ONE YEAR AGO

For weeks he’s rang my phone off the hook, texted me nonstop, left me countless voicemails, and sent me more than a dozen emails.  ‘I’m out,’ I thought to myself at least a hundred times and probably will a hundred more.  ‘What do you not understand?’  Paulie, or Paul E.- whatever he goes by now- something has grabbed his attention.  I could have easily put a stop to it.  Blocking his number would have taken all of three seconds of my precious time.  Finally I looked at his latest text: check the link tell me he doesn’t have it

Sighing from my golden throne at my palatial estate in Jackson Hole, I finally clicked the link.  What I saw was a kid, an actual kid, fifteen, sixteen, maybe seventeen years old at the very most.  He was fit but a little scrawny.  Nice enough looking I suppose, but that’s irrelevant.  It was some indy wrestling show in the middle of nowhere Ohio.  The crowd was a whopping hundred people, two at most.  Lame entrance, even worse music.  The kid received a lukewarm reception which when you’re a nobody wrestling in a nothing town, a lukewarm response is equivalent to a big pop.

The kid had some raw talent, that much was true, but he was green as grass still which I expected.  His fake punches inside the ring in a predetermined outcome indy promotion looked like he pulled them about four inches too soon.  Even with suspension of disbelief, I still could only roll my eyes.  He had a number of things to work on in my opinion but his athleticism was off the charts.  He reminded me of…

...your nephew!

Son of a bitch.  I didn’t mean to answer the call!

What? I asked, even though I already knew what he was getting at.

Tell me Theo, Paulie replied.  I could hear the excitement in his voice.  Tell me that kid doesn’t remind you of him!

I’m not seeing it, I lied.  Kid needs a lot of work and the XWF isn’t where you go when you still need a lot of work

I set the phone down on the floor, wiped my royal ass and flushed the golden commode.

That’s where I disagree! The XWF is the ONLY place to go, Theo!

He’d get chewed up and spit out in the XWF, Paul, I said as I washed my hands.

At first maybe.  He’s on TV in the Toledo market, Paul informed me.  They have a taping once per month.  Tell me you’ll meet me in Toledo, Theo.  Tell me we’ll get an up close view of this kid.

Scouting was not on my bingo card for this year.  It wasn’t something I wanted to do and I certainly didn’t want to go to Toledo… nor Ohio… nor a podunk fake indy wrestling show.  Naturally I turned him down and naturally, a few months later, I met him there.  We arrived early and as is Paul’s way, he made the rounds greeting the ordinary talents and telling them just how much he loved their work.  He was lying through his teeth but they didn’t know that and they didn’t need to know that.

I followed from a distance as Paul waded through a sea of people making his way to an even more rotund, if you can believe that, promoter.

Big Bill Hudson! Paul called out in his usual boisterous obnoxiousness.  The promoter turned in our direction.

I’ll be goddamned! the man said with a hearty laugh.  Long time, no see Paulie!

Nice to see you still keeping the lights on, the two exchanged bearhugs which legitimately looked like two bears hugging.  It’s nice to see where terminology comes from sometimes.  Of course you know my colleague, Theo Pryce, he said, introducing me to this nobody and nothibgn small time promoter.

Mr. Pryce! the man picked me up in a bearhug before setting me back down.  Apparently that’s how he greets people, but I began thinking that I’d probably need to take a half dozen showers whenever I got back to Jackson Hole.  One to wash the stink of Toledo off of me, another for Ohio, another for being in such close proximity to Paulie and a fourth to get the stink and sheen of the grimey promoter off of me.  Then two more just for good measure.

After exchanging the customary pleasantries, Big Bill decided to call a spade a spade and poke Paul with the “why the hell are you here?” bit.

Tate Stiles, Paul replied.

Goofy name.

Oh no, huh-uh, he wagged his finger then quickly (well quickly for a man of his immense girth anyway) ushered us to a private area hat I assume he had set up as sort of office, away from the prying eyes and ears of his talent- and I used that term very loosely.

No way, Paulie, he huffed as he sat down.  The man seemed like he was a double cheeseburger away from a coronary event.  You can’t go taking the only one I got with a lick of talent.  You’ll put me out of business.

Bill, tell me what you’re doing with him.  What’s your master plan to get that kid over?

The fans love him, Paulie.  He’s a natural babyface if I’ve ever seen one, Bill insisted.  He’s the only one that has people waiting for him after the shows.  He’s the only one that sells out merchandise…

You have that kid as a face? Paul asked with a quizzical expression.

What other option do I have?  He’s popular with the kids…

Because he is a kid…

He’s good looking…

Marginally, I interjected.

He’s not a Corey Smith, he’s not a Thaddeus Duke and he couldn’t be a Dolly Waters…

It’s a different game you play over there in the XWF, he argued.  This kid has major babyface starpower potential and…

You’re wasting him.

The room fell silent.  Whatever Paul was, he’s also very good at spotting, developing and grooming talent.

I’ll give you fifty thousand out of my own pocket if you set that kid free, Paul cut through the silence.  Big Bill scoffed at the proposal.  His matches average from six to nine minutes and because he’s a babyface, you have him getting tossed around like a ragdoll almost from bell to bell and nine times out of ten, you schedule him to lose.  He’s not getting over the way you want because you’re wasting his abilities.

I can’t put that kid over anyone, Paul! Bill shouted.  Most of my guys have been doing this their whole lives and that kid has been around for six months.  If I start putting that kid over, I’ll have a mutiny on my hands!

Put him over tonight, Paul suggested firmly.

He’s facing my world champion tonight, I can’t do that, Bill protested.  At the same time, I saw that sly, evil, cheshire cat grin form on Paul’s face.

Put him over, Bill.  Then give me a microphone and send me out there.

Big Bill sat silently in consideration for an absurdly long time.

What do you think? he asked, looking in my direction.  You’ve barely said anything.

Paul is a lot of things, I said after a moment of consideration.  If you listen to him and turn that kid heel tonight… I peeked through the curtain partition.  For a small venue, it was decently packed.  You’ll double the house for your next taping.

Plus, it gives you a massive main event title match down the line as Tate challenges your sitting world champion.  And all those fans that are clamoring for excitement will show up in droves to watch your champion beat the shit out of that ungrateful teenage kid.

I stop short of admitting that I admire the way his mind works, so whatever the step below admiration is, it’s that.

Suppose you’re right, Bill leaned back in his chair.  He walks out of here tonight with a big fat development deal with the XWF.  How do I benefit from it?  The kid just turned 15 a couple of weeks ago, Paul.  He’s not ready for the big stage.

You’ll keep him for a year, Paulie replied, causing me to scrunch my face in confusion.  You only tape once a month, we can work around that.  In the interim, he comes to train in development with the XWF all the while honing his in-ring skills on your program.  When word gets out that you sent someone to the big leagues, Bill, talent all over the country is gonna come knocking.

Alright, alright, Big Bill relented and Paul exits the makeshift office.

Following him into the sea of men and women in this poor excuse for a backstage area, he made a beeline for Tate Stiles.  He was built bigger than he had seemed in the clips that I saw.  After cordially introducing myself to the kid, I made my exit and stood around near the wall of the small gymnasium and watched the show get underway.  I didn’t have any interest in coming here initially but seeing Paul’s wheels turning in real time has filled me with a sense of excitement and anticipation.  I didn’t know exactly what he was planning but I’ve known the man for more than a decade and I’ve worked with him more than I care to admit, sometimes out in the open, sometimes not so much.

As the show wore on and on… and on… I sent my consultation bill to my nephew.  He was in charge of the ship now and if I was going to be consulting on things like this and taking time out of my (not at all) busy schedule, then I was charging him and the company a boatload of cash.  When I looked up between matches, a ring hand was placing a steel chair under the ring.

It was time for the main event as USWL world (lol) champion, big time (double lol) babyface, Burt Jackson one on one in non-title action against the young would-be, should-be, damn-well-better-be prodigy, Tate Stiles.  My ears perked up on introductions as a small segment of the house popped for the kid.  The match began with a flurry of offense from Tate but it was short lived like any other clip I’d seen him in over the past few weeks.

I couldn’t help but notice Jackson taking liberties with the kid.  To the naked eye, it wouldn’t have looked like anything at all, but I have a trained eye and Jackson was 100% taking advantage of his young counterpart.  If I saw it, I know damn well Paulie did too from wherever he was watching.  I’d seen it in the clips I’ve watched too, from other opponents.

The match ended with a surprise small package and a Tate Stiles victory much to the shock and delight of the fans in attendance.  No sooner did the bell ring and another talent hits the ring, beating down Burt Jackson.  Tate did the babyface thing and tried to cover Burt Jackson with his own body.  Stiles too, then took a beating so I was starting to wonder how this was going to end.  Did Bill change his mind?  It wouldn’t have surprised me.  The man doesn’t seem like he ever had an original idea and he was definitely afraid this idea wouldn’t work.

The attacker began cutting a promo that I neither understood nor paid attention to.  While his back was turned, Stiles rolled from the ring and fell to the floor.  I assumed he was retrieving the chair the ring hand had placed there earlier.  Moments later, Tate raised himself from the floor and began climbing the turnbuckle with a chair in hand to a fairly decent pop.  When the attacker turned around, Stiles tossed him the chair then proceeded to deliver a missile dropkick to it.  Stiles scrambled to his feet, reclaimed the chair and as the attacker stumbled to his feet, peeled away and stumbled through the ropes in retreat.  Burt Jackson climbed to his feet and shook the hand of the kid.

Ladies and gentlemannnn…

That voice was unmistakable and the fan pop was pretty gigantic for a small crowd.  As Paul emerged from backstage, a standard “holy shit” chant joined him.

I need no introduction!

Paul was looking at Burt Jackson and I knew immediately that was part of the plan… a swerve.  He might’ve been looking at the champion, but he was talking to the Prodigy.  Stiles, for what it’s worth, hung back still with that chair in his hands as Burt stepped forward and leaned against the ropes.

Aren’t you tired yet? Paulie continued on.  Aren’t you tired of your efforts, your considerable talent, your championship pedigree being wasted in TOLEDO! FUCKING! OHIO!?

As quick as they were to shower with love this big star from the big leagues showing up unannounced, they quickly turned on him.

Week after week… Paulie became more animated in his motions.  Night after night, it’s the same thing, the same result, the same opponents, the same fucking winners and you punch in, take your lumps, then punch out and go home to stick your meesily forty-dollar payout in your gas tank.

Paulie stomped up the steps and stood on the apron near the corner.  Burt cracked a smile and took a couple of steps back toward the center where Tate Stiles was waiting for his cue.

I can take you out of this! Paul continued on.  Some kids at ringside could be heard telling Burt “Don’t do it!”  I can take you out of Toledo, out of the small time, out of the USW-fucking-L and take you to the big leagues!  No one dreams of one day making it to the USWL!  Don’t you want the big time?  Don’t you want the big leagues?  Don’t you want the bright lights of the big cities?  Haven’t you dreamed of taking your considerable talent to the Land of Xteme!?

To his credit, Burt Jackson played his part well.  He was as over as anyone in the small time and he definitely had the crowd believing Paul’s offer was for him.

I can see it in your face!  I can see it in your eyes! Paul meant business now as he stepped to the middle rope to issue a challenge.  THEN SHOW ME HOW BAD YOU FUCKING WANT IT!


CRACK!


Right on cue, complete with the ooohhhs, ahhhs and the delayed understanding of what they’d just witnessed as Tate Stiles, the clean cut babyface kid from Youngstown, delivered a chair shot to the back of Burt Jackson.  Burt hit his knees, clutching his back and turning to see the kid that betrayed him.  Tate Stiles cleaned his clock with a chair shot to his face.

The fans were notably stunned with boos and jeers starting to pick up.  Paulie entered the ring and hugged his new protege.  Stiles wrestled the USWL world title away from the official.

Ladies and gentlemen… you KNOW who I am, but allow me to introduce you to my newest client… THE PRODIGY!  TATE!  FUCKING!  STILES!

Paulie holds the mic for his new charge.  Get a good look, Tate Stiles began.  Buy your ten dollar tickets while you can, see me while you can, boo me while you can, buy my shit off the merch stands while you can because as soon as I am legally able to do it, I’m taking my fine ass and this piece of shit world title to the Land of Xtreme and you sorry pieces of shit will never… EVER… see me… again!





To Paul’s credit, the size of the crowd never concerned him much.  The only thing that mattered was that they reacted.  Whether they boo’d or cheered him, whether they cussed him out or excitedly slapped his hands, the man was a performer through and through.  Say what you want about the man and his ruthless, snakelike approach to professional wrestling, but he had an unrivaled ability to take promising young talents and turn them into worldwide megastars.  The kid was just 15 so he had a full year to work some things out.  He had a full year under Paul’s tutelage in which to grow and become the best version of himself before ever setting foot inside the shark tank that is an XWF ring.  I had no doubt that Paul would bring him to the dance, what Tate would do when he gets there… is up to Tate.