Thanks For The House: Episode 1
Oct 2, 2023 12:06:01 GMT
Post by RAZOR on Oct 2, 2023 12:06:01 GMT
EPISODE 1
It’s like this – coming into a new territory could be hell if you didn’t know how to work the boys. Fuck, you had to know how to work the Pencil too. It was almost like working the crowd was the least important thing, at least when you first came in. Yeah it was important that you got over with the marks but if you didn’t know how to talk to the boys and the office – working the crowd didn’t exactly mean that you were getting the rocket strapped to you.
Coming into a new territory is a tough go. You’ve gotta go hat in hand and put over the draws immediately. I’m not talking about in the ring, I never laid down for anyone (unless the money was right). I’m talking backstage. Gotta fluff the egos when you’re a curtain jerker. That’s the business, like it or not. Luckily I was smartened up to that part early. I knew what I had to do because I got schooled long before I got to the big time.
When I came into American Made Grappling in ‘91 I was in the presence of royalty from the opening bell. At 20 years old, I knew that if I was going to make any real money I needed to play politics and play well. One rollup loss to a jobber and next thing you know the man with the pencil decides to pair you up with some hayseed from Dayton. Then you’re trying to make it as a tag team working $2 locals in the opener. That wasn’t gonna be me. I was gonna get over with the boys, the office, and the marks.
What you’ve gotta understand is that I was working all over the States for two years before I got the call up. I was working any show that would have me. I didn’t care where, I didn’t care how many people it would draw, I wanted to work. Fifteen minutes with some scrub in Macon for a hot dog and a handshake? I’m there. I also had an inherent talent for meeting rats that I could bunk with in just about every town so I didn’t have to sleep in my car. The thing about it is that I just wanted to get as much ring time as I could. Didn’t much care who I was working. Japan wasn’t calling. Mexico wasn’t calling. I had to with make towns all over the US of A to get my reps in.
That’s what the kids today don’t get. In your early years, even if you lose on some bullshit show in Poughkeepsie, you’ve learned something. And back then, the only people that saw you lose were the people that were in the crowd, the office, and the boys. There was no internet to stooge you out to the other fans all over the world. Not then. Sure, there were the dirt sheets but the marks that read that shit didn’t matter. And the boys weren’t gonna hold it against you if you lost. The office might, but who gives a fuck? You’re still figuring it out. And the fans? Fuck, in those days most of them were too drunk to remember who won or lost. We were wrestling in armories and barns and mall parking lots, fuck. It’s the boys that are gonna give you the rub and tell the big time that you can work when they get there before you.
Back to AMG. It was a whole different beast. This was the first place to book me that ran in the big markets. The big arenas. I mean, I was green as goose shit as far as any of the boys in that locker room were concerned but I knew the culture. I knew how important the glad handing and putting over the guys who made the gate was. The more you pump their egos backstage, the more they are going to help you out. I mean you’ve gotta be careful not to look like a mark. It’s a delicate dance and I saw lots of greenies do it wrong. That wasn’t going to be me, I was going to show these vets that I was worthy of the spot. And it’s a plus if you get over with a vet that has the Pencil’s ear. Maybe you dodge having to work a battle royal and instead you get a featured singles match. Understand?
It’s like this – I had worked with enough draws that were on their way down when I was on my way up. I took every opportunity to pick their brains. I’m talking about guys who had been to the top but they were on the ass end of their careers and that’s why they were appearing on a Spud Wrestling show in Boise with greenies like me. They had their big wins, they had their big paydays but that shit doesn’t last forever. Once you aren’t the reason for a big gate, you get pushed down the card. A lot of these vets would rather main event a regional over curtain jerking for a national. I mean, fuck, the pay was usually the same. I learned a lot from those old timers so when I got to AMG in ‘91 I knew how to work the locker room.
I get signed by AMG and the first town I’ve gotta make is somewhere in New Hampshire. You’d think I’d remember the name of the town because it was a career milestone but…Somas tend to fuck with the long term memory. I wasn’t heavy into them at that point but fuck, I was about to be. But yeah, I don’t remember what town it was. I’m sure some internet mark will be in the comment section with the details once this comes out. Not important to the story.
So I get to the building early because the old guys notice that kind of shit. I wasn’t doing it for the office, this was purely for the boys and to get over with the vets. I figure I’m gonna be the first guy there and fuck if I’m there I might as well get in the ring to loosen up. Hit the ropes, get to know the space. That shit is important, that’s what the kids today don’t understand.
I get to the building and there are some office people fucking around. I’ve never worked a promotion this big so seeing all of the production gear, the cogs of the machine – it popped me I’m not gonna lie. Anyway, I hit the locker room to change into some workout gear and it’s empty except for two stalls. Fuck, how early do I need to show up to work this “hungry young talent” angle for the boys? “When did these two get here?” I thought. So I’m a little hot now. First day in the territory and I’m already fucking up my plan. What people need to know is that I was there five hours before bell time thinking that I was going to pop some of the legends with my dedication. They’d come in and see that the rook was already there, already loose and I’d get over with them. Didn’t go that way.
Fuck it. I’ll get into the ring and get my minutes in. I was already there, fuck, might as well do something positive with the time. I head out to the ring, expecting that it’s gonna be empty. My thinking was that whoever was already taking up space in the locker room was there for a photo shoot or some meet and greet. Fuck do I know? Well, wouldn’t you know it – someone is already in there tussling with some jobber.
I’m sunk. That’s how I felt. I get down to the ring to see who is sparring. Maybe it’s some other greenie and I can get in their ear. I don’t know, I’m grasping at straws. Just my luck, it’s fuckin’ Hank Malone in there with some nobody. “Okay,” I think “Well at least it’s a vet who might put over my initiative.”
Now what you’ve gotta understand is that I was a big fuckin’ mark for the Mega Americans. Razor Rockwell and Hank Malone were fuckin’ over with me and all the guys I grew up with. Once I get down the ramp and realize who is in the ring I’m like “Shit, I should probably just let him do his thing.” I linger for a bit, trying not to look like a goon. I consider just heading back to the locker room to get show ready when I hear his fucking voice. He’s talking to me.
“Hey kid, you got your workin’ boots on?”
Now what he means by that is “are you ready to train” because it was pretty fuckin’ clear that I had boots on. Not everyone knows what that means. He says, “This greenhorn is the drizzling shits. Get in here and show me what you’ve got.”
I pop. I didn’t mean to because I didn’t want to look like a fuckin’ mark but when Hank Malone asks you to put in some work you don’t say no. I get in the ring and the jobber that he was working with is staring daggers at me. He was a transplant from England, name was Nicholas Petty, you might know him. Didn’t last long Stateside but he did some nice business with UWK a few years later. He powders out and stands outside the ring, looking pissy. Not my fault brother, go learn a new hold. He eventually fucks off back to the locker room. I half expected to find out later that he had taken a shit in my bag but luckily for him, that didn’t happen. Can never tell with foreigners, you know?
Anyway, me and Hank, we start going through some stuff. Just grappling, nothing heavy. I’m going about a quarter speed because I’m not trying to make Hanker look slow. I’m not trying to blow him up because he’s in the main event later. Last thing I need is for the Pencil to think I’m trying to sabotage the gate in the first town I make for them. Gotta put over the vets, right?
So Hanker and me, we work on some stuff for a while. Fuck, the big bastard wasn’t holding back like I was. It didn’t feel like practice, felt like a shoot match. What you’ve gotta understand is that at that time he and all the other vets felt like they had to put the greenies in their place immediately. Let us know that if we got booked against them, we were going to get fucked up. That day I learned real quick that sparring to him just meant that he wasn’t going to punch me in the face (hopefully). He was still going to stretch me like a purse was on the line. At that time in my career there was no way I was going to actually match him, even if I gave it my all. Could have blown him up, because I was quick. But he’d have put me down if he wanted to.
We finish up because he’s starting to get gassed. I act like I’m blown up to humor him. But Hank actually puts over my skills, says I know what I’m doing. Fuck. A compliment like that from a guy like him hit me like a brainer of white lightning at the Best Western after a big gate. Couldn’t believe the situation that I had found myself in. Dream come true, right? Anyway, I thank him for the kind words and put over being able to work out in the ring with him. You know how the big bastard responds? He fuckin’ cheap shots me!
This motherfucker has fifty pounds on me and he cleans my clock like I was nothing. I drop because…fifty pounds. Now I’ve gotta think, do I fuckin’ shoot on this guy or do I just look at the lights? I mean, I’m hot now. I’m ready to blow the whole contract just to give this fucking guy a receipt.
Hank is just laughing.
He helps me up and says, “You can take a punch, kid. I’ll give you that. Don’t get hot, that was a lesson.”
A lesson? I had been punched before, big man.
He keeps on, “I’m showing you that you can’t trust anyone in this business because at the end of the day it’s always about the money. You’ve gotta take any advantage you can to get that winner’s purse. If you’re good, people are gonna try to bury you backstage so they don’t have to get buried by you in the ring. Doesn’t matter how much they smile and say that they “love the competition”. If you aren’t fucking people over, you aren’t making money. You gotta be smart because if someone thinks that you’re jobbing them out of money, money that they need to pay the gas bill to keep their family warm they’ll do whatever they gotta do to hold you down. If you’re taking food off of their kids’ plate, then they’ll stick you at the first opportunity. You gotta know who to stick before they do it to you.”
Hank got it. I didn’t get it right away but he was right. He was wise to the bullshit. I had been smartened up before I got to AMG but Hank and Razor? Man, they were on another level. They had been at the top for a long time and it wasn’t just their wrestling skill that kept them there. They knew how to play the game like I had never seen. What you’ve gotta understand is that I had been schooled but that hour in the ring with Hank eclipsed everything I had learned before then.
Anyway, I just nodded as he was dropping his wisdom and then I thanked him for the advice. I was still hot about the cheap shot but like I said, you’ve gotta put over the veterans. Even if they do something that makes you want to kill them. He served me a plate of shit that day and fuck, I was ready to ask for seconds. It was good shit. As I try to leave to head back to the locker room Hanker tells me to stick around after the show. Says he knows Raze would want to meet me. But that’s a story for another time.
