Post by Grimm on Jun 7, 2021 8:49:46 GMT -5
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like
his.
-- ‘Flying at Night,’ Ted Kooser
A typical early summer night up All Souls Hollow, just beyond Hangtown, has been addressed and described ad nauseam over the years, so we will just say that Phinehas Dillinger sits in a chair on his porch. He watches the stars whirl above him and the hills and the river, and thinks on how his very being was cooked inside those spheres of annihilation. And how when he looks up like this, he is a dead star looking back at himself. A reflection of stellar decay roaming the land.
Twinkle, twinkle, like when the lights of PCW Arena hit a championship belt and shimmer hither and yon. The belt currently in Grimm’s possession rests inside the house, all safe and sound and tucked away in a drawer. And it makes him wonder…what does that belt mean now? Is it up to him to give it meaning? After all, the North American title, which had a legacy built up beneath it rivaling that of any championship, was recently declared vacant after the current title holder evaporated from the ranks. And just like that, its future is uncertain. Non Compos Mentis would be very displeased were he to find out.
And so, back to the question at hand. Shall Grimm give it meaning? There has been the occasional talk of the World Champion ‘molding’ the federation in their own image, but Pure Class Wrestling does not suffer such foolishness. PCW does not require anyone’s bye or leave to roll on through the years. Now, that being said, no one is clamoring for the World Championship like in days past. There’s no line of contenders champing at the bit to get their meaty paws on Grimm, and not even Razor Blade is demanding a title match at the next pay per view. This is unfamiliar ground.
If a wrestler holds a belt with no clearly defined contender, with no one making ridiculous threats, or questioning his abilities, or accusing him of being a dusty old fart whose glory days waved bye-bye long ago, is he really a champion?
Well, that belt in there says so. And Grimm will defend it whenever deemed necessary.
Business is business, and Grimm is Grimm.
Someone set him free.
The title isn’t up for grabs this week, but given the current status of the federation, there’s little doubt that someone involved in this tag team match will be Grimm’s next challenger.
Rick Majors? He’s been Grimm’s on-again, off-again partner as much as anyone in recent memory. And he’s like Grimm in that no matter the relationship outside the ring, he has a job to do. And were that job to involve the World Championship, Majors would try to convince us he doesn’t even deserve a shot and then unload on the champion as soon as the bell rings. Even Rick Majors can’t fight his nature.
Gerard Angelo? There’s no doubting the animosity between him and Grimm. As many times as Rick Majors has been in Grimm’s corner, Angelo has been standing across from him as the opponent – and with a title on the line, more often than not. What’s one more title bout between friends? Or seething foes, at that?
Michael Wryght? Long-time-no-see, where-are-they-now, both staunchest-of-allies and severest-of-opponents Mr. Showtime? The Frickin’ Superstar seems to be at the proverbial bottom, what with a missing family and nothing but an ash heap to his name. But Wryght has always been wily in more ways than one, and Grimm knows how sharp his turns can be. Oh yes, the Hangtown Horror knows.
So those three. That’s what Grimm has to look forward to this week, and for the immediate weeks following. Those old familiar faces.
Phinehas Dillinger doesn’t know what they are thinking. But he can guess.
I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like
his.
-- ‘Flying at Night,’ Ted Kooser
A typical early summer night up All Souls Hollow, just beyond Hangtown, has been addressed and described ad nauseam over the years, so we will just say that Phinehas Dillinger sits in a chair on his porch. He watches the stars whirl above him and the hills and the river, and thinks on how his very being was cooked inside those spheres of annihilation. And how when he looks up like this, he is a dead star looking back at himself. A reflection of stellar decay roaming the land.
Twinkle, twinkle, like when the lights of PCW Arena hit a championship belt and shimmer hither and yon. The belt currently in Grimm’s possession rests inside the house, all safe and sound and tucked away in a drawer. And it makes him wonder…what does that belt mean now? Is it up to him to give it meaning? After all, the North American title, which had a legacy built up beneath it rivaling that of any championship, was recently declared vacant after the current title holder evaporated from the ranks. And just like that, its future is uncertain. Non Compos Mentis would be very displeased were he to find out.
And so, back to the question at hand. Shall Grimm give it meaning? There has been the occasional talk of the World Champion ‘molding’ the federation in their own image, but Pure Class Wrestling does not suffer such foolishness. PCW does not require anyone’s bye or leave to roll on through the years. Now, that being said, no one is clamoring for the World Championship like in days past. There’s no line of contenders champing at the bit to get their meaty paws on Grimm, and not even Razor Blade is demanding a title match at the next pay per view. This is unfamiliar ground.
If a wrestler holds a belt with no clearly defined contender, with no one making ridiculous threats, or questioning his abilities, or accusing him of being a dusty old fart whose glory days waved bye-bye long ago, is he really a champion?
Well, that belt in there says so. And Grimm will defend it whenever deemed necessary.
Business is business, and Grimm is Grimm.
Someone set him free.
The title isn’t up for grabs this week, but given the current status of the federation, there’s little doubt that someone involved in this tag team match will be Grimm’s next challenger.
Rick Majors? He’s been Grimm’s on-again, off-again partner as much as anyone in recent memory. And he’s like Grimm in that no matter the relationship outside the ring, he has a job to do. And were that job to involve the World Championship, Majors would try to convince us he doesn’t even deserve a shot and then unload on the champion as soon as the bell rings. Even Rick Majors can’t fight his nature.
Gerard Angelo? There’s no doubting the animosity between him and Grimm. As many times as Rick Majors has been in Grimm’s corner, Angelo has been standing across from him as the opponent – and with a title on the line, more often than not. What’s one more title bout between friends? Or seething foes, at that?
Michael Wryght? Long-time-no-see, where-are-they-now, both staunchest-of-allies and severest-of-opponents Mr. Showtime? The Frickin’ Superstar seems to be at the proverbial bottom, what with a missing family and nothing but an ash heap to his name. But Wryght has always been wily in more ways than one, and Grimm knows how sharp his turns can be. Oh yes, the Hangtown Horror knows.
So those three. That’s what Grimm has to look forward to this week, and for the immediate weeks following. Those old familiar faces.
Phinehas Dillinger doesn’t know what they are thinking. But he can guess.
I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.
