Post by Brooklyn on Jan 29, 2018 4:15:12 GMT
Frank Fredrickson was a piece of work. He was the kind of guy who you preferred to pay you in cash – some people joked that they could always tell who the new talent on the circuit were because they were the only ones paid by check. Oh sure, the first few checks all seemed to go through just fine, but after a while … well, after a while those checks seemed to be bounce more than they cleared.
There’d been more than a few times one of these hot heads brought it to Frank’s attention only for him to turn it back on them. Accusing them of calling him a crook, getting in their face and threatening to blackball them – Frank knew all the right things to say. The fact was, he knew his checks were bad, but on the independent circuit you were only as good as your reputation. Over the years, Frank had been known to force a few guys into another line of work through shady stories and flat out lies.
It really only ever worked on the younger guys, the ones who hadn’t really made a name for themselves yet. If you were unlucky enough to choose one of Frank’s promotions as your jumping off ground … well, you either quickly learned to accept the inevitable or faced his wrath.
Companies knew about Frank; they knew he was shady, but still hired him on as their head booker because like it or not, his methods saved them money.
Money saved on talent could be better spent in other places, or more likely stuffed into the pockets of the ‘fly-by-night’ company leadership.
In the few years that Ashley Mattocks had been wrestling, she’d run across Frank more times than he could count. She’d have probably starved to death if it hadn’t been for some of the more seasoned guys in the locker rooms who’d taken pity on the new guys. Ash could always count on a few bucks being thrown her way after a particularly good match. It wasn’t enough to make a living off of, but it was enough to survive on until she’d made enough of a name to start asking for cash pay.
It’d been almost two years since she’d started making his rounds in the independents after bombing out in the only big company she cared about. Ashley Mattocks was still a nobody, relegated to being the ‘local talent’ or thrown under a mask and forced to wrestle in inane gimmick matches.
She had nearly given up hope and was ready to just pack it all up and head home when she felt someone sit down beside her.
The mask was still in her hands, her delicate fingers tracing the stitching around the eye holes as she looked to her left and saw the weathered face smiling back at her. Carl “Hammerhead” Katz was a true veteran of the business. He’d wrestled back when it was just small territories that crisscrossed the country. He’d retired from the traveling life and settled down, taking the odd match when a promotion came through his neck of the woods.
“Hit the showers, kid – we’re taking you out to dinner tonight”
Ash blinked a few times, “We?” She stammered questioningly.
“Yeah,” Katz smiled, “we.”
Showered and changed, she stood in the middle of the small carport outside with her dufflebag. She’d been looking around for Katz but got a sinking feeling that she’d been had. Her head had sagged down to her chest when the headlights hit him.
“What, thought we skipped out on you?” Katz snickered from the front seat.
He motioned with his head for Ash to hop in the backseat. As she buckled her seatbelt she realized that she was sitting amongst wrestling royalty. Three men who helped pave the way for the industry, only to be forgotten when their ‘look’ no longer fit the new glitz and glamour.
Beside Katz sat William Wright, the man who had been one of the first to actually climb the turnbuckles and jump off. They called him the third Wright Brother, justifiably. Then there was the man sitting to the left of Ashley in the backseat. One of the first black men to be taken seriously, ‘Big’ Ray Carver.
Ash was a little taken aback at being in their presence, and more than a little confused as to why they wanted to take her out to dinner.
Katz had ordered a round of whiskey for the men, and jokingly ordered a large milk for Ashley before he got down to business.
“So we’ve been thinking that its time for you to make a decision, kid” he said, sipping the whiskey.
Ashley’s face must have conveyed her thoughts because Carver laughed and added, “Yeah, either shit or get off the pot” to the enjoyment of the other men at the table.
“You’ve been at this for a few years, right?” Katz asked him. “I’ve seen you pass through town a few times now, and you’ve got some talent.”
The other two nodded in agreement, Wright dipping his finger into his glass and stirring his ice around.
“How the hell you gonna keep wasting good liquor like that?” Ray asks with joking contempt.
The pair grumble insults at each other while Carl just smiled and shook his head.
“Seriously, kid,” he says, leaning away from the bickering pair and towards Ashley, “you’re treading water while holding bricks right now. You’re barely staying afloat and not getting anywhere. You need to decide,” he points towards Ash’s chest, “if this is what you want to do. You’re getting pretty close to that crossroad. You want to quit and settle down, pop out a couple of kids …”
“Or do you want to be a broken down old man like us?” Ray interrupts, smiling and elbowing Ash gently in the ribs.
Carl laughs, but nods his head in agreement. “You know it aint an easy life, kid, but the thing of it is – you don’t have to go and keep just doing what they say. Look,” he states, “when’s the last time you saw ol’ Frank try any of his shenanigans on any of the guys like us?”
It was a fair question, and one that Ashley couldn’t answer.
“Exactly,” Wright exclaimed, “Ray smacked him in the kisser once after he wrote him a bad check –“
“And it’s been nothing but cash city since” Ray finished for him.
“It aint about just standing up to guys like Frank, because there’s a ton of ‘em out there, kid. It’s about standing up for yourself – taking the lead on your career and making a few of the decisions.”
“Starting with your gimmick” Wright chortled.
“Mm … my gimmick?” Ashley stammered back.
“Yeah, kid … you’ve got nothing that sets you apart from all the other dames that bookers see. No offense,” he laughs, “but you girls are a dime-a-dozen.”
“You need to do something – be someone that stands out.” Ray adds.
Ashley sat there, staring down at the table and thinking about who she could be. She knew about gimmicks, but up to that point the only gimmicks he’d had were the masked ones that Frank had forced her to portray.
“Can’t I just be myself?” She asked the collective. “I mean, I’m sure that I can be entertaining.”
With a shake of his head, Ray pats the table and seems to take pity on Ashley. “It aint about entertainment, it’s about being larger than life … that’s what gets you paid. You think any of us would have been able to make a living just being ourselves? You gotta find something about yourself and just blow that up – make it a hundred times more obvious.” He looks at the other two, “Hey, who was that dandy fella that came through a few months ago?” He turns back to Ashley, “You should have seen him, kid. Guy had long blonde hair and pranced around in a feather boa and pink tights. Now, maybe he was really one of the gays,” he says with a shrug, “maybe not; but at the end of the night those fans remembered him, and that’s what you’ve got to do.”
It was true, if Ash was going to be remembered she needed to do something to make herself more memorable. The four of them continued to talk throughout dinner and by the end of the night Ashley was left with a full belly and mind racing with ideas and possibilities. The guys said that the next time he came through town, they hoped to see something different from her. Ashley thanked them, laughed and promised that she was going to do something different …
… she was going to do something to get herself back into that big name company again. The next time they saw her, she’d be in IWF.
The following is a transcript of the live podcast of Brooklyn Madrox as recorded on Saturday, January 27th, 2018
The compound was quiet on this warm, January evening. Various bodies moved about in the mist like spectral entities. Brooklyn sat alone in the kitchen, having just finished clearing up after dinner. Her world is quiet, too quiet. This is the kind of quiet that leads to too much self-reflection. The fact was that she often found herself facing this kind of struggle on evenings like this. Centralia slumbered and she sat up, alone with her mind drifting off to what she might be doing.
Her sister.
The fact that she had a sister still felt new to her, though she’d known for months now – though had’t done anything to follow up on the information.
Somehow, somewhere out there was someone who shared her blood, or at least parts of it. Everything that she’d been through with the Pack, everything that they’d brought to her life meant the world to her. So why then did she still have that nagging feeling like she was missing something? Brooklyn knew that it was silly, that there was really nothing missing in her life …
But unbeknownst her, forces are working to bring the sisters together on a collision course that neither of them could ever have expected.
There’d been more than a few times one of these hot heads brought it to Frank’s attention only for him to turn it back on them. Accusing them of calling him a crook, getting in their face and threatening to blackball them – Frank knew all the right things to say. The fact was, he knew his checks were bad, but on the independent circuit you were only as good as your reputation. Over the years, Frank had been known to force a few guys into another line of work through shady stories and flat out lies.
It really only ever worked on the younger guys, the ones who hadn’t really made a name for themselves yet. If you were unlucky enough to choose one of Frank’s promotions as your jumping off ground … well, you either quickly learned to accept the inevitable or faced his wrath.
Companies knew about Frank; they knew he was shady, but still hired him on as their head booker because like it or not, his methods saved them money.
Money saved on talent could be better spent in other places, or more likely stuffed into the pockets of the ‘fly-by-night’ company leadership.
In the few years that Ashley Mattocks had been wrestling, she’d run across Frank more times than he could count. She’d have probably starved to death if it hadn’t been for some of the more seasoned guys in the locker rooms who’d taken pity on the new guys. Ash could always count on a few bucks being thrown her way after a particularly good match. It wasn’t enough to make a living off of, but it was enough to survive on until she’d made enough of a name to start asking for cash pay.
It’d been almost two years since she’d started making his rounds in the independents after bombing out in the only big company she cared about. Ashley Mattocks was still a nobody, relegated to being the ‘local talent’ or thrown under a mask and forced to wrestle in inane gimmick matches.
She had nearly given up hope and was ready to just pack it all up and head home when she felt someone sit down beside her.
The mask was still in her hands, her delicate fingers tracing the stitching around the eye holes as she looked to her left and saw the weathered face smiling back at her. Carl “Hammerhead” Katz was a true veteran of the business. He’d wrestled back when it was just small territories that crisscrossed the country. He’d retired from the traveling life and settled down, taking the odd match when a promotion came through his neck of the woods.
“Hit the showers, kid – we’re taking you out to dinner tonight”
Ash blinked a few times, “We?” She stammered questioningly.
“Yeah,” Katz smiled, “we.”
Showered and changed, she stood in the middle of the small carport outside with her dufflebag. She’d been looking around for Katz but got a sinking feeling that she’d been had. Her head had sagged down to her chest when the headlights hit him.
“What, thought we skipped out on you?” Katz snickered from the front seat.
He motioned with his head for Ash to hop in the backseat. As she buckled her seatbelt she realized that she was sitting amongst wrestling royalty. Three men who helped pave the way for the industry, only to be forgotten when their ‘look’ no longer fit the new glitz and glamour.
Beside Katz sat William Wright, the man who had been one of the first to actually climb the turnbuckles and jump off. They called him the third Wright Brother, justifiably. Then there was the man sitting to the left of Ashley in the backseat. One of the first black men to be taken seriously, ‘Big’ Ray Carver.
Ash was a little taken aback at being in their presence, and more than a little confused as to why they wanted to take her out to dinner.
Katz had ordered a round of whiskey for the men, and jokingly ordered a large milk for Ashley before he got down to business.
“So we’ve been thinking that its time for you to make a decision, kid” he said, sipping the whiskey.
Ashley’s face must have conveyed her thoughts because Carver laughed and added, “Yeah, either shit or get off the pot” to the enjoyment of the other men at the table.
“You’ve been at this for a few years, right?” Katz asked him. “I’ve seen you pass through town a few times now, and you’ve got some talent.”
The other two nodded in agreement, Wright dipping his finger into his glass and stirring his ice around.
“How the hell you gonna keep wasting good liquor like that?” Ray asks with joking contempt.
The pair grumble insults at each other while Carl just smiled and shook his head.
“Seriously, kid,” he says, leaning away from the bickering pair and towards Ashley, “you’re treading water while holding bricks right now. You’re barely staying afloat and not getting anywhere. You need to decide,” he points towards Ash’s chest, “if this is what you want to do. You’re getting pretty close to that crossroad. You want to quit and settle down, pop out a couple of kids …”
“Or do you want to be a broken down old man like us?” Ray interrupts, smiling and elbowing Ash gently in the ribs.
Carl laughs, but nods his head in agreement. “You know it aint an easy life, kid, but the thing of it is – you don’t have to go and keep just doing what they say. Look,” he states, “when’s the last time you saw ol’ Frank try any of his shenanigans on any of the guys like us?”
It was a fair question, and one that Ashley couldn’t answer.
“Exactly,” Wright exclaimed, “Ray smacked him in the kisser once after he wrote him a bad check –“
“And it’s been nothing but cash city since” Ray finished for him.
“It aint about just standing up to guys like Frank, because there’s a ton of ‘em out there, kid. It’s about standing up for yourself – taking the lead on your career and making a few of the decisions.”
“Starting with your gimmick” Wright chortled.
“Mm … my gimmick?” Ashley stammered back.
“Yeah, kid … you’ve got nothing that sets you apart from all the other dames that bookers see. No offense,” he laughs, “but you girls are a dime-a-dozen.”
“You need to do something – be someone that stands out.” Ray adds.
Ashley sat there, staring down at the table and thinking about who she could be. She knew about gimmicks, but up to that point the only gimmicks he’d had were the masked ones that Frank had forced her to portray.
“Can’t I just be myself?” She asked the collective. “I mean, I’m sure that I can be entertaining.”
With a shake of his head, Ray pats the table and seems to take pity on Ashley. “It aint about entertainment, it’s about being larger than life … that’s what gets you paid. You think any of us would have been able to make a living just being ourselves? You gotta find something about yourself and just blow that up – make it a hundred times more obvious.” He looks at the other two, “Hey, who was that dandy fella that came through a few months ago?” He turns back to Ashley, “You should have seen him, kid. Guy had long blonde hair and pranced around in a feather boa and pink tights. Now, maybe he was really one of the gays,” he says with a shrug, “maybe not; but at the end of the night those fans remembered him, and that’s what you’ve got to do.”
It was true, if Ash was going to be remembered she needed to do something to make herself more memorable. The four of them continued to talk throughout dinner and by the end of the night Ashley was left with a full belly and mind racing with ideas and possibilities. The guys said that the next time he came through town, they hoped to see something different from her. Ashley thanked them, laughed and promised that she was going to do something different …
… she was going to do something to get herself back into that big name company again. The next time they saw her, she’d be in IWF.
____________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________
Diamond Championship
Shea O’Hara vs. Brooklyn Madrox
____________________________________________________________
The following is a transcript of the live podcast of Brooklyn Madrox as recorded on Saturday, January 27th, 2018
“I came, I saw, I conquered. Even though I grew up in Vegas, I’ve never been a ‘numbers’ girl. If you were to tell me the odds that I’d be the one walking out of that battle royal last month at Diamonds Are Forever, I’d have laughed. No, not because the odds were ridiculously not in my favor; which from what I hear they were. Nah, I’d have laughed because it didn’t matter what the numbers said, didn’t matter what the dirt sheets said, it didn’t matter what the talking heads in the back said … I was going to walk out of that match with my arm raised.
And I Did. Just. That.
S’funny, though, how things really played out exactly how I said they would isn’t it? Wasn’t I the one saying that this whole thing was going to come down to me and she-Thor? It didn’t matter how many women they threw into that match, and trust me it looked like they were cleaning out the bottom of the barrel with some of them, Astrid and I would be the final two.
But there could be only one.
And now Astrid sits poised to compete for the Shieldmaiden title against Ms. Rayne and I stand at the ready to do the next thing that everyone says is impossible. Take down Shea O’Hara and win the Diamonds championship.
It has been an interesting year for me in IWF; in fact I’m coming up on the anniversary of when I first joined the company. Who would have thought that in twelve short months, I would have gone from being bounced out of the Diamond in the Rough tournament in the first round, to vying for the title to end all titles? It’s crazy to look back on the ride that I’ve had here, the family that has taken me in, and all the little people along the way who continue to think they know what’s good for me.
Legit, it’s like time and time again I hear the same tired argument made for why I should leave the Pack. It isn’t just Shea, though I’ll get to that later, but it’s legit everyone I ever talk to. All I ever hear is how I have so much potential, I could be so great, why am I handcuffing myself? They’re like an anchor dragging me down; and my personal favorite, ‘why can’t you be more like Shea?’
Yes, Brooklyn … why can’t you be more like our beloved Shea O’Hara?
I honestly never thought I would see the day when the sun rose and set on Ms. Shea’s face, but apparently it’s here. I mean, I get that Shea is kinda the poster child for the IWF women’s division right now – but who the hell do these people think they are? Why don’t they every tell Sara and Paige to try being more like Shea? How about Fiona? Couldn’t McFly learn a lot from Shea? Wouldn’t she learn a thing or two from her?
I am sick and tired of being looked at like some kind of poor-man’s version of Shea. Like, I’m what she’d have become if she’d taken a left turn instead of a right during her career. How exactly do you think that kind of shit is supposed to make a girl feel? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the comparisons are there between us but don’t kid yourselves for a second if you think that I’m just a knock off. I’ve sat here week after week listening to every Tom, Dick and Harry give their expert armchair booking as to why it should be Astrid vying for the title; if not her then Rayne; if not Rayne, then Sara, or Maxine, or even Fiona. But not me, because to the rest of the company, to the rest of the world, I’m just the brainwashed no-name just serving as a meat shield for Rowan.
And you know what? I wish that last part was true. I wish that I could have been there, Shea, and done something to stop you from tearing apart Rowan’s soul. Would I have made a difference? I don’t know, but I sure as hell know that you and I have a score to settle because of it. You made a hell of a bad decision that night, a decision that you’ve already tried to fix – but the scar is still there. You tried to break apart the matriarch of my family, Shea; you tried to take from me one of the only people to show me love in too long. Did you think that the rest of us would sit idly by and just … let that happen?
Delusional.
The fact is that while you and everyone else were so focused on trying to stop Rowan, on trying to destroy the Pack, we were just getting stronger. Your actions only incited more blood lust and rage from within the Thrall. You have, truly, called down the storm, Shea – and I aim to bring the thunder. ‘Cause no matter which way you look at things … this match isn’t going to be easy. No, maybe that’s why you took it upon yourself to invite Fifi into the mix? You hoping that she sticks her self-righteous nose where it doesn’t belong and get me disqualified? Or maybe that she’ll even the odds against, who? The rest of the Pack? Shea, until you offered up your corner to the Widow Gaither, I had no intention of asking anyone to stand in mine. In fact, I still have half a mind to tell Maxine to stay in the back; though you and I both know what Max would do if Fiona even looked at me funny.
Metamorphosis is supposed to be the grand event, our match one of the cornerstones; but here you sit casting the same doubts, the same judgements, and peddling the same self-help bullshit I hear from everyone else. You’ve been a fighting champion, Shea, that much is true. In fact, you’ve pretty much had to fight your entire career just to get to this position haven’t you? Well, look at me – I was untrained, untested, invisible until joining the Pack. Now? Now I’m untethered, untamed, and the woman that you can’t help but notice. Face it, sister, I am everything that you hate about the Pack. I am a success story wrapped up in what you see as a horror movie. We have only ever been a threat to those who threaten us. YOU took it upon yourself to do just that, and now you wonder why the wolves are at your door.
We are not bully’s looking for a fight.
We are not bogeymen hiding in your closet.
We are men and women who have grown tired of your labels, tired of your calls for conformity. We don’t ‘fit in’, and therefore, have created our own home. You threatened that home, and you will now deal with those consequences.
You will soon see once and for all, Shea … there’s no strings on me!”
And I Did. Just. That.
S’funny, though, how things really played out exactly how I said they would isn’t it? Wasn’t I the one saying that this whole thing was going to come down to me and she-Thor? It didn’t matter how many women they threw into that match, and trust me it looked like they were cleaning out the bottom of the barrel with some of them, Astrid and I would be the final two.
But there could be only one.
And now Astrid sits poised to compete for the Shieldmaiden title against Ms. Rayne and I stand at the ready to do the next thing that everyone says is impossible. Take down Shea O’Hara and win the Diamonds championship.
It has been an interesting year for me in IWF; in fact I’m coming up on the anniversary of when I first joined the company. Who would have thought that in twelve short months, I would have gone from being bounced out of the Diamond in the Rough tournament in the first round, to vying for the title to end all titles? It’s crazy to look back on the ride that I’ve had here, the family that has taken me in, and all the little people along the way who continue to think they know what’s good for me.
Legit, it’s like time and time again I hear the same tired argument made for why I should leave the Pack. It isn’t just Shea, though I’ll get to that later, but it’s legit everyone I ever talk to. All I ever hear is how I have so much potential, I could be so great, why am I handcuffing myself? They’re like an anchor dragging me down; and my personal favorite, ‘why can’t you be more like Shea?’
Yes, Brooklyn … why can’t you be more like our beloved Shea O’Hara?
I honestly never thought I would see the day when the sun rose and set on Ms. Shea’s face, but apparently it’s here. I mean, I get that Shea is kinda the poster child for the IWF women’s division right now – but who the hell do these people think they are? Why don’t they every tell Sara and Paige to try being more like Shea? How about Fiona? Couldn’t McFly learn a lot from Shea? Wouldn’t she learn a thing or two from her?
I am sick and tired of being looked at like some kind of poor-man’s version of Shea. Like, I’m what she’d have become if she’d taken a left turn instead of a right during her career. How exactly do you think that kind of shit is supposed to make a girl feel? I mean, don’t get me wrong, the comparisons are there between us but don’t kid yourselves for a second if you think that I’m just a knock off. I’ve sat here week after week listening to every Tom, Dick and Harry give their expert armchair booking as to why it should be Astrid vying for the title; if not her then Rayne; if not Rayne, then Sara, or Maxine, or even Fiona. But not me, because to the rest of the company, to the rest of the world, I’m just the brainwashed no-name just serving as a meat shield for Rowan.
And you know what? I wish that last part was true. I wish that I could have been there, Shea, and done something to stop you from tearing apart Rowan’s soul. Would I have made a difference? I don’t know, but I sure as hell know that you and I have a score to settle because of it. You made a hell of a bad decision that night, a decision that you’ve already tried to fix – but the scar is still there. You tried to break apart the matriarch of my family, Shea; you tried to take from me one of the only people to show me love in too long. Did you think that the rest of us would sit idly by and just … let that happen?
Delusional.
The fact is that while you and everyone else were so focused on trying to stop Rowan, on trying to destroy the Pack, we were just getting stronger. Your actions only incited more blood lust and rage from within the Thrall. You have, truly, called down the storm, Shea – and I aim to bring the thunder. ‘Cause no matter which way you look at things … this match isn’t going to be easy. No, maybe that’s why you took it upon yourself to invite Fifi into the mix? You hoping that she sticks her self-righteous nose where it doesn’t belong and get me disqualified? Or maybe that she’ll even the odds against, who? The rest of the Pack? Shea, until you offered up your corner to the Widow Gaither, I had no intention of asking anyone to stand in mine. In fact, I still have half a mind to tell Maxine to stay in the back; though you and I both know what Max would do if Fiona even looked at me funny.
Metamorphosis is supposed to be the grand event, our match one of the cornerstones; but here you sit casting the same doubts, the same judgements, and peddling the same self-help bullshit I hear from everyone else. You’ve been a fighting champion, Shea, that much is true. In fact, you’ve pretty much had to fight your entire career just to get to this position haven’t you? Well, look at me – I was untrained, untested, invisible until joining the Pack. Now? Now I’m untethered, untamed, and the woman that you can’t help but notice. Face it, sister, I am everything that you hate about the Pack. I am a success story wrapped up in what you see as a horror movie. We have only ever been a threat to those who threaten us. YOU took it upon yourself to do just that, and now you wonder why the wolves are at your door.
We are not bully’s looking for a fight.
We are not bogeymen hiding in your closet.
We are men and women who have grown tired of your labels, tired of your calls for conformity. We don’t ‘fit in’, and therefore, have created our own home. You threatened that home, and you will now deal with those consequences.
You will soon see once and for all, Shea … there’s no strings on me!”
____________________________________________________________
The compound was quiet on this warm, January evening. Various bodies moved about in the mist like spectral entities. Brooklyn sat alone in the kitchen, having just finished clearing up after dinner. Her world is quiet, too quiet. This is the kind of quiet that leads to too much self-reflection. The fact was that she often found herself facing this kind of struggle on evenings like this. Centralia slumbered and she sat up, alone with her mind drifting off to what she might be doing.
Her sister.
The fact that she had a sister still felt new to her, though she’d known for months now – though had’t done anything to follow up on the information.
Somehow, somewhere out there was someone who shared her blood, or at least parts of it. Everything that she’d been through with the Pack, everything that they’d brought to her life meant the world to her. So why then did she still have that nagging feeling like she was missing something? Brooklyn knew that it was silly, that there was really nothing missing in her life …
But unbeknownst her, forces are working to bring the sisters together on a collision course that neither of them could ever have expected.
Well howdy there pardner.