Ladies and gentlemen, the champ is here.
The REAL World’s Champion has graced you with his presence today. No need to applaud just yet, you’ll have your chance soon enough. Let’s get down to business, first.
It’s that time of year again…War Games. You can feel the heat rising as the thermometer starts sweating over the details. Weeks of everyone playing buddy-buddy have all come down to this…easily the most divided War Games that I’ve been a part of.
The battle lines have been drawn, and aren’t we just lucky, the Final Alliance has been spread across the lineup like jam on a piece of toast. Ah, the wonders of a draft.
And your REAL World’s Champion is not a damn part of it…not yet, anyway.
Granted, I could’ve taken the honor, the glory that came with ending Christopher America’s historic title reign and stayed the hell home. I could’ve been like Coach Bergman and taken a much-needed holiday, a nice little break from the rigors of professional wrestling.
Wanna know what stopped me?
The man I beat, pinned in the middle of that damn ring, still has my World Championship around his waist like nothing happened. I cannot abide by that, I cannot let this stand…and so, the machinations begin. The machine rolls on.
I can only tolerate so much bullshit from this business. A business that loves to just take and take alike, until you’re left with nothing but a lingering question in the back of your mind, that ends up eating away until you’re nothing but a hollow shell.
Why couldn’t you give just a little more?
This business demands that you pay your dues, going through the most grueling training imaginable just to prove you’re tough enough to hang with the boys. That you are willing to give enough of yourself for the business to demand even more in return. So, like the sucker that you are, you keep on giving…you give your blood, sweat, and tears to the business, suffering loss after stinging loss, and for what?
For people in and out of the business to tell you you’re not doing enough. That you have no place in this business. That you don’t belong. They tear you down mentally and emotionally, expecting you to build yourself back up and keep on moving. Gotta roll with the punches, right? Give me a break.
The time for giving is over, folks. This business is no longer going to take my physical, mental, and emotional well-being from me…all bets are off, the game has come to its conclusion, and it’s time to collect at the pay window.
The champ is here…and he is ready to take back what belongs to him.
Long Beach Press-Telegram – May 8, 2023
Local Pro Wrestler Celebrates “World Championship Victory” With Parade
Written by Adam McDowell
Xander Azula, known better to pro wrestling fans as “Legion,” has been fervently promoting a ticker-tape parade celebrating his alleged victory two weeks ago over HOW World Champion Christopher America.
Azula, with a replica HOW World Championship belt slung over his shoulder, spoke to media from outside the Queen Mary about the occasion, stating “the REAL World’s Champion is ready to celebrate like Tom Brady winning the Super Bowl, before I head to Mexico to take back what belongs to me at War Games!”
The parade would end up lasting roughly an hour, with approximately fifteen minutes of that spent waiting for traffic lights along the proposed route from the Queen Mary through downtown Long Beach, ending at George’s Greek Cafe in Belmont Shore. The “crowd” of roughly five (four of whom consisted of Azula and his cohorts in The Eternal Circle) were seated appropriately and quietly for a light meal.
It should be noted that the “victory” two weeks ago was overruled due to specific circumstances, and that Azula is not in fact the World Champion of HOW…or much of anything, for that matter. Maybe eating Greek salads. Azula looks to enter the War Games match in Mexico by winning a fatal four-way match, just the first of many things in the way of the “REAL World’s Champion” getting the actual title he claims belongs to him.
HOW presents its annual War Games event on High Octane Television on May 28.
George’s Greek Cafe
Long Beach, CA
We find ourselves outside the restaurant, a nice calm Monday afternoon…possibly too calm, especially for the man standing with his compatriots, a very sour-looking Xander Azula who seems to have been moping about something for the past twenty minutes. With the replica #97RED slung over his shoulder, the man claiming victory over Christopher America certainly looks the part…but a look of disappointment on his face reveals the cracks in his facade as he speaks to his crew.
“Well isn’t this lovely? I planned a whole parade, an entire celebration…and nothing? Not a single fan out here to celebrate my achievement? What an absolute crock of shit.”
Xander looks around again, making a special note of who is absent from the occasion.
“And where the hell is the B-Team, anyway?”
The trio standing near him look at each other, shrugging in response as Mysti chimes in.
“I gave them a call, and they responded by spouting off some Communist propaganda. It was a bit unsettling, to be honest.”
Xander just scoffs at this, turning his attention back toward the restaurant the group took their exit from.
“Those people in there acted like they didn’t even know who I was, you know hard it is to put up with that? The absolute lack of respect is astounding, folks. I feel like a prophet without honor in his own hometown, and it sickens me.”
Xander is soon interrupted by a young, bespectacled man stepping out of the restaurant, seemingly right on cue as he interjects with a smile on his chubby, bearded face.
“You have my respect, Mr. Azula!”
This doesn’t seem to garner the response the young man expected, finding himself stared down with a look of disgust by the Fighter, who snaps back at the fan with a snarl.
“I don’t remember asking for your input, Horace! Why don’t you go back inside and finish your salad?”
The seemingly “out of pocket” response from the Fighter takes the young man back, his face fading into that of dejection as he slinks back into the restaurant. The response also throws the Eternal Circle crew for a loop as the Head Disciple just looks at them blankly, not fully aware of the harm being done.
“What? I saw him munching on a salad when we walked in. It’s fine!”
Long Beach Press-Telegram – May 9, 2023
Local Pro Wrestler Berates Fan, Resorts to Fat-Shaming
Written by Adam McDowell
The so-called “REAL World’s Champion found himself embroiled in controversy yesterday, wrapping up a previously-reported celebration of his alleged victory by going out of his way to shame a fan at George’s Greek Cafe for simply having the audacity to speak to him.
Witnesses report hearing the Fighter calling the unnamed victim a “fat tub of lard,” telling him to “finish your salad and go take a lap” before being kicked off the premises by the owner.
Azula could not be reached for comment.
What a dirty, dirty business this can be. All it does is take, so now I take back my life, my career…my championship.
The first step of the plan, since someone won’t acknowledge me for who I am, is to get into War Games itself the long way around. I gotta go through three hurdles to get to the prize, a non-title affair for the chance to reclaim what’s truly mine.
The first hurdle is a man I’ve taken to task before in Brian Hollywood. The second, the son of the Big Bad Wolf himself, Zach Kostoff. The third, a luchador whose reputation precedes him in El Hombre Blanco.
Lord, that last name made me wanna gag. The White Man, huh? Cool. I think I’ll deal with you first, Hombre. Coming in at the eleventh hour, taking down Marvolo to insert yourself into this equation…I can respect that hustle. Too bad I don’t respect you.
I’m not letting some crazed luchador make a statement at my expense, oh no. The champ does not abide. I will take whatever offense you wanna dish out, and I will grind you up like hamburger meat. You say your name is death, your name is chaos…you don’t know the half of it, Hombre. You wanna see death? Just wait until you step in that ring with a Fighter. You wanna see chaos? Let the Head Disciple show you the way.
I will throw every damn thing I can right back in your face, and every elbow, fist, and knee will wear you down ‘til you’re left weeping and begging for mercy.
And I will show you none. I don’t know what bullshit is afoot around here, but I’m gonna take the hose and wash that mess right off at War Games…and when I do, you can go find something else to occupy your time, because it sure as hell won’t be pro wrestling.
Might I suggest charity? I hear there’s an orphanage that could use a helping hand.
Speaking of orphans…hi, Zach!
I gave your father a certain level of respect–dare I say, reverence–when he and I faced off last year, in an oddly similar situation as this. But, as you’ve made plain for all to hear upon your arrival, you are not your father…so I will not be paying you that same respect.
But hey, it won’t be personal…I just have no desire to play nice with the kids of the greats of this business, not when there’s an opportunity waiting for me. I’ve dealt with my fair share of that already in the past couple years, and you will not get in my way.
I’m gonna do to you what I did to your old man last year, and when that time comes I hope you’ll do what he couldn’t…and walk the hell away. He had the chance to stay good and retired when I handled my business, but his pride got in the way. My path of violence proved to be the beginning of his downfall. You have a chance to use that as a teachable moment, because otherwise you’ll be nothing more than a pup stepping into the ring with a coyote…and a hungry one, at that. You won’t be taking my food from me, Zach…I have a need to feed, and I will not stop feasting until I have had my fill.
And that includes a man I’ve had to settle my differences with before, good ol’ Brian Hollywood. A man who, let’s face it, has been very divided in his focus as of late. He talks a lot of game when he’s being surrounded by whoever his little personal security detail is, but the moment that bell rings? Anything could happen, and that’s not good when you’re grasping for relevance like Hollywood has been for so long.
He’s been out in the middle of some deep, deep water as of late, desperately trying to keep his head above water while the rest of the world moves on without him…and at War Games, I’m gonna finally shove his head down for good. What happens to Brian Hollywood, what happens to all three of you down in Mexico, will be blood on my hands…blood that I for one am looking forward to spilling for the cause.
And then, when it’s all said and done, I will take my rightful place in War Games…where the champ can defend his title with honor and dignity.