Post by Spencer Adams on May 20, 2023 17:10:40 GMT -5
“Ain’t it funny how it happen?”
Imagine being someone like Brooke Blakely, so “sure” of herself and her ability to make an impact against someone she can’t decide whether or not to praise or dismiss only to be left with a whole lotta fucking nothing while you shrug and hold out your open palms in hopes of a crumb falling off the tablecloth post Spencer Adams undebatably eating. Acting as if Badmon was small pond talent was ironically small pond behavior and certainly one of the choice’s of all times. It’s a choice that Brooke paid for with an L that she herself has had to perform mental gymnastics to explain away.
“Gah, Spencer is lucky Max kicked out.”
“Oh, the ref was a little late. They missed it.”
“If only..”
So on and so forth and a million other fucking dent head excuses.
Unfortunately, this shit is for real. The name of the show we put on for those fine folks in the stands and watching at home isn’t “Lifestyles of the MID and lamest.” WGWF is something that I’m already redefining with absolutely no chains to break and no shackles to escape from. Through the liberation of Spencer Adams has come the liberation of this company and through my liberation, the best era this company has ever seen has already been ushered in. You need contrast? Spencer Adams brings contrast.
Too many meatheads all lobbying for the straightest man alive award?
Have some contrast.
Is everyone and their grandmother hopping aboard the cosign train from noted blowhard Chris Page and now the fanbase is peering through the looking glass in search of someone worth cheering for?
Here, have some contrast.
Are you sick and fucking tired of hearing people with a T-Rex arm’s reach tell you what real height is while they squint at brass rings from a mile away?
Once again, I bring you CONTRAST.
Brooke Blakely fucked around and found out much like countless upcoming industry talent and rookies in Action Wrestling before her. I could stand here and pretend that it irked me that she chose to underestimate me or my abilities, but truth be told, I like facing motherfuckers who speak like that on my name. There’s a certain joy that comes with proving what I already spent nearly a decade proving..that Spencer Adams is legitimately the most stubborn and hard hitting competitor to lace up a pair of boots and the second that you try to sell it as anything different?
You’re gonna learn the name.
In the dark of the room, I could still make out the brown of her hair and the back of her right shoulder blade reaching just above my own face. Light crept its way in through the small cracks in the blinds and lingered indefinitely, though not enough to alter the tone. I wondered if she was thinking about things the same way I was. I was careful not to wake Adilene, but might she be awake too? Was she maybe pretending to be out of it out of courtesy to me or was I the only one left looking forward with a blank stare and a full mind?
It’d been about two months since Battlefield and my leaving AW, two months since they showed up and made their pitch for me to leave the company that I’d spent so long making my name in and I knew that she was still on the fence about it and truthfully, I couldn’t blame her for that. She was right to jump to the fact that putting my trust blindly into certain people was something that had come to bite me in the ass in the past. In a way, I value that quality about her. She was protective in ways that I couldn’t quite get down through my own career endeavors.
I’d known her through sharing the same employer in AW, but I really met Adilene through mutual career frustrations. When Philidor Holdings was busy politicking for the top and putting a stranglehold on any and everything they wanted to, we bonded over our distrust of the system put in place around us. Some acted super shocked when Torture flipped the script and aligned himself with career shitbird Jill Park and gigantic douchebag Jake Paul, but the seeds were planted back then, actually. Accepting some cash flow was the start of it and at least for me, things rightfully had to end with blatant favoritism and conspiracy against anyone but his chosen one.
Maybe I should be more upset over her stance, but I know there’s certain feelings here that we can’t relate to one another as much as we wish we could. It starts with running ropes and oftentimes, ends with a knee or a hip replacement and a whole lot of stories for however many generations you manage to live long enough to meet. It’s a future that a lot of people wouldn’t sign up for in a million years, but I’m a fucking junky for it and there’s this need I have to watch it play out. I have everything that I could want outside of the ring, but I can’t ignore that I’m consumed by what I do inside it.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZ
I was quick to fumble for my phone as discreetly as I could and mute it completely before sliding past its soft glow to unlock the screen. Before reading, I took a glance over to check for disturbance and let the space settle as I read over the text.
CJ: Just landed in Chicago. Link up tomorrow?
“Hmm-hmm (Stop tryna be God)
Hmm-hmm, hmm-hm
Hmm-hmm (Stop tryna be God)
Hmm-hmm (That's not who you are)
Hmm-hmm (Stop tryna be God)
Hmm-hmm (That's just not your job)
Hmm-hmm (Stop tryna be God, God)”
Sam Chatman.
I hope you enjoyed your last outing. I hope that skating past Johnny Bacchus by the skin of your teeth thanks to a little bit of shenanigans courtesy Fred Debonair has you in high spirits, as it should. I mean, it’s not exactly easy to score a win over world champion level talent and technically, you get to add one to the list. You have the right to stand “proudly” in front of a live audience and tell them “I technically beat Johnathan Bacchus and that makes me somebody.”...because it does. It makes Sam Chatman somebody who is a target in the eyes of the next one.
Congrats, dummy. You have my attention.
Now, I’m not going to beat around the bush and fellate you for being halfway decent inside of a wrestling ring or being just resourceful enough to take advantage of the advantages given to you. I’m not going to go on rambling about how I fear Sam Chatman, because I do not. I’m here with no apparent rival, no obvious wrench in my plans, and nothing stopping me from beating your ass up and down Colonial Life Arena. I didn’t come to South Carolina and stand in front of a camera to tell the world about how I’m excited for a bit of healthy competition with a decent person, because well..
You’re not him.
For as much as you ride the line and try to sell the world on this idea of a Sam Chatman dripped out in righteousness and good faith, that’s just not you. You’ve said it yourself, right? You didn’t get to this point in your life because you busted your ass to do things the right way. You didn’t scratch and claw beyond circumstances meant to keep you down, no. You are in WGWF topping the average person’s yearly salary in a fraction of the time, because you hit the late bloomer’s genetic lottery and are more than willing to reap the rewards that come with it.
However, this does not make you likable. A catalog appearance and an unparalleled ability to walk and talk as squeaky clean as H&M wants you to does not warrant true fanfare and this is where that gets proven true, right? You were never meant to tango with those who have more personality or character traits than you do and that’s why this matchup right here? This is defined by Sam Chatman’s single sweat bead, an anxious actor’s grin, and a PR team smashing on the big red button like it were a game of Whac-A-Mole, because this is fucking red alert time.
I don’t respect you for being “nice” or accessible to a consumer base that hardly exists in this industry. In fact, I loathe you for representing everything that’s wrong with this industry right now as an individual. You are the exact type of meritless poster boy that would be eating out of the hands of somebody like Torture were this Action Wrestling and it’d feel like a match made in Heaven for the both of you. Sam Chatman is milk toast liberal topped with a well manicured bow and you’re fine with that. You’re more than happy to accept those fleeting little moments rather than stand for much of anything at all.
You’ve all but admitted to it yourself with the doc cam on your tail, haven’t you? Sam Chatman is here, because vanity is like a drug to you. You don’t come by way of Overtown, but rather hold up that flag as a way to convince the world that you have some seasoning to you. You claim your neighborhood and tell anyone who will listen that it’s the thing that turned coal into a diamond, but we both know that you’d jump with joy the second they open up a Whole Foods two blocks down, because it fits into the narrative that you claim now as this cleaned up, exec-pleasing version of who you once were.
For as long as you’ve had a spotlight on you via WGWF, you’ve decided against embracing character and identity that could lift you up to a plain of more meaningful existence in professional wrestling. More often than not, this business chews people up and spits them out before they get so much as a chance to introduce themselves and you’re so goddamn concerned with avoiding having yourself used up by the industry that you’ve solidified yourself as the least risk taking individual in this locker room or any other. If you keep yourself up, maybe the shit of pro wrestling won’t splatter back and leave a stain, huh?
Newsflash, brother.
You don’t actually have a choice in the matter. I’m taking that away from you, because the easy road never worked for anybody. I’m making this personal, because I need it to be. Those of us who aren’t willing to settle for just being sorta marketable to a bunch of pricks in a board meeting need something more out of this than what you’re willing to provide. I’m going to make this feel personal, because I need a better Sam Chatman than the one you’ve been willing to reveal to the world while you cocktease everyone with a peak into a life you’ve blatantly distanced yourself from for this win to mean something more in my career. When that bell rings and dust has settled, I’m leaving you with just two options.
1. Adapt.
2. Fade.
Probably best to choose before I do it for you.
CJ Phoenix had become one of my closest friends and one of my most formidable tag partners in my time with Action Wrestling. His progression as a competitor was something to behold, going from an in and out talent to a star on the rise in the industry. We bonded a lot over that grind, one that I could relate to in some degree as a worker treated as a nothing for much of his first couple years in the mainstream. I think it’s what made the link up so formidable in the first place, the reason we were able to grab gold twice together.
Cars buzzed by with a horn symphony blaring around us as CJ and I sat side by side on the front step of our facility of choice on the Southside of the city. After wiping the sweat from our brows, I found myself transfixed on a street artist plucking strings with an open guitar case stationed in front of his feet near the edge of the curb.
CJ: So, WGWF.
Spencer: Yeah?
As fingers strummed, my attention span dipped in and out from the person sitting next to me to the one in front of us both.
Spencer: I wouldn’t say that’s exactly what I’m looking for, honestly.
CJ: Freedom and what not, I get it and I’m glad you were able to get what you were looking for out of this sport.
Spencer: Yeah..
CJ: By the way, you never did tell me what was up with that fan group situation.
Spencer: It’s…complicated.
CJ: Adilene doesn’t approve?
Spencer: How’d you know?
CJ: Well, when you’re a taken man, that sort of intuition just follows.
Spencer: I don’t think she totally trusts them.
CJ: Oh, really? Why wouldn’t she be super on board with a bunch of masked folks who bum rushed an arena to find you?
Spencer: Not helping.
CJ: Sorry, sorry.
Spencer: Honestly, I think it just feels good to not have to go to war alone out here. With you and Cedrone back in ADub, I don’t mind the moral support.
CJ: Right..
Spencer: I don’t know, am I making a mistake?..
Don’t think you mean nothing to me and my path though, Sam. As justified as I may feel in your dissection, you’re still a piece of the puzzle. I knew coming into this company that to some degree, I’d be starting over fresh. Coming to WGWF in any capacity meant that I wouldn’t have the same pool of supporters in the locker room and while you may be an early part of the process of Spencer Adams becoming an integral part of this culture, you are one of many.
Yes, I have to make you into something more to make this personal.
Yes, I have to put you six feet deep.
Yes, I NEED this win.
Dismissing you from whatever lineup is being put in front of me means moving onto the next and opening that many more eyes to just how goddamn formidable Badmon Adams is between the ropes. Being here for you, to put you down decisively, it means that I’m here for a lot more than just Sam Chatman. In pulling whatever ounce of actual identity out of you that I possibly can means giving you the best match of your fucking career and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, but please.
Don’t be fucking STUPID.
Don’t be like Brooke.
Don’t be like the others.
Just..accept truth.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
I move across the kitchen space of the hotel room’s center, drink in hand as I peer through the peephole and come eye to eye with a familiar ski mask.
I slide the deadbolt to the side and pull the door open, motioning with my hand towards the living room area.
Spencer: Nah, she’s busy with work in D.C. Kids are back home with the nanny. Just me this week.
No worries. Just wasn’t sure if I was intruding on anything.
Spencer: Not at all. Grab yourself a seat. Can I get you something to drink?
Why would I turn it down?
I slink down into the couch and pour her a bit of bourbon in a rocks glass and hold it outward. Before grabbing a seat on the slightly too stiff arm chair, she reaches for the back of the mask and pulls it forward and down, allowing a head of long blonde hair to drop down around the sides of her face.
Spencer: Fair enough. Secret’s safe with me.
Have you talked to Adilene much more about our arrangement since last time?
Spencer: Some. Why?
I just…I think I echo everyone else’s sentiments in not wanting to cause any issues for you. We’re here to help.
Spencer: I’ve got it handled. I think she just needs to gain that trust, ya know?
I shift in my seat and stumble forward as my glass begins to tumble towards the edge of a glass coffee table and breathe a sigh of relief as I’m able to catch and recenter it. As I lean up, I find my face inches away from hers and before I’m able to react, her lips are pressed against my own, trying desperately to pull me in towards her sudden wanton energy. I pull away with a sudden jerk and stumble once more, this time in search of a proper response.
Spencer: I…It’s fine. I just need another drink.
I really didn’t mean to. It just sorta came out.
Spencer: It’s fine, really.
With my back turned, I clenched the whiskey in a shaky right hand and exhaled as I watched the deep amber flow across the ice.