Post by Kyle Shane on Apr 10, 2017 22:44:48 GMT -5
I know it's weird to say, but I find myself disconnected from the big production a lot more these days.
Iknorite. Kyle Shane, poster boy for weird, sci-fi, unrealistic promos that take the idea of someone sitting in front of a camera and talking shit and call down an avalanche of tropes that are everything pop culture, video game and nerdy put into a blender and set on high. But the truth is, right now, I'm just feeling low-key.
It's like when you just get partway out of an abusive relationship. And you want to put yourself back out there. That was my experience with wrestling before PCW. And I know, durr, what you did before you walk in the doors of whatever don't matter to these strong, macho types who like to pretend that every fresh face is some paper-thin rookie ripe to make a meal of. Maybe in that, it's a little less abusive relationship and a little more prison shower pecking order.
I don't want to get off-topic, but Phinehas Grimm's ugly mug does make me think of that.
My point is where I was before I got burned by the spotlight. By the constant pressure of matching my work ethic with the demands of the main event spotlight. Every week I had to top myself to prove something to the sneering mopes who were underfoot, trying to take their shots at me and it aggravated me to no end, to hear them talk their shit and disrespect my name when they never once took into account the work I had to put in to get there and the sacrifices I was making in both sanity and will to continue. So when I look at my match with Grimm I can see those parallels. A six time World champion now, on his first challenge to step up to the plate after making history is some young punk who's just walked in the door and can't possibly know what it took to be the man. I had that very distinction so many times in my career that I burned out, I took turns walking away from it for longer and longer periods of time 'cuz it was requiring more and more insane amounts of energy to achieve a level of success that would maybe, just a little bit make those mealy mouthed little underlings think twice before they came out with something so callow and feeble. I know the pressures of being the man on top, having to answer to corporate sponsors. Having to tailor yourself to become "World Champion Material" in all forms. And that means, you're representing the main event well. You're visible on the show, not a dud, you walk with intensity, purpose, drive, and flash.
Unfortunately for Phinehas Grimm, I was quite a bit better at it when I was on top, than he is now.
Full disclosure: I don't give two tin foil wrapped shits how Grimm won the belt six times before, or what Hall of Famers he's humbled in the past, since I, unlike many of the short sighted people that think that the industry exists in the vacuum of only when they can see what's happened in the immediate past or present. I know it's happened. I just don't care. But on the other hand, if you extrapolate the data of what I know in the current run, Grimm's title runs would probably shake out to be an embarassment, and the way he won at Mass Destruction had me shaking my head in secondhand chagrin. This is a guy who for the entire run of weeks between Collision Course in December and Mass Destruction failed to even win a God damn match on weekly Trauma, who lost out in side scraps to Whitey Ford, who got himself outsmarted on a consistent basis by Dan Fierce, the only person besides Rick Majors on this roster who was tailor made to never be champion of anything.
This is also a guy who only won the belt at Mass Destruction because Dan Fierce tied his beard hairs to the cage and he made the "painful decision" of simply falling off the cage and ripping the hairs off his chinny chin chin, which brings up the question of if Dan Fierce is even smart enough to know how hair follicles work.
For all I give a shit the other five or so times Grimm won a title he did it because he Clouseau'ed his way through every match; his opponent slipped on a banana peel and fell backwards and cracked his skull and he tripped into a pinfall the way he fell at Mass Destruction, rather than any show of skill or dominant force.
But iffy wins and embarassing losses aside it's just in how Grimm carries himself that makes it feel like our emperor's new clothes are the apron and hat of a Waffle House fry cook. This grizzled hillbilly is tough, right. Hardest of the hardcore, the nightmare opponent that batters and beats down his opposition, the quote-unquote Hangtown Horror. I'm pretty sure I've met and laughed off any number of Devils Rejects wannabes exactly like him in my time in wrestling.
This is a guy who's too stupid to even know what he's fighting for. This match isn't about the Icemann Invitational, it isn't his big coming out party to celebrate and cement his status as champion, it's about nothing more than me versus him and me shocking the world, as I did by claiming this belt in my third week here, and beating everyone to come down the pike. Now tell me, princess, can Grimm claim that on his recent resume?
If it feels like I'm spewing sour grapes because he is the World Champion and I'm the Underground Champion I am not. Nor am I comparing and contrasting because I want, again, to ascend to that lofty tower and look down upon the subjects from the height of the main event. No, actually. The Underground division is the perfect fit for me after the ennui grind of four years holding the World Title off and on for the WGWF, and having to defend myself from the slings and arrows of those lesser than me.
It's Underground because I've found a niche with it. This belt I hold is MY World Title right now, and in my daily, out of the ring life I've fallen in with people that hold value to those that resist them in their towers, the defenders of the weekly status quo.
And that's where I am. Against the status quo for once. Speaking truth to power from below. Saying "fuck you" to the fat, indolent, smug king who rests on his throne. Because at the end of the day, that's what Grimm has become. He can look down on me and smile. He can find no threat in me whatsoever. He can find comfort and security from his fortifications and conviction in the bricks that he's placed around himself, the shiny gold plate he has to look at his reflection in and tell himself what a special boy he is.
But actually, what I can see is that such complacency would be a lie. What ultimately worries our overlord is that he had to change his style to match me. Grimm never acknowledges his opponent, even obliquely, but I had him scared enough that he spent all his time pontificating what I might or might not say. As if he can get a read on me. Our emperor has feet/feats of clay, and he knows this. And alls he can do is blue sky over how many words I speak.
But in speaking truth to power, he clutches his gold a little tighter, a little more fearfully, because he feels a seismic shift underneath his feet. Because no matter how much being on top secures him for the moment, a hard push from underneath him is gonna rattle him, it could send shocks and cracks into his tower's foundation. I'll spend ten thousand words expounding the truth for him, to strain his ears to hear it and it'll still rock him to his core; I am the best in the fucking world. Not capitalized. Not a shrill catchphrase to put on a shirt, because that's what kings need. I call myself a God of Game, and I know I have an ego, but what I am is honest. I like being underground. I like being the little guy. I like being the one that finds a fault in the system and works to disrupt it, rather than grow lazy and stupid from letting the privelege of the system work for me. And that's what Phinehas Grimm is. Whether he wants to deny it or not, it's what he's become. Lazy, stupid, weak. Letting his opponents do the work for him. Grimm has become the lame duck type of champion that I, when I was on top, would have dethroned like a king across the battlefield.
Now I'm just going to be the leader of the resistance that pulls his statues down with rope and breaks them to pieces.
I'm the ghost in the machine that'll bring it's gears grinding to a halt.
Viva la underground, comrades. Fuck the status quo.
Iknorite. Kyle Shane, poster boy for weird, sci-fi, unrealistic promos that take the idea of someone sitting in front of a camera and talking shit and call down an avalanche of tropes that are everything pop culture, video game and nerdy put into a blender and set on high. But the truth is, right now, I'm just feeling low-key.
It's like when you just get partway out of an abusive relationship. And you want to put yourself back out there. That was my experience with wrestling before PCW. And I know, durr, what you did before you walk in the doors of whatever don't matter to these strong, macho types who like to pretend that every fresh face is some paper-thin rookie ripe to make a meal of. Maybe in that, it's a little less abusive relationship and a little more prison shower pecking order.
I don't want to get off-topic, but Phinehas Grimm's ugly mug does make me think of that.
My point is where I was before I got burned by the spotlight. By the constant pressure of matching my work ethic with the demands of the main event spotlight. Every week I had to top myself to prove something to the sneering mopes who were underfoot, trying to take their shots at me and it aggravated me to no end, to hear them talk their shit and disrespect my name when they never once took into account the work I had to put in to get there and the sacrifices I was making in both sanity and will to continue. So when I look at my match with Grimm I can see those parallels. A six time World champion now, on his first challenge to step up to the plate after making history is some young punk who's just walked in the door and can't possibly know what it took to be the man. I had that very distinction so many times in my career that I burned out, I took turns walking away from it for longer and longer periods of time 'cuz it was requiring more and more insane amounts of energy to achieve a level of success that would maybe, just a little bit make those mealy mouthed little underlings think twice before they came out with something so callow and feeble. I know the pressures of being the man on top, having to answer to corporate sponsors. Having to tailor yourself to become "World Champion Material" in all forms. And that means, you're representing the main event well. You're visible on the show, not a dud, you walk with intensity, purpose, drive, and flash.
Unfortunately for Phinehas Grimm, I was quite a bit better at it when I was on top, than he is now.
Full disclosure: I don't give two tin foil wrapped shits how Grimm won the belt six times before, or what Hall of Famers he's humbled in the past, since I, unlike many of the short sighted people that think that the industry exists in the vacuum of only when they can see what's happened in the immediate past or present. I know it's happened. I just don't care. But on the other hand, if you extrapolate the data of what I know in the current run, Grimm's title runs would probably shake out to be an embarassment, and the way he won at Mass Destruction had me shaking my head in secondhand chagrin. This is a guy who for the entire run of weeks between Collision Course in December and Mass Destruction failed to even win a God damn match on weekly Trauma, who lost out in side scraps to Whitey Ford, who got himself outsmarted on a consistent basis by Dan Fierce, the only person besides Rick Majors on this roster who was tailor made to never be champion of anything.
This is also a guy who only won the belt at Mass Destruction because Dan Fierce tied his beard hairs to the cage and he made the "painful decision" of simply falling off the cage and ripping the hairs off his chinny chin chin, which brings up the question of if Dan Fierce is even smart enough to know how hair follicles work.
For all I give a shit the other five or so times Grimm won a title he did it because he Clouseau'ed his way through every match; his opponent slipped on a banana peel and fell backwards and cracked his skull and he tripped into a pinfall the way he fell at Mass Destruction, rather than any show of skill or dominant force.
But iffy wins and embarassing losses aside it's just in how Grimm carries himself that makes it feel like our emperor's new clothes are the apron and hat of a Waffle House fry cook. This grizzled hillbilly is tough, right. Hardest of the hardcore, the nightmare opponent that batters and beats down his opposition, the quote-unquote Hangtown Horror. I'm pretty sure I've met and laughed off any number of Devils Rejects wannabes exactly like him in my time in wrestling.
This is a guy who's too stupid to even know what he's fighting for. This match isn't about the Icemann Invitational, it isn't his big coming out party to celebrate and cement his status as champion, it's about nothing more than me versus him and me shocking the world, as I did by claiming this belt in my third week here, and beating everyone to come down the pike. Now tell me, princess, can Grimm claim that on his recent resume?
If it feels like I'm spewing sour grapes because he is the World Champion and I'm the Underground Champion I am not. Nor am I comparing and contrasting because I want, again, to ascend to that lofty tower and look down upon the subjects from the height of the main event. No, actually. The Underground division is the perfect fit for me after the ennui grind of four years holding the World Title off and on for the WGWF, and having to defend myself from the slings and arrows of those lesser than me.
It's Underground because I've found a niche with it. This belt I hold is MY World Title right now, and in my daily, out of the ring life I've fallen in with people that hold value to those that resist them in their towers, the defenders of the weekly status quo.
And that's where I am. Against the status quo for once. Speaking truth to power from below. Saying "fuck you" to the fat, indolent, smug king who rests on his throne. Because at the end of the day, that's what Grimm has become. He can look down on me and smile. He can find no threat in me whatsoever. He can find comfort and security from his fortifications and conviction in the bricks that he's placed around himself, the shiny gold plate he has to look at his reflection in and tell himself what a special boy he is.
But actually, what I can see is that such complacency would be a lie. What ultimately worries our overlord is that he had to change his style to match me. Grimm never acknowledges his opponent, even obliquely, but I had him scared enough that he spent all his time pontificating what I might or might not say. As if he can get a read on me. Our emperor has feet/feats of clay, and he knows this. And alls he can do is blue sky over how many words I speak.
But in speaking truth to power, he clutches his gold a little tighter, a little more fearfully, because he feels a seismic shift underneath his feet. Because no matter how much being on top secures him for the moment, a hard push from underneath him is gonna rattle him, it could send shocks and cracks into his tower's foundation. I'll spend ten thousand words expounding the truth for him, to strain his ears to hear it and it'll still rock him to his core; I am the best in the fucking world. Not capitalized. Not a shrill catchphrase to put on a shirt, because that's what kings need. I call myself a God of Game, and I know I have an ego, but what I am is honest. I like being underground. I like being the little guy. I like being the one that finds a fault in the system and works to disrupt it, rather than grow lazy and stupid from letting the privelege of the system work for me. And that's what Phinehas Grimm is. Whether he wants to deny it or not, it's what he's become. Lazy, stupid, weak. Letting his opponents do the work for him. Grimm has become the lame duck type of champion that I, when I was on top, would have dethroned like a king across the battlefield.
Now I'm just going to be the leader of the resistance that pulls his statues down with rope and breaks them to pieces.
I'm the ghost in the machine that'll bring it's gears grinding to a halt.
Viva la underground, comrades. Fuck the status quo.
He had been looking for ways to go lower key since his disastrous meeting with the Shinron execs. To dig himself further into the movement like a tick. Open confrontation hadn't worked. He'd just looked like a raving lunatic. But there were other ways to get his message out. And ultimately, it was the faceless who drove the hardest spear into the sides of the powerful. The untrackable, the hidden. So maybe there was a better way to speak truth to power...
To take on the corporate shills and expose corruption. Maybe there was another way to get the people on his side.
There was a mask laying there, on it's side, grinning up at him. It's neon eyeholes and carved inlays mocked him, daring him to stare inward and reflect on how far he was willing to go. How deep into the underground he wanted to retreat.
He felt himself asking the very same questions, as he turned back to the computer and began a subthread.
