The End? Or The Beginning?

The End? Or The Beginning?

Posted on January 14, 2020 at 11:51 pm by Scott Stevens

Rumble at the Rock… well that didn’t go at all like HE had planned…

Stakes driven through HIS hands… Stevens retiring The Hardcore Artist… Becoming 49% Ownership of HOW.

Like I said… HE didn’t any of have that planned.

But Scottywood never really had a plan for anything. He just grabbed a beer and tackled whatever was in front of him. Whatever happened… happened… and he grabbed another beer and moved on to whatever was next. It was a simple way to deal with a world that is anything from simple.

It used to work a lot better. Back when he wasn’t a walking stereotype for an era of wrestling that was long since over. If only he could somehow travel back to that time… everything would be alot better. Why does Cross have to be so damn selfish… using his time traveling to save the world. When he could help restore The Hardcore Artist to his glory days.

We’ll ignore how that could never work… the fractures it would cause in the space time continuum and just let him dream right now.

Instead Mister Woodson is sitting at his desk in Chicago… loads of paperwork in front of him… The kind of work that would require a four pack of 16oz IPA cans for him to get through. But those have been replaced with a four-pack of 16oz NOS cans. We can argue which is better or worse for him at a later time… but it’s not alcohol… so at the moment it’s his better choice.

“Mike Best being threatened that he’ll be banned from Texas… what the… ugh… Franklin! Get me the LT Governor of Texas on the phone.

“Lindsay Troy is the governor of Texas now?” Shouts back Frankie from outside the office.

“No! … ugh… Nevermind! Fuck that state. Mike ain’t gonna give a care if he’s banned.” Replies Scotty as he crumple up the paper and tosses it at the overflowed recycling bin near his desk.

“Former HOW wrestlers butthurt about stuff from nine years ago… are we fu…freaking serious? Next, forget them and their Twitter tears.”

Crumpling up a couple of pieces of paper, they join the Mike Best complaint in the recycling bin pile. He takes a large drink of his NOS can and shakes his head as if the sugary-caffeine mix is charging him up like Popeye.

“Do we have anything of actual importance in this pile of stuff? Cause So far I’ve seen nothing is bull…stuff. Just a waste of paper and printer ink.” Asks Scott as he shakes his head, flipping through some of the other papers.

“Just leave them for me Scotty, I’ll take care of them. You got Cross in a few days at ICONIC and you shouldn’t be focusing on this… you should be focusing on getting HIM back.” Suggest Frankie, obliging Mr. Woodson in not wanting to hear HIS name.

“I tried that Franklin… but you wrote on the few things you did take care of with crayon and then watched Star Wars for four days straight… causing this huge pile to back up on my desk. Plus Stevens killed him at Alcatraz. He is dead Franklin. DEAD. He’s not coming back to face Cross. He’s not coming back ever. Cross attacked Scott Woodson… and at ICONIC he is going to get Scott Woodson. Not some dead loser. Plus Cross is undefeated against corpses.”

“But you didn’t die…” Frankie sputters out… still really confused about everything that is going on…

Woodson stands up from his desk and looks down at his hands, still bandaged up… his daily reminder of his loss to Stevens… of the death of… HIM. But he shakes away the emotions as he straightens his jacket and tie as he walks over to Frankie and places his right hand on his shoulder.

“Let him go Franklin… it was well past his time. A leftover from an age of wrestling that has long since been gone. And now it is my time… Mister Woodson’s time to reign in HOW. Not in the ring… but behind that desk. Cross thinks he can stop me… he thinks he knows the future… he thinks he knows how bad things could be if I am left unchecked here in HOW…”

Woodson pauses as he takes his hand off Frankie and walks back over to his desk. Reaching underneath it he picks something up… it’s a frame… a frame with nothing in it… but a small plaque.


He takes the empty frame and hangs it up on a lonely nail behind his desk chair. He stares at it for a few moments as Frankie just looks on… even more confused than normal.

“Um… there is no LSD Title there…” Obviously points out Frankie, breaking the silence as Scott turns back to his son.

“Exactly… Max Kael and North… whatever he is calling it… is holding it hostage.”

“Didn’t Max die in a dumpster fire on the last show?” Questions Frankie as a smirk consumes Scott’s face as if his just just told a joke.

“Oh Franklin… sweet naive Franklin… Max Kael dead… no… I don’t believe that. I haven’t seen a death certificate come across my desk… unless it is in that pile. And I don’t believe his stuipd news twitter or quotes from janitors. I’ve known Max Kael for a long time… but it wouldn’t take you meeting him for no more than two minutes to tell he has something up his sleeve here. I have no idea what… I’ve never be as ignorant as to try and guess what is brewing in that man’s mind… but I know… it’s something.” Assets Scott as you can see that while he may not take a guess verbally at what Max is planning… the wheels are certainly spinning in his head trying to figure it out.

“So Brenton was right… you are going to try and take the LSD Title away from Max? That you’re gonna start World War Three to do it?” Asks Frankie with a kind of anticipation… not because he wants there to be a war… but because he can already start envisioning playing the Call of Duty: WW3 video game.


“I don’t know how Brenton knew that… maybe he got a tip from the people who made the frame at A.C. Moore… they are going out of business and maybe someone needed some cash as their job’s end is looming near. Maybe he is… or he has someone spying on me. He has the resources with his army training to do just that…” Suggest Woodson until Frankie cuts him off.

“He’s a time traveler. That’s how he knew.” Blurts out Frankie as again Scotty smirks and chuckles… again as if Frankie just told a joke.

“Time travel… yeah…” Scotty pauses as he rubs his face and you can tell it’s something that has kept him up at night for over a week now.

“It’s fun to mess with Cross on TV… play into his… game… or whatever it is. But the logically side of me just can’t… I can’t believe it. Tell me the winners and losers plus scores for the Stanley Cup, Super Bowl, World Series and whatever the NBA plays for… get those all correct and I’ll be the first to follow whatever you wanna say. Sure… it might not be important in 2042… but if you don’t wanna be locked up in a psych ward… well you gotta bring some proof beyond a grand tale of total world destruction.”

“Vegas wouldn’t like him very much.” Comments Frankie as Scotty chuckles and nods his head.

“But I wanna believe you Cross… I’m a huge fan of Back to the Future and Sci-Fi movies like that tease with if time travel could be a reality. I mean who am I to say it can’t be true? I only know enough physics to crack a beer can open… so to say for sure time travel isn’t real would be foolish. It’s a grand story that I could cause World War Three over that LSD Title…”

“Story time! I love stories. One time Bobbinette told me a story about how…” Frankie tries to ramble on but at the mention of Carey, Woodson just cuts his son off and continues on with his thoughts.

“If it’s just a story… it’s a good one… and definitely plays to your audience well Brenton. You know the buttons to push if you wanted to get a Hall of Famer’s attention and use him to capitpult yourself back into here in HOW. Don’t think I haven’t mulled that idea over… that you’re just gaming me.”

Spinning his chair around he sits back down and grabs his can of NOS, leaning back and taking a drink as he kicks his feet up onto the desk.

“But if it’s a possible future reality… part of me would actually love to see that happen. The Anarchy… oh the anarchy…”


Year 2040… still two years before Brenton Cross will send himself into the past… from the future… or the present….

“You will fucking find exactly where North Kaelrea is and you will get that LSD Title back from him! Otherwise I will bomb all of fucking Asia just to make sure that fucking asshole will no longer hold MY title! I don’t care if it might not even be in Asia! It has been twenty fucking years! I’m sick and tired of hunting for Max Kael and MY Title! Now fucking find him! NOW!”

Slamming the phone down, President Woodson stands up from his desk in the Oval Office.

“This is all your fault Brenton… you lost at ICONIC… and you caused this. This is why you were sent back Brenton… to give me this idea. The idea to go to whatever means necessary to get back MY title. Oh the time loop paradox headaches…”

Scotty just maniacally laughs as an army major is called over and places the nuclear football down onto the Resolute Desk.

“World War Three Brenton… it sounds like such a beautiful idea. All because of you… and all thanks to me. Forever. Etched in history… if there is a history left after the world is done burning… after that LSD Title is back in my hands… or there are no hands left.”

The army major opens the football and there is a giant red button… Woodson just smiles as he presses the….


Shaking his head, Scotty pulls out of his daydream… or his vision… he smiles as he takes another drink of his NOS.

“If Brenton Cross thought things were going to be easy because HE is dead… he’s going to get a rude awakening when he steps into the ring with Mister Woodson. This time travel game… is going to get a Game Misconduct and be over. Then you’ll have to hope they can send someone… back to ICONIC… and fix the moment you failed and destroyed the world.