Post by Spencer Adams on May 5, 2023 22:22:06 GMT -5
4/10/23
With the stink of adrenaline cloaked across my body and a cool breeze fighting its way through my clothing fibers, I departed from my followers, leaving them to slump back into the dark of ten o’clock as they’d become so well versed at. We both knew it was best, too. Sure, they were anonymous for now, but that can always change. When you put the target on your back and clutch the wheel driving the spotlight, it’s almost a given that something is bound to give, right?
I wasn’t bullshitting them either. I did, in fact, have somebody that I needed to see. I’d left one group of people who I felt had my back knowing that supporter number one was waiting for me at The Venetian. Adilene had been with me through all the ups and downs in AW and as the company’s ring announcer, she’d been forced to watch me suck it up and pretend that everything was fine with me, that I was under some impression that there was still a brass ring that I was being afforded. We both knew that wasn’t the case. Everyone did. My efforts felt a waste, because I was Charlie Brown and the boss man was like Lucy pulling that football just out of range.
Adilene Floyd, my fiance and the mother of my daughter, had to watch me go through that every single time that I was in that ring and she had to answer my every expression with the stone cold face and unbiased tone expected of her. It was an unspoken mutual understanding that we shared and I know that it killed us and in a lot of ways, this was to rejuvenate us both, to take that unnecessary bit of added misery out of our professional lives and help us breathe a little outside of the ring.
Spencer: Sorry. I’m a little late, I know.
Adilene: All good.
Her skin, her curls, her smile.
They all glowed.
With the stem of a Pinot glass clutched delicately and seductively between her ring and middle fingers, she began a subtle sway towards me, weaving her way through empty space like there was more to it than was visible to the naked eye.
Adilene: Oh..
Her pursuit ceased with just a few steps separating the two of us and for a moment, the glow seemed dimmer.
Adilene: I just didn’t know that was the plan. That’s all..
Spencer: They’re harmless, Adi.
Adilene: Lots of people have been harmless, Spencer. Torture was an alright guy for you to work for and then he wasn’t. Dune was a thorn in the side until he was trying to put you down for good and I mean, Kevin..
Spencer: It’s not like that, I promise. I’ve sorta developed a sense for these sorts of things, you know.
Adilene: You better hope so or you might end up having to add my name to that list.
Spencer: Funny. You’re funny.
I stepped forward myself this time, closing in on a gentler smirk and locked my fingers around her waist as we both leaned back and our eyes became transfixed once more.
It was time to give a little. After all, was this not everything we ever wanted?
“Up all night, dusk 'til dawn
Don't go to sleep until I see the sun
Fighting my demons, but they never really gone
Paranoid thoughts, I can't trust anyone”
That door sure got booted, huh?
Right off the fucking hinges.
If there’s one thing I’ve prided myself on throughout my career, it’s being a man of my word and when I told the WGWF universe and everyone in that locker room that I was going to come in and make an immediate impact in this company, I absolutely meant every bit of it. There’s no half-assing when you’re Spencer Adams, because the name that I’ve spent the last eight years building doesn’t rest on anything less than the best version of myself jammed down the throats of anybody stupid enough to treat me like I’m not ME.
The battle royal was to open eyes.
This week is to send a message.
A message that Max Daemon is going to help me with.
Actually, I want to start off by thanking you personally, Max. This match could’ve been less, this match could’ve been more simple and transactional, but you willingly throwing your own name into the hat as the last minute replacement for Ms. Simms changed all of that. This is no longer me walking in with a basic objective and walking out with another win in this sport. For two and a half years, you managed to avoid a true Spencer Adams match in Action Wrestling and now, you walk into that fire and not one person made you do it. Maybe it was stupidity or maybe it was you subscribing to the lame duck theory that me here is less than me there. Either way..
Thank you, you dumb son of a bitch.
My friend and the man you know as the plug when you’re fiending for some lighthearted nanana boo tablets, Johnny Bacchus, he describes me as a normal guy. I’ve never heard a more appropriate descriptor, nor one I’m more proud of. I am fucking “normal” as they come. I take bumps that would make half this industry break down in tears and I take those licks stone cold sober. Now, I’m not here to give you some middle school assembly lecture about the lifestyle you choose to live, but I will prove the difference in what we respectively become when we hit that canvas spine fucking first. My legacy is that of a normal guy doing extraordinary shit while going in as raw as it gets. You’re a crash test dummy speed running CTE and early retirement. We are not the same, Max.
It should be noted that Mac got fat in season seven of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia while you are currently in your 4th trimester and posing biological concern. I’m telling you now that your time is coming. You’ve spent a Hell of a lot of borrowed time drinking shit spirits and skipping leg day in favor of gas station jalapeño poppers like a fucking glutton and you’ve done so to such a degree that you’re practically begging for your bad habits to catch up to you. How many more deathmatches and sleepless nights before you collapse? Not many. How many matches with Spencer Adams will it take for you to start tugging at your manager’s pant leg like a toddler begging him to get you on an episode of Intervention?
Just one.
Truth be told, that’s all it ever really takes for anyone to tuck tail and get the fuck out of dodge. One match is all it will take for short-leashed peon Joey Buongiorno to fall back to his familial corner and await unconvincing belief in him while he simultaneously breathes out his mouth and shits his trunks out the back end. Trust me, Joey, I understand where your head is. To some degree, I can even appreciate the way that your loyalties guide and drive you to be the competitor that you are. I’ve been in your position, but I can’t say I’ve ever been decided by others the way that you have.
I’ve shared blood with good people just as I have with bad people, as I know that most folks have. The key has been CONSIDERING both and doing right by people in ways that make sense for all of us, but I have not and will not be dragged by the earlobe or finger wagged to my spot in professional wrestling by anybody. You are being steered, played like a marionette puppet by everyone from mom and dad to aunties and uncles and all the while, you hang your head like a beaten animal and utter “okay” after feeble “okay”. All because at your very core, you’ve never known any better.
You didn’t REALLY find your way to make them proud, did you? You’ve had to ask permission and when denied it, had to pray for acceptance. The one time that you see something that you truly want and you’re made to feel in the wrong for even considering it. Instead of being somebody to grab the bull by the horns and head out day one with the chip on your shoulder, you let that lingering desire for Papa Buongiorno’s seal of approval hinder you and whether you think that’s a valid part of your journey or not, you can’t deny that you’ve wagged your achilles as a competitor in front of everyone you’ve ever shared a ring with.
That’s who YOU are and every time you’ve grabbed that microphone and lulled us all to sleep with your Mr. Junior Villain shtick, the whole fucking collective of pro wrestlers assembled under this banner blinks and shrugs at your pitiful ass. You spark fear in the hearts of exactly zero people, because you were defanged at birth by parents who thought receiving an oral bris would lead to you growing up to be a more driven and fearless individual. While you clearly come from leaders, you are still their grunt. To this day, you are a fucking foot soldier who I can and will send back to the home you grew up in complete with the same empty sack you began your journey with and a purple heart courtesy of yours truly.
Brooke Blakely.
Two weeks ago, I was admittedly cordial. I consider myself an advocate for the up and comers who are willing to tough it out and try to make a name for themselves in this sport. What I’m not keen on, however, is pretending that your inconsistencies as a presence in front of that camera and in that ring warrant my sympathy. I have no interest in entertaining the idea that your slip ups and grasping at straws during run time are simple growing pains. What they are is enough to irritate me to the point of marching my happy ass down there and providing you with the sort of clarity that Scottie can’t quite manage to instill in you, no matter how many times he plagiarizes Tony Robbins.
The way you’ve managed to talk about Spencer Adams as someone you personally must contend with in trying to look like a competitor to keep an eye on while in the next breath, trying to discredit who I am and how important my place is in professional wrestling is fucking mind boggling. Through your botched attempts to look like something other than a dumb mark, you’ve made yourself look like..well..a dumb mark. You are out here stinking of desperation, throwing everything at the wall and hoping that SOMETHING will stick and it’s sad. It’s depressing.
You’re making people SAD, Brooke.
Brooke. Joseph. Max.
Spencer.
One of these is not quite like the others, is it?
Hope you three enjoy the showcase though.
Maybe you’ll even learn a thing or two.
The sound of the rental door closing echoes off the back lot area of the former Staples Center with a hard thud and the still heat of the LA night lingers through the surrounding area as I step out onto asphalt past the wave of ticket holders chanting various names threaded between a consistent shouting of the company’s four letter abbreviation.
You feeling good?
Spencer: Better than ever.
Good. Going on anytime prior to Vaughn and Caedus tonight is-
Spencer: An opportunity to upstage and surprise them a little. Again, might I add.
I was thinking more along the lines of a chance to state your case for WarGames.
Spencer: You know, it would feel good to get a chance at captaining one of the captains.
This feels like a test.
Spencer: Probably is.
One of the masculine voices chimes in from the center of the crooked semi-circle.
Spencer: Shoot.
How does Adilene feel about all of this?
Spencer: She’s coming around..I think.
I mean, she trusts us, right?
Spencer: She knows that I trust you.
The feminine voice, the previous speaker and most vocal amongst the group chimes back in.
I do trust them and she trusts me. She has to. Adilene knows that I need this to work out. I need this for them. For her, Faith, and Lakia. I need them to see the payoff, to see that I turned the story around when I took the leap.
I trust them.
I have to trust them.