HE SCORES, HE SCORES, RANGERS, RANGERS RANGERS WIN!!!!!
The game winning… series winning… overtime goal call by Sam Rosen is still playing over and over in my head. Down 3-1 in the series and making comebacks in game five, six and seven to take the series at home in game seven.
OOOHHHHHH, OOOOOOOHHHHH, OOOOOHHHHHH… HEY!… HEY!… HEY! HEY! HEY!
Ultimate underdogs coming back and choking the shit out of the Pittsburgh Penguins who were loaded with future Hall of Famers and dangerous weapons. Crosby and Malkin will surly be enshrined in Toronto someday. Guentzel, Rodrigues and Rust, all dangerous whenever the puck is on their stick… but it wasn’t enough. Everyone bitching about a hit on Crosby that the league reviewed and deemed fine. A helmet being ripped off an idiot who didn’t know the rule and could have put it back on. But it’s all karma for that game one goal they disallowed with that bullshit goalie interference call.
Or maybe this is just how it all had to be. These Rangers seem to like being the underdog, like coming from behind and scoring the surprise victory. It doesn’t do my heart any favors while watching their games, but I can respect that. I can relate to that.
Now I know you probably don’t give a shit about hockey Clay. You look like the only sport you’re interested in is growing out that shitty beard. Which I’ll also beat your ass in. And even if you did like hockey, the team you likely cheer for, the Dallas Stars, also landed a game seven, overtime exit at the hand of the Calgary Flames. A respected team that saved a club from the South where hockey doesn’t belong… instead of stealing one from one of the hotbeds of hockey to drag it down South, probably cause some oil tycoon saw half of a game once and thought the sport was “cool”.
But atlas, this match isn’t about hockey. I mean I might just beat the shit out of you with a hockey stick for fun… but this match… this match is about War Games. It’s about someone… me… who beat Jatt “I’m Don’t Even Call Myself A” Starr from your team. Who got hand picked by an UNDEAD! Lee Best to fill out his team after he fixed the debacle of a mess your team caused by the piss poor captaining of the “Locker Room Leader” and… you? Seriously, I’m asking… cause I really forgot you were a co-captain. Maybe have a few less shit fucking #97Red Stripes on the beach and maybe your team wouldn’t suck so much.
I mean Noel Rivers and JJ Starfire literally quit after being forced to team with you guys. Now you’re forced to dig real deep into the roster. Darin Zion, a man I’ve respected for years… but sure I can do a quick search and find countless times you and most of your team have shit on him over the past couple years. Then you got Steve Harrison and Bobbinette Carey fighting over the last spot… a spot Carey should have had long ago… but whatever.
Let’s forget all that for now… we still have Refueled ninety-nine… the last Refueled ever? At Madison Square Garden, where just under a week ago the Rangers won that thrilling OT game seven… and where just moments before the show, the Rangers will have played Carolina in game 3. Yes, that is how big this show is, that the NHL and the New York Rangers scheduled their game for 3:30 in the afternoon, so HOW could have the evening slot. Cheers to the arena crew who has to get shit changed over in such a short time.
Let’s hope that game doesn’t go to OT also.
I got the home ice advantage here Clay. This is my fucking city, so much so I opened my own little training an wrestling center over in Hudson Yards, Epic Artist Wrestling. A little collab with me and… fuck, do I go back to calling her Bobbinette cause we WILL be on opposite sides at War Games after she wins my LSD Title from Harrison? Nevertheless, this city has been my home for years, from Planet Scottywood to the NGW Arena, I have done so much here. Including training… well we will get to that later on.
Manhattan, New York
I’ve always thought that I was going to die in that HOW ring. That is how my career was going to end. But as each match passes by… as each match like a War Games passes and a mace to my jaw doesn’t kill me, let alone end my career… I start to wonder if that won’t be the case.
For years people like Mike Best… and every failed out wrestler from HOW has seemed to open their own academy… or wrestling school. It pretty much seems to be the thing to do when you have nothing else to do. Whether that be cause no one will hire you anymore… or you have literally done everything there is in the business. Credit where credit is due Mike.
I still fall in the middle of that though. After some thirteen years, HOW still feels the need to employ a forty-three year old wrestler. So if they are willing to pay me, who am I to turn down money for doing something I love to do. On the other side… I still have a few things I wanna do. I wanna win a sixth LSD Title… Win that HOTv Title… I wanna survive War Games… and I want one last run as the HOW World Champion. These are the things that keep driving me to come down to that ring every week. That and the joy of legally busting someone open and watching them bleed…
But anyhow, that is why I started up EAW, Epic Artist Wrestling with Carey, a place for teaching, training and putting on the kind of intimate indy shows we haven’t experienced in a long time. Or since I saw that one show at Fight! NYC a few weeks ago.
I know, I shouldn’t mention them… plus they went on “hiatus” for an indefinite time period. Fuck off, seriously, just say your closed. Whatever though, after I saw their one show, I knew New York City deserved a better wrestling experience. Maybe not even five hundred seats, but we got some of the best craft beer in the city and hopefully someday some world class indy wrestling.
But I need some help… I needed to dig into some of my old wrestling contacts and see who is even still in the business. Who hasn’t become a real estate agent or a cross fit trainer?
“Hey Baal, good to see ya man, glad you could join us.” I greet my old friend, shaking his hand and giving him one of those bro hugs.
“So you say this kid is almost as big as I am? And he’s only eighteen?” Questions Baal as I start to nod my head at him.
“Yeah, I had some doubts about him, but after watching his first match… he’s got some potential. Plus he has the same enthusiasm as his father.” I explain as Baal looks a bit skeptical back at me.
“Hopefully not exactly…” Jabs Baal with a smirk on his face.
“Oh fuck off… we aren’t going down that road today. Bad enough I gotta deal with that before my match this week against the Terracotta Texas Trenchcoat Tweeter.” I comment back with a chuckle to myself.
“Probably should be more worried about Clay than your boy here…” Suggests Baal as I squint my eyes back at him.
“Oh trust me, I’m not overlooking Clay, not like Jatt did to me. I’m gonna smash his fragile ass and send him limping into War Games…”
“Fucking phrasing Scotty!” Nearly yells Baal at me as I roll my eyes… who the fuck are you? Carey?
“It’s a clay joke… ugh… whatever, just get ready to get into the ring with him and teach him a lesson.” I fire back at Baal and just shake my head at him.
“I’m all set and ready… where is he?” Baal questions as he looks around the still makeshift “arena” if you can… no, you can’t even call it that. It’s a glorified bingo hall at this point still. But this is where he needs to learn his craft. This is where he needs to cut his proverbial teeth so he can become like those he grew up cheering for.
Bobbinette Carey… before she became the queen of wokeness
Chris Kostoff… cause against Lee, he seemed like a good guy.
Did we say Ryan Faze? Yeah, HOW didn’t have many good guys to root for. But he was always wanting to root for the good guy.
“Get your ass in the ring… it’s time for the big ring entrance for my boy. I mean he has to learn everything about the business, even how to wall down to the ring.” Smiles Scotty as he looks over to the camera, knowing that this is turning out to be a little bit of a big reveal… even if one or two mikes might have already guessed who Scotty is about to bring out.
Sorry… did I say mikes? I meant marks. Sorry.
Baal shakes his head now as he rolls into the ring. Standing at seven foot, one inches, and weighing in at three hundred and fifteen pounds, there are very few people who can intimidate Baal. That and the fact the man as spent well over a decade worshiping the devil and claiming he is related to Satan in some form. True or not, the man is not going to be scared by much.
OOOOOOOOHHHHHH, MY BAD HABITS LEAD TO…. YOOOOOOOUUUUUU!
The Bring Me The Horizon’s line of their collab with Ed Sheeran’s “Bad Habits” hits as a couple lights start flashing and a small amount of fog pour out onto the very small stage as we see a man emerge. He is towering as he rocks his head to the song before raising his arms up in the air.
“And making his way to the ring, from Manhattan, New York, standing six foot, nine inches and weighing in at three hundred and twenty pounds…. Ladies and gentlemen of HOW, let me introduce you to your future…. BEN FUCKING REEVES!!!!!” I scream as my protege walks out onto the EAW stage.
Baal nods his head with a smile as he watches Ben Reeves make his way down towards the ring. Ben is dressed in a plain black cut off shirt and wearing full length wrestling tights that have the Jedi logo on them.
“Look at the fucking size of this man! He made Tyler… whatever the fuck he wants to call himself now quake in his boots before he faced him Fight!! NYC… and he made Tyler Bradford so fucking scared he faked a fucking injury just so he wouldn’t have to face him at whatever dumbass named Pay Per View they had a few weeks ago.” I again, nearly yell towards the camera as Ben makes his way to the ring, grabbing the top rope and pulling himself up onto the apron like all big men do.
“Ok Scotty, this kid is pretty damn impressive looking… where did you find him?” Ask Baal as Ben makes his way into the ring, staring a hole through Baal as he ready for a fight… especially since his last one ducked out of their fight like a fucking wimp. TYLER BRADFORD IS A FUCKING WIMP.
But nobody cares about that… especially Clay….
“Secrets Baal… can’t be spoiling everything right now. Plus I don’t wanna deal with the truth right now….” I start to say before I am cut off by Ben himself…
“You can’t handle the truth Scotty? No shit. You’ve been hiding me for eighteen years!” Yells back Ben as he pulls on the ropes, stretching out a bit as some generic referee slides in get in between the two as Baal looks over at him like what the fuck is he doing.
“Dude, we’re just sparring, calm the fuck down.” Laughs Baal as he pushes the referee to the side….
But Ben boots Baal straight in the gut and lifts him up onto his shoulders and drills Baal with a Game Misconduct straight to the mat. The referee slides into position to count the cover, but Ben just shakes his head and rolls out of the ring.
“Who else you got to teach me some lessons Scotty? I think I’m ready for someone bigger than your old ass wrestling buddies. I nearly beat the grandson of GOD… if it wasn’t for some fucking baby oil. So let’s fucking go… give me a real fucking challange.” Yells Ben back at me as I can’t help but smile. Loving the energy and anger that I am seeing from Reeves.
“Ok… come to MSG this weekend… get yourself a taste of what the show is all about. This isn’t gonna be some Fisher Price bullshit like Fight! NYC. No one is gonna schedule you against someone not cleared to wrestle and then pull your match out from under you minutes before it.” I quip back at Ben who chuckles a bit… though is still fucking bitter from getting his first ever Pay Per View match being stolen from him after he showed up at the arena… and his opponent didn’t.
“Oh I’ll be there… and I am going to finally go face to face with…” Ben tried to say, but cut that fucking shit off… cause I’m not letting him spill the beans just yet.
“Yes, you can… but not until then. You say anything until Sunday and I will give you an express lesson in why I am The Hardcore Artist. Have you ever felt barbed wire rip your fucking skin off your body? Cause you will… and trust me… it’s only fun for me.” I smile as Ben Reeves begrudgingly agrees and makes his way to the backstage area of the makeshift arena as Baal finally starts to get up from the mat.
“Gonna be a Hell of a fucking final go home Refueled…” I continue to smile as I pick up my bared wire hockey stick and flex it around in my hands… ready to nail Clay between the eyes with it if possible on Sunday night. Cause while a win would be great… hurting Clay going into War Games would be even better.
But most importantly… Ben Reeves has arrived in the world of HOW.