Post by Nick Knight on Jul 10, 2023 3:07:10 GMT
Nick Knight sits at the desk in his home office surrounded by memorabilia from his decades in the wrestling business. There are posters from the big shows that he has worked through the years, magazine covers that he has been on, and the showpiece in the middle of it all the only IWF Decimus Championship to have ever been made.
There is a beep from Knight’s computer and he leans over and clicks his mouse and the image of Dr. Phil Goode pops up on the screen. “Do you have some time to talk, Nicky?”
“Sure, what can I do for you, doc.”
“I just got the results of your brain scan and MRI and wanted to go over them with you.”
“Alright, but let me take you into the other room so Penny and Cin can hear what you have to say.” Nick picks up the laptop and carries out onto the patio overlooking their private beach where JC is out playing with the latest member of the Knight clan a three month old English Mastiff pup named Rocco. He takes a seat at the table between the loves of his life and sets down the computer. “Go ahead, doc.”
“Like I said I’ve got the results of your brain scan and MRI there’s good news and bad news.”
“What’s the bad news Dr. Goode,” Penny asks.
“Let me start with the good news, if you don’t mind. The good news is that there aren’t any brain abnormalities of note, and according to my friend at UCLA there is only slight signs of the possibility of CTE formation.”
“That’s really good news. So what’s the bad news,” Cin asks.
“The bad news is that I am still quite concerned about your behavior Nicky, which is why I had them do all of the blood work while you were at the hospital. Your medication levels are all over the place, which could be causing these feelings of paranoia that you’ve been having.”
“I’m not being paranoid, doc. There are visible signs pointing towards the business collapsing very soon, and I’m afraid that there will be no coming back this time.”
“May I ask what these signs are?”
“This years Night of the Immortals was the largest in history in both attendance and pay-per-view buys.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me.”
“It doesn’t on the surface, but if you study the history of the wrestling business it’s very cyclical. There are always these huge boom periods like the mid-eighties followed by huge droughts like the early nineties. We’re talking about shows being held in basketball arena to being held in high school gymnasiums, and these are the big companies.”
“You think that’s about to happen?”
“That’s the first sign, yes.”
“Alright, whatever signs are there?”
“The wrong people are getting into high level positions. When the business almost died back in the nineties it was because big corporations were buying up wrestling companies and putting fucking pizza executives in-charge. Right now I’m seeing a lot of TV people moving up the ranks at IWF and I’m sure that it’s happening elsewhere.”
“You are a TV show, shouldn’t you have TV people in some control?”
“Hell no! Wrestling is its own animal, unlike any other form of sport or entertainment type out there. It needs to be handled by people who know what the fuck is going on, not guys that produce cheap fucking reality shows for Trash TV.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Yeah.”
“Which is?”
“Creative control. If you look at IWF alone, one family holds four championship and they’re always sniffing around for a fifth. When they start having that much power than bad decisions starts getting made, because they’re only being made to satisfy a small group for the detriment of the rest.”
“I can see how that could be bad. I mean it started a revolution in Russia, but then again that led to communism, which led to them electing that tyrant that they have now. So maybe having a few people in power over all is really for the greater good.”
“You sound like a one percenter all of a sudden, doc.”
“My bank account would bed to differ,” Goode says, with a laugh. “You are sort of making sense Nicky, but your med levels are still concerning me. Come into the office next week and we’ll make some adjustments and see how they make you feel.”
“Sounds good, doc.” Nick closes the computer and sits back in his chair before looking at both of his wives. “See, there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“That’s not what he said,” Penny replies. “He said that the brain scan and MRI were alright, but that you’re still acting nuttier than a squirrel turd.”
“I’m fine,” he argues.
“We’re not arguing about this, Nicky. Go see him when you get back from New Jersey, or you’re sleeping in the pool house.”
___________________________________________________________________________
Week after week I walk through the halls of major arenas all over the United States and I’m treated like a pariah. I go to catering to get a sandwich and everyone leaves, not even having the common fucking decency of throwing away their trash. I pass people in the hallway and they refuse to look me in the eyes. Hell some of them flat out turn around and walk the opposite direction. It seems like every single person that works for IWF has turned into a bunch of chickenshits because I’ve got the balls to speak up about the condition of this business.
I don’t know why everyone is suddenly so jumpy around me because I’ve never done a damn thing to anyone that’s not on the roster. I might be a little fucked in the head, but I’m not a total maniac. I guess they could all just be afraid that they’re all going to have to get off of their fat asses and find real jobs once I’ve finished burning IWF to the fucking ground, and lets face it their options are pretty slim since they’re already a bunch of rejects from Hollywood.
Trust me, I’ve lived in LA long enough to recognize a failed actor or screenwriter from a mile away. They stink up every restaurant you go to with their stench of desperation. All the women have names like Penelope or Petunia, and the men are all named Zac or Topher. Chances are if you hear a bad joke anywhere in Southern California it’s from one of these hacks because they all think they are going to be the next big standup, even though they can’t make it a full minute at The Improve without getting booed off of the fucking stage.
The fact that these people are in charge of creative is a big fucking reason professional wrestling is being run into the ground. I mean no one gives a shit about the quality of matches as long as the product looks good on TV because they have to impress some executive that doesn’t know a wrist lock from a wrist watch. How else do you explain Yusumi Mitsu and Kai Sachiko getting booked other than someone thinks they’re cute because it sure as shit ain't because they're good in the ring.
Knight takes in a couple of deep breaths and lets them out slowly.
The thing is, Caleb Cannin really isn't different than these dumb fucks from Hollyweird. He's all sizzle and no steak with the way he talks mad shit when you put him in front of a camera, but you get him in the ring he can't back it up. I mean, he beats a couple of ham and eggers to become Television Champion only to turn around and lose it to Nick Danger.
Please don’t get me wrong, I love Nick like a little brother, but he has proven time and again that he's nowhere near my level. Hell he's not on the level of anyone else in this tournament, and he made you look like a bitch, Caleb.
Yeah, maybe if they'd called that iron man match a draw you'd still be beating up enchantment guys on your way towards being the next Decimus Champion; but the fact of the matter is you couldn't get the job done. You lost to the guy six months ago most of the locker room called a jobber to the stars.
I guess it's a little bit of consolation that you showed the world that your qualified to be a roofer by winning Joker in The Pack because it doesn't matter if you're the first one up that ladder if there's no way in Hell you can beat the champion. I don't care if that's Dean Harper, Matt Knox, or whoever wins this tournament. You're just not as talented as you think you are, in fact you couldn't even win the Television Championship back now that Wraith has it.
Let’s not put the cart before the fucking horse and even worry about you beating one of the champions because this week you’ve got to beat me. We both know that’s not going to happen because we all know that you have a history of choking when the stage is the biggest. I mean go back in time a few months and you had a shot at being the first Invictus Champion, but you shit the bed. A few weeks later you face me for the Television Championship and the exact same thing happened. You have more performance issues than a virgin on prom night, which is why I don’t have to be psychic to see how this match is going to go.
Nick closes his eyes.
I can see it now, a repeat of nine months ago when we last stood across the ring from one another. I'll look you in the eyes and see some fire, and know that you're not going to back down. No, you're going to fight me with every ounce of you're being, but it's just not going to be enough.
I'm not so cocky as to think that I'm not leaving Odyssey a little worse for the wear just like our last match. I mean, last time I couldn’t use my arm right for weeks, which can be a nightmare scenario in a grueling tournament like HTTT. When you’re wrestling against the best men in the entire world every single week with so much on the line the injuries are going to start to add up quickly and this is only the first match, which is the only thing that really matters is leaving New Jersey with those five points.
Knight opens his eyes.
Look at me real close, Cannin. I want you eat the cleanest diet possible, and spend as much time as you need in the gym. Run miles, lift heavy, kick the living shit out of young guys, and get at least eight hours of sleep every night. Do whatever it takes to get ready because I want absolutely no excuses when I embarrass you Tuesday night.
This is the year that “The Hollywood Butcher” ascends the thrown and Odyssey is only the beginning.
The Scene fades to black
Well howdy there pardner.