Post by biggs on Oct 27, 2013 10:57:07 GMT -4
I let my team down. That’s all I’ve been able to think about since Michael Jennings pinned me on Asylum almost two weeks ago. Sure, he cheated, and used a pair of brass knuckles to knock me out, but I should be smarter than that. I knew going in that Jennings would try and pull something. Heck, just even last year, I would have done the same thing myself. I should have seen it coming, and I should have been able to do something about it. C.J., Kash, and Reaver have all assured me that they’re not upset with me at all, that they’re just upset with the situation, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. The Black Hand has the advantage heading into War Games, and it’s my fault…
Sunday, October 20th
Miami, Florida
”It has been horrible, mi amigo! No sexy ladies want to dance with Sr. Guapo when Sr. Guapo is damaged goods!”
My good friend, “Sr. Guapo” Armando Asante is complaining, his arm still in a sling, and very visible stitches lining his forehead. He and “Stunning” Stan Everdeen have been staying together at Armando’s Miami penthouse. I’m always astounded by how clean Armando’s penthouse is, especially because everything in it is white. White carpets, white tile flooring, white furniture and coffee tables. Heck, he even got a custom made 80-inch white HD TV. He definitely has a maid.
Stan sits on the pure white couch, his foot propped up on a stool, still wrapped in a cast. It’s been over a month since they were attacked by The Black Hand at that club in Europe, and their recovery has been slow at best.
”I can tell that you’re irritated, Armando, as you referred to yourself in the third person not once, but twice.”
”Darn right Sr. Guapo is irritated! Those Black Hand perros cost Sr. Guapo mucho chicas! Es muy malo!”
”Seriously man, you don’t understand how frustrating it is to just have to sit around, and heal up from a heinous attack, without have the opportunity to get back at the buttheads who did it yourself!”
”Actually, I know exactly how you guys feel. I lost seven months of my career thanks to a concussion I suffered in that Iron Man Match I had with C.J. back at Christmas Chaos 2011. Not being able to wrestle, being stuck watching, waiting for the moment that the doctors finally clear you to get back into that ring. It’s more addictive than any drug, being in that ring. And I know that you guys haven’t done much more than work the house show circuit and supplement it with indy work here and there, but I’ll tell you what, that APW locker room just hasn’t been the same without you guys.”
”C’mon man, now you’re just rubbing it in…”
”That’s not my intent, Stan, and you know it. I’m just letting you know that I understand exactly where you guys are coming from, and that I fully intend on paying the Black Hand back tenfold on your behalves inside War Games. You have my word…”
Sr. Guapo looks me directly in the eyes, and nods.
”We know. Give them heck.”
”Just do us one favor, Biggs. Let those no-good jerks know that once we’re well, The Black Hand better get some oven mitts, because they’ll find out first hand that The Stud Muffins are just too hot to handle!”
Outside the context of a wrestling ring, I cannot help but laugh at the ridiculousness of Stan using their catchphrase. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the Stud Muffins laugh as well.
”You got it, dude!”
This match with the Black Hand is more than a grudge match. It has been since even before their attack on the Stud Muffins. The Black Hand thought that they’d be getting an advantage by taking my friends out, but they didn’t count on the fact that these guys are like brothers to me. They didn’t count on the fact that when somebody makes things personal with me, it rarely turns out good for them. The Black Hand is going to pay.
Saturday, October 26th
Tokyo, Japan
Even though I’ve been to Tokyo more than ten times, it’s always overwhelming the first day or two. All the lights, all the sounds, the fact that there are more folks around than you can shake a stick at, it never gets old. However, I know that whatever sense of awe I’m feeling right now, Alice is feeling it tenfold. I know that she’s more of an Anglophile, that she’s not as big on the videogames and Godzilla movies as I am, but still, you can’t go to Tokyo and not be impressed. We’re eating at an authentic Teriyaki joint, as I’m a very picky eater, and not adventurous enough to try anything else. I’m telling Alice about a team building exercise that Kash had suggested.
”So you’re telling me that Jason Kash scheduled for the four of you guys to all get massages before your big match tomorrow night, and you agreed to it!? You had to know that he’d pick the sleeziest, raunchiest, least reputable place he could find!”
”Well there was nothing wrong with it at first. They let me keep my underpants on, and gave me a male massuse. The problems came when he asked me if I wanted the namesake of Sally Talfourd’s finisher!”
Alice bursts out laughing.
”I don’t know what’s funnier, the fact that that happened to you, or that you reffered to what was offered to you in wrestling terms!”
”I’m just not comfortable saying the term out loud in it’s actual context…”
”How about the other guys. Did it help build team unity?”
”Not really. I mean we all got individual rooms anyways, and Reaver freaked out the poor gal assigned to him with his whole split personality thing. Apparently he likes different things as Knuckles and Reaver.”
”Only in professional wrestling…”
“Only in professional wrestling” is a phrase Alice recently started using whenever something happens that she either doesn’t understand or more often, doesn’t want to understand about this great, weird and wacky business of which I’m a part of.
”In any event, Ceej, Kash, Reaver and I have been working out together all week, and we’re planning on having breakfast together tomorrow morning. Kash has been hankering for an authentic Waffle House, and I think C.J. might have been able to find one.”
I chuckle a bit, before shoveling some rice into my mouth. From out of the blue, Alice gets dead serious.
”Are you worried about tomorrow night?”
Her question takes me aback, if only because of the sudden switch in tone of our dinner conversation.
”Not at all. I know that C.J. and I haven’t ever teamed with Jason and Reaver before, but I have no worries about how we’re going to be able to function as a unit, I have no doubt in my mind that I can trust those two knuckleheads.”
”I’m not talking about Foul Play. For all their crassness, there’s an underlying sweetness to those two guys. For what it’s worth, I like them. No, what I’m asking about is The Black Hand inside the War Games structure.”
”Maybe a little. I mean, I’ve never fought in a War Games match before. Heck, I’ve never fought in a match where there’s been more than one ring. It’s going to be interesting to see how C.J. and I can utilize it, considering the ceiling is so low on the Double Cell. But in terms of facing The Black Hand themselves, not at all. I know exactly what to expect from those bums.”
”But what about the fact that they have the advantage, that every two minutes, they’ll have an advantage over you guys…”
”Well, technically, it’ll be every four minutes, because a new guy enters every two minutes, and we’ll alternate teams, but I’ve been in plenty of handicap matches before. So have Ceej, Kash, and Reaver. And the fact is, they’ll only have the numbers advantage for a grand total of six minutes. Unless they throw us a curveball and switch the time on us. And while I’d rather not be in the position we’re in, it’s certainly not insurmountable.”
”Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you stay as safe as you can in there.”
”I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”
I flash her my trademark smirk. I know that I’m not convincing her. I know that she knows that I’m not going to leave War Games the same as I entered. For a man who has suffered as many concussions as I have over the course of my career, I know that stepping inside the Double Cell isn’t one of my brightest decisions. But it’s something that I must do. I owe it to the Stud Muffins, for what The Black Hand did to them. I owe it to C.J. Gates, Jason Kash, and Reaver, for how they’ve stepped up to help me in my war against the Black Hand. And most of all, I owe it to The Black Hand, to show them that they are not nearly as big a deal as they think they are. I owe them hell…
War Games.
Those two words just don’t seem like they should go together. After all, war is violent and ugly. It causes death and destruction. Nobody in their right mind would actively want to go to war.
Games, on the other hand, are meant to be fun, an enjoyable way to pass the time.
When I think about the War Games Match I find myself to be a part of at One Night in Hell, I know that it’s not going to a be a fun and enjoyable way to pass the time. I know that when I step inside that steel structure surrounding the double-ring setup, I’m not in for a light hearted romp. I know that I’m not going to get to Pass Go, I won’t get to collect two-hundred dollars. Considering that my opponents are the Black Hand, I know full and well that I am in for a war.
Looking back, it’s not a surprise that things spiraled out of control as much as they have these past few months. What started out as conflict between Michael Jennings and myself has escalated to include six other men and women. There are two sides between which there cannot be peace. And after One Night in Hell, there will be a side that wins, and a side that looses.
Black Hand, you all probably feel like you have this match in the bag. I mean, you’re an established unit, who has been working in unison a lot longer than C.J. and I have been working with Foul Play. You all have been united for months with a common cause, while Foul Play and The Space Cowboys have only just become allies of necessity in recent weeks. Not to mention the fact that y’all won the right to have the numbers advantage during the match itself, and it would be understandable for the lot of you to be confident going into War Games.
Where your problem lies is that you’re just not confident, you’re over-confident.
I’ve seen it in each and every one of your eyes when you’ve isolated C.J. and myself, beat us down, destroyed our clothes. You jerks think that APW is your personal playground, that you can say and do whatever you want, and that if somebody doesn’t like it, well, by golly, you’ll force them to like it! But that’s not the case at all. When I think of The Black Hand, I think of a bunch of bullies.
Only bullies would attack The Stud Muffins from behind in a crowded night club. Only bullies would manhandle Cindy Shannon and force her to watch you sick freaks beat me down. Only bullies would steal mine and C.J. Gates’ personal belongings and set them on fire, attacking us from behind and leaving us to suffocate in a smoke filled room. I still have a nasty cough from that incident, and I’m just going to be honest, if I do happen to cough up a lung cookie during our match, I’ll make sure to rub somebody’s face in it! I know that sounds like an incredibly Jason Kash-like thing to say, but considering the depths you lot have sunk to, maybe I should resort to some literal dirty fighting. I mean it’s not like it’s not legal inside the confines of War Games!
And how appropriate is it that our conflict will be settled in this kind of a match? War Games will start with two people inside the structure, just like this conflict started because of an issue between two men, Michael Jennings and myself. Every two minutes, another combatant will enter the ring, just like this feud escalated to include more and more people, drawing in C.J. Gates, Jason Kash, and Reaver. Both sides will accrue heavy losses in this match, much like The Black Hand has lost Tommy Knox en route to One Night in Hell. And in the end, there will only be one team who stands tall.
Now I’m going to take a moment to address each member of the Black Hand individually. I’m going to start with the member I know the least about, and as such, care the least about. Niobe Martin, I’ve got to be honest, you’ve done little differentiate yourself and make yourself stand out from your friends other than lacking a Y-chromosome. Sure, you’ve slapped me and kicked me a couple of times, but I really haven’t heard much from you in terms of what your motivation is behind joining The Black Hand. You seem to be content with following the crowd, getting your licks in on your opponents, and calling it a day. While you may have talent, while you may have skill, you’re lacking any real reason for fans to recognize you, other than the fact that some of them might find you “hot.” I know the point of The Black Hand forming was to collectively raise the stock of all of you, to increase your recognition and fame within APW, but I would venture to say that of the members of the Black Hand, you’re the one who has benefited the least. I know better than to overlook you, though, despite the fact that you’ve pretty much overlooked yourself.
Chris Madison, I’ll give you this much, you’ve certainly been the workhorse of The Black Hand this past month. Winning the Overdrive title, destroying mine and C.J.’s personal property, you’ve just been on an absolute tear. Well it ends this Sunday, Madison, because as the most vocal and active member of the Black Hand, you’ve made yourself the biggest target for everyone else on my team.
As for that honor, Michael Jennings, you’re the one I’m focused on. This whole thing started because you were a big butthead towards me, and things spiraled out of complete control. Once we’re both in that Double Cell, I can guarantee that I’m coming for you. You probably feel the same way as well. You’re going down like Charlie Brown.
And Raab, you mad German, well, I’m going to give you even more to be mad about.
You all may be the established team, but you’re facing two former Undisputed Champions, one former World Heavyweight Champion, and the current Suicidal Champion. Our resumes speak for themselves, as does our shared hatred for the Black Hand. Come One Night in Hell, you will find out first hand why the team of The Space Cowboys and Foul Play is quite simply OUT OF THIS WORLD!
***
[/div]Sunday, October 20th
Miami, Florida
”It has been horrible, mi amigo! No sexy ladies want to dance with Sr. Guapo when Sr. Guapo is damaged goods!”
My good friend, “Sr. Guapo” Armando Asante is complaining, his arm still in a sling, and very visible stitches lining his forehead. He and “Stunning” Stan Everdeen have been staying together at Armando’s Miami penthouse. I’m always astounded by how clean Armando’s penthouse is, especially because everything in it is white. White carpets, white tile flooring, white furniture and coffee tables. Heck, he even got a custom made 80-inch white HD TV. He definitely has a maid.
Stan sits on the pure white couch, his foot propped up on a stool, still wrapped in a cast. It’s been over a month since they were attacked by The Black Hand at that club in Europe, and their recovery has been slow at best.
”I can tell that you’re irritated, Armando, as you referred to yourself in the third person not once, but twice.”
”Darn right Sr. Guapo is irritated! Those Black Hand perros cost Sr. Guapo mucho chicas! Es muy malo!”
”Seriously man, you don’t understand how frustrating it is to just have to sit around, and heal up from a heinous attack, without have the opportunity to get back at the buttheads who did it yourself!”
”Actually, I know exactly how you guys feel. I lost seven months of my career thanks to a concussion I suffered in that Iron Man Match I had with C.J. back at Christmas Chaos 2011. Not being able to wrestle, being stuck watching, waiting for the moment that the doctors finally clear you to get back into that ring. It’s more addictive than any drug, being in that ring. And I know that you guys haven’t done much more than work the house show circuit and supplement it with indy work here and there, but I’ll tell you what, that APW locker room just hasn’t been the same without you guys.”
”C’mon man, now you’re just rubbing it in…”
”That’s not my intent, Stan, and you know it. I’m just letting you know that I understand exactly where you guys are coming from, and that I fully intend on paying the Black Hand back tenfold on your behalves inside War Games. You have my word…”
Sr. Guapo looks me directly in the eyes, and nods.
”We know. Give them heck.”
”Just do us one favor, Biggs. Let those no-good jerks know that once we’re well, The Black Hand better get some oven mitts, because they’ll find out first hand that The Stud Muffins are just too hot to handle!”
Outside the context of a wrestling ring, I cannot help but laugh at the ridiculousness of Stan using their catchphrase. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the Stud Muffins laugh as well.
”You got it, dude!”
This match with the Black Hand is more than a grudge match. It has been since even before their attack on the Stud Muffins. The Black Hand thought that they’d be getting an advantage by taking my friends out, but they didn’t count on the fact that these guys are like brothers to me. They didn’t count on the fact that when somebody makes things personal with me, it rarely turns out good for them. The Black Hand is going to pay.
*~*~*
[/div]Saturday, October 26th
Tokyo, Japan
Even though I’ve been to Tokyo more than ten times, it’s always overwhelming the first day or two. All the lights, all the sounds, the fact that there are more folks around than you can shake a stick at, it never gets old. However, I know that whatever sense of awe I’m feeling right now, Alice is feeling it tenfold. I know that she’s more of an Anglophile, that she’s not as big on the videogames and Godzilla movies as I am, but still, you can’t go to Tokyo and not be impressed. We’re eating at an authentic Teriyaki joint, as I’m a very picky eater, and not adventurous enough to try anything else. I’m telling Alice about a team building exercise that Kash had suggested.
”So you’re telling me that Jason Kash scheduled for the four of you guys to all get massages before your big match tomorrow night, and you agreed to it!? You had to know that he’d pick the sleeziest, raunchiest, least reputable place he could find!”
”Well there was nothing wrong with it at first. They let me keep my underpants on, and gave me a male massuse. The problems came when he asked me if I wanted the namesake of Sally Talfourd’s finisher!”
Alice bursts out laughing.
”I don’t know what’s funnier, the fact that that happened to you, or that you reffered to what was offered to you in wrestling terms!”
”I’m just not comfortable saying the term out loud in it’s actual context…”
”How about the other guys. Did it help build team unity?”
”Not really. I mean we all got individual rooms anyways, and Reaver freaked out the poor gal assigned to him with his whole split personality thing. Apparently he likes different things as Knuckles and Reaver.”
”Only in professional wrestling…”
“Only in professional wrestling” is a phrase Alice recently started using whenever something happens that she either doesn’t understand or more often, doesn’t want to understand about this great, weird and wacky business of which I’m a part of.
”In any event, Ceej, Kash, Reaver and I have been working out together all week, and we’re planning on having breakfast together tomorrow morning. Kash has been hankering for an authentic Waffle House, and I think C.J. might have been able to find one.”
I chuckle a bit, before shoveling some rice into my mouth. From out of the blue, Alice gets dead serious.
”Are you worried about tomorrow night?”
Her question takes me aback, if only because of the sudden switch in tone of our dinner conversation.
”Not at all. I know that C.J. and I haven’t ever teamed with Jason and Reaver before, but I have no worries about how we’re going to be able to function as a unit, I have no doubt in my mind that I can trust those two knuckleheads.”
”I’m not talking about Foul Play. For all their crassness, there’s an underlying sweetness to those two guys. For what it’s worth, I like them. No, what I’m asking about is The Black Hand inside the War Games structure.”
”Maybe a little. I mean, I’ve never fought in a War Games match before. Heck, I’ve never fought in a match where there’s been more than one ring. It’s going to be interesting to see how C.J. and I can utilize it, considering the ceiling is so low on the Double Cell. But in terms of facing The Black Hand themselves, not at all. I know exactly what to expect from those bums.”
”But what about the fact that they have the advantage, that every two minutes, they’ll have an advantage over you guys…”
”Well, technically, it’ll be every four minutes, because a new guy enters every two minutes, and we’ll alternate teams, but I’ve been in plenty of handicap matches before. So have Ceej, Kash, and Reaver. And the fact is, they’ll only have the numbers advantage for a grand total of six minutes. Unless they throw us a curveball and switch the time on us. And while I’d rather not be in the position we’re in, it’s certainly not insurmountable.”
”Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you stay as safe as you can in there.”
”I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”
I flash her my trademark smirk. I know that I’m not convincing her. I know that she knows that I’m not going to leave War Games the same as I entered. For a man who has suffered as many concussions as I have over the course of my career, I know that stepping inside the Double Cell isn’t one of my brightest decisions. But it’s something that I must do. I owe it to the Stud Muffins, for what The Black Hand did to them. I owe it to C.J. Gates, Jason Kash, and Reaver, for how they’ve stepped up to help me in my war against the Black Hand. And most of all, I owe it to The Black Hand, to show them that they are not nearly as big a deal as they think they are. I owe them hell…
***
[/div]War Games.
Those two words just don’t seem like they should go together. After all, war is violent and ugly. It causes death and destruction. Nobody in their right mind would actively want to go to war.
Games, on the other hand, are meant to be fun, an enjoyable way to pass the time.
When I think about the War Games Match I find myself to be a part of at One Night in Hell, I know that it’s not going to a be a fun and enjoyable way to pass the time. I know that when I step inside that steel structure surrounding the double-ring setup, I’m not in for a light hearted romp. I know that I’m not going to get to Pass Go, I won’t get to collect two-hundred dollars. Considering that my opponents are the Black Hand, I know full and well that I am in for a war.
Looking back, it’s not a surprise that things spiraled out of control as much as they have these past few months. What started out as conflict between Michael Jennings and myself has escalated to include six other men and women. There are two sides between which there cannot be peace. And after One Night in Hell, there will be a side that wins, and a side that looses.
Black Hand, you all probably feel like you have this match in the bag. I mean, you’re an established unit, who has been working in unison a lot longer than C.J. and I have been working with Foul Play. You all have been united for months with a common cause, while Foul Play and The Space Cowboys have only just become allies of necessity in recent weeks. Not to mention the fact that y’all won the right to have the numbers advantage during the match itself, and it would be understandable for the lot of you to be confident going into War Games.
Where your problem lies is that you’re just not confident, you’re over-confident.
I’ve seen it in each and every one of your eyes when you’ve isolated C.J. and myself, beat us down, destroyed our clothes. You jerks think that APW is your personal playground, that you can say and do whatever you want, and that if somebody doesn’t like it, well, by golly, you’ll force them to like it! But that’s not the case at all. When I think of The Black Hand, I think of a bunch of bullies.
Only bullies would attack The Stud Muffins from behind in a crowded night club. Only bullies would manhandle Cindy Shannon and force her to watch you sick freaks beat me down. Only bullies would steal mine and C.J. Gates’ personal belongings and set them on fire, attacking us from behind and leaving us to suffocate in a smoke filled room. I still have a nasty cough from that incident, and I’m just going to be honest, if I do happen to cough up a lung cookie during our match, I’ll make sure to rub somebody’s face in it! I know that sounds like an incredibly Jason Kash-like thing to say, but considering the depths you lot have sunk to, maybe I should resort to some literal dirty fighting. I mean it’s not like it’s not legal inside the confines of War Games!
And how appropriate is it that our conflict will be settled in this kind of a match? War Games will start with two people inside the structure, just like this conflict started because of an issue between two men, Michael Jennings and myself. Every two minutes, another combatant will enter the ring, just like this feud escalated to include more and more people, drawing in C.J. Gates, Jason Kash, and Reaver. Both sides will accrue heavy losses in this match, much like The Black Hand has lost Tommy Knox en route to One Night in Hell. And in the end, there will only be one team who stands tall.
Now I’m going to take a moment to address each member of the Black Hand individually. I’m going to start with the member I know the least about, and as such, care the least about. Niobe Martin, I’ve got to be honest, you’ve done little differentiate yourself and make yourself stand out from your friends other than lacking a Y-chromosome. Sure, you’ve slapped me and kicked me a couple of times, but I really haven’t heard much from you in terms of what your motivation is behind joining The Black Hand. You seem to be content with following the crowd, getting your licks in on your opponents, and calling it a day. While you may have talent, while you may have skill, you’re lacking any real reason for fans to recognize you, other than the fact that some of them might find you “hot.” I know the point of The Black Hand forming was to collectively raise the stock of all of you, to increase your recognition and fame within APW, but I would venture to say that of the members of the Black Hand, you’re the one who has benefited the least. I know better than to overlook you, though, despite the fact that you’ve pretty much overlooked yourself.
Chris Madison, I’ll give you this much, you’ve certainly been the workhorse of The Black Hand this past month. Winning the Overdrive title, destroying mine and C.J.’s personal property, you’ve just been on an absolute tear. Well it ends this Sunday, Madison, because as the most vocal and active member of the Black Hand, you’ve made yourself the biggest target for everyone else on my team.
As for that honor, Michael Jennings, you’re the one I’m focused on. This whole thing started because you were a big butthead towards me, and things spiraled out of complete control. Once we’re both in that Double Cell, I can guarantee that I’m coming for you. You probably feel the same way as well. You’re going down like Charlie Brown.
And Raab, you mad German, well, I’m going to give you even more to be mad about.
You all may be the established team, but you’re facing two former Undisputed Champions, one former World Heavyweight Champion, and the current Suicidal Champion. Our resumes speak for themselves, as does our shared hatred for the Black Hand. Come One Night in Hell, you will find out first hand why the team of The Space Cowboys and Foul Play is quite simply OUT OF THIS WORLD!
