Post by Stormm on Nov 19, 2018 22:20:13 GMT -5
It’s easy, isn’t it?
Pretending to be something you aren’t. Pretending on top of pretending. In a business where everyone is the best. Everyone else sucks. It’s a big part of what professional wrestlers do, besides working their asses off to stay in the best shape of their lives to try and outlast their opponents in the ring each and every week.
But it’s not quite what it used to be.
Sure, someone like Justin Michaels has been hearing people take cheap shots at the spelling of his persona longer than some of these kids have been alive, but the trash talk has changed since he first stepped foot into the squared circle twenty-two years ago.
Whether it’s evolved or not is up for discussion.
One thing is for certain, though, these social media superstars sure do like the sound of their own voice.
Don’t read too much into that statement, however, as the rest of them do as well. It’s just different. Call it ambitious, naive, ill-informed, confident, foolish, or what have you, but the differences between veterans and younger superstars is something Pure Class Wrestling has in spades.
The paradigm for professional wrestling was changing, and for the old dogs to keep up with the Spring chickens, a change was necessary. Some would continue to drive old trusty, but Stormm had spent a better part of the year trying to, not necessarily reinvent the wheel, but to modify it so he could keep up. He’d just turned forty a few weeks ago after all.
There was no better representation of this shift than, yet again, another tag team match he’d been forced into for the take-home Trauma leading into Collision Course. Old and new versus old and new. Phinehas and Gerard versus Justin and Kyle. Two contenders verse two champions who had held onto their respective titles for nearly a year.
Grimm and Stormm, the consummate professionals, who had been at it a long time… a LONG time, and had been staples of the PCW rosters for years. Kyle and Gerard, the brash newcomers, who seemed to have just walked through the doors not that long ago, but already establishing themselves to the brand.
Phinehas had always just been an anomaly, neither this, nor that, but over the years, has turned that into something. Stormm on the other hand, a prime example of what Kyle and Gerard have to look forward in the careers ahead of them. Maybe that’s what bugged him most about them, he used to be them, but no longer was. They have so many title runs ahead of them, and the Force of Nature was just trying to make the ones he had left meaningful.
Perhaps he even hoped to be the veteran that came along to shut them up, and slow ‘em down. Something he wished had happened to him early in his career. Go too hard, burn too many bridges, you end up on the sideline for years, struggling to get back into the game.
But that was neither here nor there.
Justin would have to funnel his aggravation for the youngsters into something more constructive than frustrations, as there was no changing them. History had the patent on the young and reckless, and it was unlikely going to transform because of him.
No, let the other veterans stay in their ruts, and the let the rookies run their mouths.
Let Kyle Shane unlock his achievements.
Let Gerard Angelo take a pinfall and then blame his partner for actually doing his job.
Let Phinehas Grimm reap and sow and generally just freak everyone out.
Stormm would land on his feet, and happily live in the darkness, where others would admittedly wish he’d stay.
He’d stop talking, and start listening.
Watching.
Studying.
Lurking.
Words are only weapons against those that let them harm them. The likes of Kyle and Gerard could continue to be in awe at how the Force of Nature stayed relevant, while increasing his stock just for speaking ill of him. The spotlight did not need to shine on Stormm, he’d just steal it from the shadows when everyone least expected it.
But as the drums of war began to beat, some ways off in the distance, the last skirmish before the final battle to end the war just over the horizon, it was hard to put anything else into perspective, other than what Justin had in front of him.
The snow from earlier that weekend had begun to melt, small patches of it here and there still scattered about. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, as it had been for years, was Decoration Day.
Lindsay, since setting out on her own and leaving the nest, had embraced the holiday spirit for Christmas, above all other holidays. She left no room in Michaels Manor untouched by Christmastide.
While the tradition had started on Black Friday, decorating instead of standing in ridiculous retail lines, the move to Thursdays for Trauma had pushed the tradition back a few days, as the family generally spent the weekend in Greenville after a show, and with Collision Course coming up, there likely wouldn’t be a good time for the man of the house to find Lindsay her tree.
First thing in the morning, like a penguin seeking a pebble, Justin would hop on his four-wheeler and head for the tree lines. Never cutting a tree down from the same spot as the year before, and always planting a sapling during seedtime.
This year he headed East, where four years prior, in a large clearing on the property line, he’d hired a team to cultivate it specifically for the annual tradition. Fir trees of differing ages were planted, with a small cluster of them set to be ready for the twenty eighteen Yuletide tradition.
While it would take the hunting out of the equation for the Force of Nature, he’d save time on Decoration Day, and avoid the inevitable gripe that he spent all day looking, and wasn’t able to help Lindsay put up any decoration.
He happily avoided this in the past, but as Joe and Remi continued to get older, he wanted them to grow up with the tradition that the whole family spent time together doing.
But, what should have been a ten minute ride to the clearing, a few minutes to crank up the chainsaw and cut down the tree, tie it to the little trailer hooked to the four-wheeler, and another ten minute ride back, turned into a whole ordeal.
The estate that Michaels Manor sits on, and the property surrounding it that Justin and Lindsay own is rather vast, and Justin doesn’t always find time to survey it all, instead, hiring people he thought he could trust to do the job for him.
As he hit the clearing, and came to a full stop, killing the engine of his ATV, he noticed more than just the Firs he watched gett planted a few years ago. A couple of enclosed tents were erected where he was certain trees had been planted. To the side of them, two unmarked white vans, both with their engines running.
Of course, thinking nothing of it, or perhaps, not thinking hard enough about it, he hopped off the machine and started to make his way towards the tents to figure out what was going on. But then he heard it, that familiar sound, a sound he hadn’t heard in some time, let alone a sound he expected to hear in response to his presence, and he froze.
Click.
“Keep moving.”
The metallic barrel pressed into his back, and dug in even harder as Justin tried to turn his head to see who had snuck up on him.
A simple task had turned into a dreadful situation.
He was going to be late again, and Lindsay was not going to be happy… again.
If he was even going to make it back home at all.
“Fuck me.”
Pretending to be something you aren’t. Pretending on top of pretending. In a business where everyone is the best. Everyone else sucks. It’s a big part of what professional wrestlers do, besides working their asses off to stay in the best shape of their lives to try and outlast their opponents in the ring each and every week.
But it’s not quite what it used to be.
Sure, someone like Justin Michaels has been hearing people take cheap shots at the spelling of his persona longer than some of these kids have been alive, but the trash talk has changed since he first stepped foot into the squared circle twenty-two years ago.
Whether it’s evolved or not is up for discussion.
One thing is for certain, though, these social media superstars sure do like the sound of their own voice.
Don’t read too much into that statement, however, as the rest of them do as well. It’s just different. Call it ambitious, naive, ill-informed, confident, foolish, or what have you, but the differences between veterans and younger superstars is something Pure Class Wrestling has in spades.
The paradigm for professional wrestling was changing, and for the old dogs to keep up with the Spring chickens, a change was necessary. Some would continue to drive old trusty, but Stormm had spent a better part of the year trying to, not necessarily reinvent the wheel, but to modify it so he could keep up. He’d just turned forty a few weeks ago after all.
There was no better representation of this shift than, yet again, another tag team match he’d been forced into for the take-home Trauma leading into Collision Course. Old and new versus old and new. Phinehas and Gerard versus Justin and Kyle. Two contenders verse two champions who had held onto their respective titles for nearly a year.
Grimm and Stormm, the consummate professionals, who had been at it a long time… a LONG time, and had been staples of the PCW rosters for years. Kyle and Gerard, the brash newcomers, who seemed to have just walked through the doors not that long ago, but already establishing themselves to the brand.
Phinehas had always just been an anomaly, neither this, nor that, but over the years, has turned that into something. Stormm on the other hand, a prime example of what Kyle and Gerard have to look forward in the careers ahead of them. Maybe that’s what bugged him most about them, he used to be them, but no longer was. They have so many title runs ahead of them, and the Force of Nature was just trying to make the ones he had left meaningful.
Perhaps he even hoped to be the veteran that came along to shut them up, and slow ‘em down. Something he wished had happened to him early in his career. Go too hard, burn too many bridges, you end up on the sideline for years, struggling to get back into the game.
But that was neither here nor there.
Justin would have to funnel his aggravation for the youngsters into something more constructive than frustrations, as there was no changing them. History had the patent on the young and reckless, and it was unlikely going to transform because of him.
No, let the other veterans stay in their ruts, and the let the rookies run their mouths.
Let Kyle Shane unlock his achievements.
Let Gerard Angelo take a pinfall and then blame his partner for actually doing his job.
Let Phinehas Grimm reap and sow and generally just freak everyone out.
Stormm would land on his feet, and happily live in the darkness, where others would admittedly wish he’d stay.
He’d stop talking, and start listening.
Watching.
Studying.
Lurking.
Words are only weapons against those that let them harm them. The likes of Kyle and Gerard could continue to be in awe at how the Force of Nature stayed relevant, while increasing his stock just for speaking ill of him. The spotlight did not need to shine on Stormm, he’d just steal it from the shadows when everyone least expected it.
But as the drums of war began to beat, some ways off in the distance, the last skirmish before the final battle to end the war just over the horizon, it was hard to put anything else into perspective, other than what Justin had in front of him.
The snow from earlier that weekend had begun to melt, small patches of it here and there still scattered about. The Sunday before Thanksgiving, as it had been for years, was Decoration Day.
Lindsay, since setting out on her own and leaving the nest, had embraced the holiday spirit for Christmas, above all other holidays. She left no room in Michaels Manor untouched by Christmastide.
While the tradition had started on Black Friday, decorating instead of standing in ridiculous retail lines, the move to Thursdays for Trauma had pushed the tradition back a few days, as the family generally spent the weekend in Greenville after a show, and with Collision Course coming up, there likely wouldn’t be a good time for the man of the house to find Lindsay her tree.
First thing in the morning, like a penguin seeking a pebble, Justin would hop on his four-wheeler and head for the tree lines. Never cutting a tree down from the same spot as the year before, and always planting a sapling during seedtime.
This year he headed East, where four years prior, in a large clearing on the property line, he’d hired a team to cultivate it specifically for the annual tradition. Fir trees of differing ages were planted, with a small cluster of them set to be ready for the twenty eighteen Yuletide tradition.
While it would take the hunting out of the equation for the Force of Nature, he’d save time on Decoration Day, and avoid the inevitable gripe that he spent all day looking, and wasn’t able to help Lindsay put up any decoration.
He happily avoided this in the past, but as Joe and Remi continued to get older, he wanted them to grow up with the tradition that the whole family spent time together doing.
But, what should have been a ten minute ride to the clearing, a few minutes to crank up the chainsaw and cut down the tree, tie it to the little trailer hooked to the four-wheeler, and another ten minute ride back, turned into a whole ordeal.
The estate that Michaels Manor sits on, and the property surrounding it that Justin and Lindsay own is rather vast, and Justin doesn’t always find time to survey it all, instead, hiring people he thought he could trust to do the job for him.
As he hit the clearing, and came to a full stop, killing the engine of his ATV, he noticed more than just the Firs he watched gett planted a few years ago. A couple of enclosed tents were erected where he was certain trees had been planted. To the side of them, two unmarked white vans, both with their engines running.
Of course, thinking nothing of it, or perhaps, not thinking hard enough about it, he hopped off the machine and started to make his way towards the tents to figure out what was going on. But then he heard it, that familiar sound, a sound he hadn’t heard in some time, let alone a sound he expected to hear in response to his presence, and he froze.
Click.
“Keep moving.”
The metallic barrel pressed into his back, and dug in even harder as Justin tried to turn his head to see who had snuck up on him.
A simple task had turned into a dreadful situation.
He was going to be late again, and Lindsay was not going to be happy… again.
If he was even going to make it back home at all.
“Fuck me.”
