Post by Spencer Adams on Aug 26, 2023 20:45:33 GMT -5
Spencer: This place is a fucking mess.
Mia: That’s why we’re here, right? Why YOU came here.
Spencer: It’s just funny how it’s always the people in charge of making the machine function who end up fucking it up the most. Do you know how much better this sport would be if those in charge just let everything play out instead of trying to puppeteer it all? What’s for the Flash Rotten’s and the Chris Page’s of the world?
They’re everywhere, aren’t they? Always playing spoiler and here you are, Spencer Adams, the spoiler of spoilers. Maybe I’m one of the lucky ones, able to hold a mic and look pretty. Maybe I was unfair. No wrestling, no pulling yourself from nothing..certainly no us. Then again, what does it mean when it’s all gone in the end? Do you think the industry will ever love you like love you?
What do you think is behind those ski masks? Let’s say they’re as stubborn as you are. What next? Are they capable of fighting the battles you take on? Spencer Adams, the leader of the yes man militia. Will you ever stop searching for justification, for some reason to keep going?
Mia: Spence?
If I’m starting to sound like a broken record, maybe that’s okay. Maybe one day, this will all start to make a little more sense for you and you’ll take your step back off the ledge you don’t seem to know that you’re standing on, yeah? Oh, wouldn’t that be something.
Wouldn’t it be nice to wake up and feel a sure thing again, to rest your head and leave the 3am cold sweats behind you? Spence, you’re giving up so much.
Mia: SPENCER!
Mia: Say something!
Mia: Shit! Are you okay?
Expressionless, I grip at the very edge of adjacent arm rests, swaying back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. Taking my time to thumb over each intricate grain and variant in color from brown to charred black, I can’t help but feel at home, safe and confident from the position I find myself in.
You know, I should be happier. I should be more grateful to be able to do what I am at this point in time from the position I’m in. After all, working back to back nights at Summer Madness with John Cable and reuniting King Shit with CJ Phoenix under a new banner isn’t the type of thing that many people get to do in this industry and yet..I’m not smiling right now. Despite having busted my ass to get in a position where the recognition is near unanimous and the results are still mostly tipping in my favor, I’m having trouble finding my smile in this company.
Taking issue with who runs this or most other federations is nothing new from me, but it does still strike a particular nerve in the here and now. Forget what feels fair or not for me, let’s talk about what happens when those in this front office or any other take it upon themselves to make this show worse for people walking through the doors to watch it unfold. Let’s talk about how those watching at home every week feel when Chris Page pulls out a pair of brass knucks in a big red button smashing moment of ego preservation or when Flash Rotten pulls the least surprising swerve of all time out of his hat.
There are days where I want to wash my hands of it all, mornings I struggle to get out of bed and come to do this, because I’m not so confident that my efforts are going to be met with anything other than underhanded bullshit from the suits in the back. Maybe it would be easier to stay put and not show up here. Maybe I should leave things alone with the reassurance that I’ve fought the good fight for long enough and trust me, I wish I were in a position like that, but there are not enough soldiers in our world willing enough to give what it takes.
The purpose of this match and the out of a hat composition that has created the two sides of this equation is not lost on me. It’s clear as day that the intention is chaos, because it breeds itself, right? With each show that passes, it becomes increasingly apparent who certain people think this show is for. To Flash and Page, we dance for them. For Cable and myself, we do this out of love for THIS. Let it be known that no matter how bad certain people want to soften us up, people like John Cable and Spencer Adams? We don’t soften up. Nah, people like us get harder.
Bane knows it, because he felt it more than ever back in July. With each encounter we have, the heat gets turned up and in our first taste of singles competition. Bane went between the legs and resorted to an equalizer stashed in a pocket to put a temporary stop to a very long term problem in Spencer Adams, knowing damn well that I would get back up and the budding story between us would have him searching for that next out, sniffing Earth like a fucking dog in pursuit of something else to get him out of a corner that I’ve had him backed into at every turn off raw ability and honed talent alone.
This is the modus operandi for Mac Bane to not bite off more than he can chew, but to shatter every tooth in his mouth when he tries. For everything that is gained and every step that is taken, there’s a handful of steps back for Mac who enters Amalie Arena a few pounds lighter as thing one and thing two laid claim to tag gold he gave up without so much as a whimper at Summer Madness. So..let this be yet another look through a window Mac Bane himself is reluctant to look through as his hope for Cannabis Cup circles the drain in the presence of its eventual winner.
In a similar light, Peter Vaughn knows about the grit of Spencer Adams and John Cable, because he’s also been in a position to see it up close and personal. He felt it when John Cable took him to the limit for the world title just like he’s felt it through battle royals and WarGames matches where Spencer Adams came knocking on that door to spread the message on who has had next up dating back to Spring when I first arrived in WGWF and if there’s one thing that punches a future ticket aboard the struggle bus, it’s the fact that Peter Vaughn isn’t alone at the peak of this company’s mountain.
Now, I’ll give credit to The Mechanic. A hit job is a hit job and what Pee Pants Montouri pulled off was nothing short of highway robbery. Hell, if it comes down to the blow for blow contest that the Summer Madness main event was supposed to be, then I’m sure Vaughn will be the one waiting for me post-Cannabis Cup when it’s Badmon Adams who comes calling his name with hungry hands and a lonely wasteline and when that time comes, I’ll relish in watching the realization that this company’s Spencer Adams problem isn’t going away anytime soon unfold in real time.
Your name made it on the dream opponents list, because of your mouth and your motor equally. It’s one thing to want to shove dick down someone’s throat for being a douchebag, but it’s another to want to plant you at Null Island in that ring, because you are one of the best WRESTLERS to lace up a pair of boots today. I’ll give you that, because credit to Justin York allows me to start the conversation and end it in the very next breath. While not a single ounce of likability to you as a man, I have to give you a name to erase it.
Which…brings me to you, Goth. The wildcard, the returnee marching to the beat of his own drum. You’ve made quite the ruckus recently, haven’t you? Going straight for the jugular of this company’s upper echelon. I respect it and I applaud you..and I want you to know..that what you get in Adams and Cable are the control to that chaos. You want a splash made? Allow the navigators to navigate choppier waters, because to some..this is another day at the office. To us?
Speaking in a gassed out tone between tired and measured breaths, I let my elbows rest on top of my thighs while my hands were bonded together by a loose gasp near the fingertips.
Spencer: It’s just funny how it’s always the people in charge of making the machine function who end up fucking it up the most. Do you know how much better this sport would be if those in charge just let everything play out instead of trying to puppeteer it all? What’s for the Flash Rotten’s and the Chris Page’s of the world?
Letting out a beaten exhale, I turn towards my left now which is now occupied by Adilene’s warped appearance.
A lump in my throat and a tongue behind padlocks. There were no words to say out loud even if I wanted to. I was stuck as an idle spectator in my own person.
Mia: Spence?
If I’m starting to sound like a broken record, maybe that’s okay. Maybe one day, this will all start to make a little more sense for you and you’ll take your step back off the ledge you don’t seem to know that you’re standing on, yeah? Oh, wouldn’t that be something.
I try to pivot my head back towards Mia at a delay, but Adilene’s fingers pull me by the chin and turn my head back the other direction, her lips only the smallest sliver of space away from my own.
With a subtle push forward, her tongue pushes forward into my mouth as a flicker of light puts me in front of a sea of fans clad with Spencer tees and fists towards the sky above.
WE GON’ BE ALRIGHT! WE GON’ BE ALRIGHT! WE GON’ BE ALRIGHT! WE GON’ BE ALRIGHT!
Stepping forward, every face turns to smoke and twirls up through the air before disappearing completely. Past them, Robbie and Faith run circles, shouting gleeful nonsense and laughs between one another while mom bounces Lakia on her knee and smiles as her eyes follow their careless patterns. As I walk towards her swaying rocker with bare feet, she turns her smiling face towards me and lifts Lakia up and into my own arms.
Despite my feet being planted to the ground, a nauseating spinning feeling takes me from a daylight drenched backyard and the green of the grass to the center of the ring. Feeling the grain of the canvas against my heels, I look from side to side at total blackout aside from a single beam down onto me. The warmth of Lakia on my hip disappears, instead replaced by the gold sheen of a championship belt. Though still empty, the silence of the arena is abruptly cut short by my entrance music echoing off every bit of surface in the stands.
Mia: SPENCER!
In the locker room, I feel the gloss over my eyes and the look in Mia’s tells me she can sense the vacancy.
With a harsh turn towards a more center position, I lunge forward and let the contents of my stomach out onto the carpet in front of me, causing Mia to jump back before leaning down over my hunched form.
Mia: Shit! Are you okay?
I nod, opting to lie more subtly instead of through my teeth. To my right, Adilene mouths a final “Think about it” before dematerializing just like the others. With another lean forward, I summon up one last bit of viscous and bitter saliva, droning towards the sink to do away with it.
“Hold up, they don't love you like I love you
Slow down, they don't love you like I love you
Back up, they don't love you like I love you
Step down, they don't love you like I love you”
Expressionless, I grip at the very edge of adjacent arm rests, swaying back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. Taking my time to thumb over each intricate grain and variant in color from brown to charred black, I can’t help but feel at home, safe and confident from the position I find myself in.
You know, I should be happier. I should be more grateful to be able to do what I am at this point in time from the position I’m in. After all, working back to back nights at Summer Madness with John Cable and reuniting King Shit with CJ Phoenix under a new banner isn’t the type of thing that many people get to do in this industry and yet..I’m not smiling right now. Despite having busted my ass to get in a position where the recognition is near unanimous and the results are still mostly tipping in my favor, I’m having trouble finding my smile in this company.
Taking issue with who runs this or most other federations is nothing new from me, but it does still strike a particular nerve in the here and now. Forget what feels fair or not for me, let’s talk about what happens when those in this front office or any other take it upon themselves to make this show worse for people walking through the doors to watch it unfold. Let’s talk about how those watching at home every week feel when Chris Page pulls out a pair of brass knucks in a big red button smashing moment of ego preservation or when Flash Rotten pulls the least surprising swerve of all time out of his hat.
There are days where I want to wash my hands of it all, mornings I struggle to get out of bed and come to do this, because I’m not so confident that my efforts are going to be met with anything other than underhanded bullshit from the suits in the back. Maybe it would be easier to stay put and not show up here. Maybe I should leave things alone with the reassurance that I’ve fought the good fight for long enough and trust me, I wish I were in a position like that, but there are not enough soldiers in our world willing enough to give what it takes.
The purpose of this match and the out of a hat composition that has created the two sides of this equation is not lost on me. It’s clear as day that the intention is chaos, because it breeds itself, right? With each show that passes, it becomes increasingly apparent who certain people think this show is for. To Flash and Page, we dance for them. For Cable and myself, we do this out of love for THIS. Let it be known that no matter how bad certain people want to soften us up, people like John Cable and Spencer Adams? We don’t soften up. Nah, people like us get harder.
Bane knows it, because he felt it more than ever back in July. With each encounter we have, the heat gets turned up and in our first taste of singles competition. Bane went between the legs and resorted to an equalizer stashed in a pocket to put a temporary stop to a very long term problem in Spencer Adams, knowing damn well that I would get back up and the budding story between us would have him searching for that next out, sniffing Earth like a fucking dog in pursuit of something else to get him out of a corner that I’ve had him backed into at every turn off raw ability and honed talent alone.
This is the modus operandi for Mac Bane to not bite off more than he can chew, but to shatter every tooth in his mouth when he tries. For everything that is gained and every step that is taken, there’s a handful of steps back for Mac who enters Amalie Arena a few pounds lighter as thing one and thing two laid claim to tag gold he gave up without so much as a whimper at Summer Madness. So..let this be yet another look through a window Mac Bane himself is reluctant to look through as his hope for Cannabis Cup circles the drain in the presence of its eventual winner.
In a similar light, Peter Vaughn knows about the grit of Spencer Adams and John Cable, because he’s also been in a position to see it up close and personal. He felt it when John Cable took him to the limit for the world title just like he’s felt it through battle royals and WarGames matches where Spencer Adams came knocking on that door to spread the message on who has had next up dating back to Spring when I first arrived in WGWF and if there’s one thing that punches a future ticket aboard the struggle bus, it’s the fact that Peter Vaughn isn’t alone at the peak of this company’s mountain.
Now, I’ll give credit to The Mechanic. A hit job is a hit job and what Pee Pants Montouri pulled off was nothing short of highway robbery. Hell, if it comes down to the blow for blow contest that the Summer Madness main event was supposed to be, then I’m sure Vaughn will be the one waiting for me post-Cannabis Cup when it’s Badmon Adams who comes calling his name with hungry hands and a lonely wasteline and when that time comes, I’ll relish in watching the realization that this company’s Spencer Adams problem isn’t going away anytime soon unfold in real time.
I sit up in the rocker, bringing it to a stand still as it tip toes on its front half.
Justin York.
The Bacchus List.
Which…brings me to you, Goth. The wildcard, the returnee marching to the beat of his own drum. You’ve made quite the ruckus recently, haven’t you? Going straight for the jugular of this company’s upper echelon. I respect it and I applaud you..and I want you to know..that what you get in Adams and Cable are the control to that chaos. You want a splash made? Allow the navigators to navigate choppier waters, because to some..this is another day at the office. To us?
It’s opportunity.