from political machinations. I was open to it, I was willing, I was chomping at the god damn bit to bring home the second big belt to Asylum. To let Overdrive finally circle down the drain of despair, their leader shown to be a false prophet, a scam artist, a fraud. That's what that show has deserved from the second that they showed the most despicable man in the history of this whole company the slightest amount of reverence.
Sadly though, it was not to be. They didn't want that to happen, ruins plans I suppose. So instead as we head on the road towards mayhem, ruin and a PPV named Mayhem... I find myself in a slight tad of a dilemma. I knew one day that deep down, I would want to prove myself over Terry Marvin, that when the streams were finally crossed, I would finally be the man to break down the myth. Y'see, me and Marv have never had the honour of standing across the ring from each other, not even at Survive and Conquer, I had other duties that evening. So, I must admit, I'm a curious man, I'm a man who loves to investigate a good scenario once every so often and I knew if I was to prove myself as the overlooked, lonely god of APW, I must test myself against the showman. Terry Marvin's legacy has been built through the most tasteless kind of self-promotion but he does it well. Terry, ole Ter, he certainly knows his audience and he knows how to make them stand to attention to suit his own needs. Look no further at our own award ceremony back in jolly old December for proof of that.
Yet, I have a problem and that problem is the man who is rather excellent at planning the blindsight. The man who caught me off my guard, the man who took my Rasslemania dream away from me, the man who STOLE the World Heavyweight Championship out from under me. The glad handing, backdoor praising, self-pitying... DETESTABLE Keaton Saint. Keaton Saint is a man who knows he can't perform under pressure, he can't get that big victory in APW when we all stand on the grand stage. The Asylum he took what was mine, he done it as a stealth bomber, he hovered, drop his bomb and ran with the title. The spotlight came his way come Rasslemania though and it was at that point Keaton Saint proved that he was and never will be a champion like I was. Now though, now he is a party that can be the fall guy when I become one of the elite few to hold both the Undisputed and World Heavyweight Championships. He gives Marv a backdoor excuse at Mayhem. He allows the Marv legacy to continue by being the spare wheel of our Mayhem bout. Keaton Saint exists to bring despair where only harmony should exist.
To be honest, Keaton Saint seems to have his sole function of this industry to standing as the road block in my path to proving that ultimate goal of mine, that no matter how bulky you are, no matter how much “passion” burns within you, at the end of the day, a man with a great mind and a flabby build can still be the shining light of this shabby industry. Perhaps there is no bigger example of this prevailing mindset than that of the meteoric rise of Keaton Saint's tag team partner, one of the Two Pillars that can still bring themselves to show their face on Asylum, TJ. TJ, a tall man, a well built man, a man who can throw a punch, a man who uses his weight and pretends to have a mind. TJ is the cancer that his infected this industry for years upon years. I suppose even worse than that, he is the cancer who convinces people to self-inject him into them...
I admit, that sounds wrong even to me.
TJ has convinced people he is the new hotness because he can throw his weight around when he needs to, because he can brutalise a few lesser beings and knock them out to a similar condition that they were five minutes before the bout. The exact kind of brute that... well... hmmm... I don't know how to put it but I think it's best to say that as much as I believe in the sweet science of the ring, I don't think my interpretation of using science to my advantage is quite the same as the poor old Soul of Philly's.
So back to my original statement. I didn't ask for this tag team match, I didn't ask to be part of the Mayhem Triple Threat. I asked for what was rightfully mine and Reginald decided that he knew better. Maybe he did this time around, maybe he knew that this was the one time that the stars could align to ensure that my message, that my vision drew all the eyeballs in the house. That once I overcome my dark period by defeating Keaton Saint and I overcome the confidence man, Terry Marvin, people will realise that my word, my word is what is and shall always be right. I doubt that was his intention, he's not that wise a man, more likely he scrambled to save his little buttocks from a lawsuit and this was the best he could manage. So maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I wanted.
On Sunday night, for one night only, to never be repeated before the heat death of the universe, I will consider Terry Marvin my tag team partner. I will stand with him in the ring with a mutual goal, a mutual understanding to cripple those who stand in the way of our vision. You may have TJ Saint, but you are going to be standing against two men at the very peak of this industry, two men who have a high stake in delivering a fair whack of damage onto you. These kind of opportunities doesn't come up very often and if I have to work alongside Terry Marvin to ensure that you arrive at Mayhem a husk of your former self, a man on the brink of retirement, then so be it.
Now some people may say I'm ignoring the monstrous elephant in the room. Some people should best think I should be quaking in my boots at the damage a lug like TJ could inflict upon me. These people, they need to trust in me. They must trust in Atken, that Atken can slay the dragon, that he can by the hero they can believe in, the hero that they can take there child by the hand and point to as an example of everything that represent the modern world in which we live in. TJ, although he is yet to realise it, is a relic of an industry past, an industry that was built on the back of giants, one which they needed men like TJ to gather the eyeballs that they desired. I wish to sever that link and Asylum allows me to begin to hack away at the cable. Slowly but surely, cut by cut, we will finally detach ourselves from the past. We will move forward, we will progress and I will be the man to do it.
The re-launch begins Sunday, the legacy is re-established at Mayhem. What a time to be a wrestling fan, don't you think?
Atken: Dirk, where have you been the past two weeks? I haven't seen you, you, Hank and Saul seem to slink off after each show and then I get left to myself like some kind of gosh darn dang rootin' tootin' leopord, as those from Seattle would say.
Dickwood: You do know that as much as you are my prized client, as much as you are the bread winner, I still have other people to represent, right?
Atken: When the hell did that happen?
Dickwood: When you became APW World Heavyweight Champion. Turns out being the agent of DA CHAMP does wonderful for your profile in the wheelin' dealin' world of wrestling management. Got this tag team on the burner just now, just won the belts in their home organisation. I'M KILLING IT.
Atken: So, you're tied up with these lessers...
Dickwood: One of them is British aristocracy...
Atken: With these lessers...
Dickwood: The other is Hank.
Phil pauses for second, almost silenced by the bomb that Dirk just dropped in his lap. Phil blinks his eyes a few times as the preceding statement from his compadre slowly begins to wash over him.
Atken: Hank? HANK? You mean the man I personally pay for to GUARD me. That Hank?
Dirk shifts backwards and forwards, looking like a mixture of shifty and nervous about answering the question.
Dickwood: Well, it's not like you use him much when you're at the house shows. You are in and out for that stuff. Less you be infected by the breathing of lessers from what you told me last time.
Atken: Seriously Dirk, I read that on the internet, that is a terrible smell from the breathe of a wrestling house show crowd that can embed in your brain and cause you to slowly turn in to human slush.
Dickwood: Are you sure you're not just making an excuse because you hate the general public and anyone you consider common?
Atken: Of course not. I'm a man of the people.
An awkward and heavy silence drops once more in the room.
Atken: Well, I can tolerate them when I need to.
Once again, more silence.
Atken: Well, I can survive three hours in an arena full of them before I run away screaming.
Dickwood: There's my boy! That's the Phil that we all know and love.
Phil shakes his head and turns back toward Dirk.
Atken: We're getting off the track here. HANK is mine, you don't get to use him to pair up with some inbred Etonian whenever the hell you want to suit your ever expanding empire and waistline.
Dickwood: Look Phil, don't worry about it. You are and still will be our top priority, all of us are here for you but you have to face facts, your profile rose highly when you made Sally Talfourd tap out. People were going to take interest in the men behind the man, people were going to want a taste and we just can't turn them away.
Atken: Well you could...
Dirk pulls a small note of paper out of his jacket pocket, unfurls it and shows it to Phil. Phil's eyebrows raise highly.
Atken: Then again.
Dickwood: That doesn't change to goal though Phil, we all became in demand because of your struggle to the top, the fact that you overcame and adversity, the fact that you finally laid to rest the myth of Michael Callahan. You are the man who managed these things, we merely supported you on doing it and we will support you to slay the biggest beast of them all... you know who.
Atken: Callahan already tapped out and he's on Overdrive now...
Dickwood: Are you being intentionally obtuse?
Atken: Of course I am but the fact is, this week I have to tolerate Terry Marvin. I have to stand in the ring with him and lay a few boots in the direction of Keaton Saint and his racialist friend. I can't exactly start pointing out how to be established as the FINEST APW has ever seen I must bring an end to the Marvin era, that I must be the brick wall for Terry Marvin to crash head first in to. That's after Asylum stuff. That is a problem for future Phil that shouldn't be discussed right now.
Dickwood: But you just said it right there.
Atken: So I did, you are quite right. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to address this camera here in the hopes what I just said is immediately forgotten about.
Dickwood: Just remember, we're still here Phil.
Dirk leaves what is the best mid-range hotel accommodation a man who spends slightly above the average can afford. It has a shower and a bath, that's the kind of classy joint that Phil finds himself within at this precise moment in time. Phil waves off his good friend, buddy and pal before centering himself back right slap bang in front of the camera.
Atken: I didn't ask for this. I don't particularly want it either but I suppose at a certain point in our careers we have to take the opportunities that are tossed in front of us and gobble them up with a delightful grin smashed all across our wonderful mug less our overlords question our loyalty. I gave Reginald the option, he could've sent him over to Overdrive to allow me to reclaim what is rightfully mine, to take away the throne from the false pretender who got to the top not through dedication but from political machinations. I was open to it, I was willing, I was chomping at the god damn bit to bring home the second big belt to Asylum. To let Overdrive finally circle down the drain of despair, their leader shown to be a false prophet, a scam artist, a fraud. That's what that show has deserved from the second that they showed the most despicable man in the history of this whole company the slightest amount of reverence.
Sadly though, it was not to be. They didn't want that to happen, ruins plans I suppose. So instead as we head on the road towards mayhem, ruin and a PPV named Mayhem... I find myself in a slight tad of a dilemma. I knew one day that deep down, I would want to prove myself over Terry Marvin, that when the streams were finally crossed, I would finally be the man to break down the myth. Y'see, me and Marv have never had the honour of standing across the ring from each other, not even at Survive and Conquer, I had other duties that evening. So, I must admit, I'm a curious man, I'm a man who loves to investigate a good scenario once every so often and I knew if I was to prove myself as the overlooked, lonely god of APW, I must test myself against the showman. Terry Marvin's legacy has been built through the most tasteless kind of self-promotion but he does it well. Terry, ole Ter, he certainly knows his audience and he knows how to make them stand to attention to suit his own needs. Look no further at our own award ceremony back in jolly old December for proof of that.
Yet, I have a problem and that problem is the man who is rather excellent at planning the blindsight. The man who caught me off my guard, the man who took my Rasslemania dream away from me, the man who STOLE the World Heavyweight Championship out from under me. The glad handing, backdoor praising, self-pitying... DETESTABLE Keaton Saint. Keaton Saint is a man who knows he can't perform under pressure, he can't get that big victory in APW when we all stand on the grand stage. The Asylum he took what was mine, he done it as a stealth bomber, he hovered, drop his bomb and ran with the title. The spotlight came his way come Rasslemania though and it was at that point Keaton Saint proved that he was and never will be a champion like I was. Now though, now he is a party that can be the fall guy when I become one of the elite few to hold both the Undisputed and World Heavyweight Championships. He gives Marv a backdoor excuse at Mayhem. He allows the Marv legacy to continue by being the spare wheel of our Mayhem bout. Keaton Saint exists to bring despair where only harmony should exist.
To be honest, Keaton Saint seems to have his sole function of this industry to standing as the road block in my path to proving that ultimate goal of mine, that no matter how bulky you are, no matter how much “passion” burns within you, at the end of the day, a man with a great mind and a flabby build can still be the shining light of this shabby industry. Perhaps there is no bigger example of this prevailing mindset than that of the meteoric rise of Keaton Saint's tag team partner, one of the Two Pillars that can still bring themselves to show their face on Asylum, TJ. TJ, a tall man, a well built man, a man who can throw a punch, a man who uses his weight and pretends to have a mind. TJ is the cancer that his infected this industry for years upon years. I suppose even worse than that, he is the cancer who convinces people to self-inject him into them...
I admit, that sounds wrong even to me.
TJ has convinced people he is the new hotness because he can throw his weight around when he needs to, because he can brutalise a few lesser beings and knock them out to a similar condition that they were five minutes before the bout. The exact kind of brute that... well... hmmm... I don't know how to put it but I think it's best to say that as much as I believe in the sweet science of the ring, I don't think my interpretation of using science to my advantage is quite the same as the poor old Soul of Philly's.
So back to my original statement. I didn't ask for this tag team match, I didn't ask to be part of the Mayhem Triple Threat. I asked for what was rightfully mine and Reginald decided that he knew better. Maybe he did this time around, maybe he knew that this was the one time that the stars could align to ensure that my message, that my vision drew all the eyeballs in the house. That once I overcome my dark period by defeating Keaton Saint and I overcome the confidence man, Terry Marvin, people will realise that my word, my word is what is and shall always be right. I doubt that was his intention, he's not that wise a man, more likely he scrambled to save his little buttocks from a lawsuit and this was the best he could manage. So maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I wanted.
On Sunday night, for one night only, to never be repeated before the heat death of the universe, I will consider Terry Marvin my tag team partner. I will stand with him in the ring with a mutual goal, a mutual understanding to cripple those who stand in the way of our vision. You may have TJ Saint, but you are going to be standing against two men at the very peak of this industry, two men who have a high stake in delivering a fair whack of damage onto you. These kind of opportunities doesn't come up very often and if I have to work alongside Terry Marvin to ensure that you arrive at Mayhem a husk of your former self, a man on the brink of retirement, then so be it.
Now some people may say I'm ignoring the monstrous elephant in the room. Some people should best think I should be quaking in my boots at the damage a lug like TJ could inflict upon me. These people, they need to trust in me. They must trust in Atken, that Atken can slay the dragon, that he can by the hero they can believe in, the hero that they can take there child by the hand and point to as an example of everything that represent the modern world in which we live in. TJ, although he is yet to realise it, is a relic of an industry past, an industry that was built on the back of giants, one which they needed men like TJ to gather the eyeballs that they desired. I wish to sever that link and Asylum allows me to begin to hack away at the cable. Slowly but surely, cut by cut, we will finally detach ourselves from the past. We will move forward, we will progress and I will be the man to do it.
The re-launch begins Sunday, the legacy is re-established at Mayhem. What a time to be a wrestling fan, don't you think?
