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Bigg Rigg and Superballs vs Big Shank and James Raven
Author Message
James Raven Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#1
08-17-2019, 10:47 AM

Flatline Crew and Suicide Kings, please post your roleplays as replys to this thread. Everybody else, please do not comment in this thread.

RULES
2 RP Match (1 Per Person, 2 Per Team)
No Word Count Limit

RP PERIOD STARTS: August 17th, 2019 (11:59:59 PM Eastern time)
DEADLINE IS: August 31st, 2019 (11:59:59 PM Eastern time)

The People’s G.O.A.T.
120-24-3

3x Universal Champion, 3x World Champion, 9x Xtreme Champion, 1x Hart Champion, 2x Phoenix Champion, 1x Women’s Champion (lol), 1x Federweight Champion, 1x Heavymetalweight Champion, 5x Tag Team Champion
(w/ Aidan Collins, Roxy Nova, Mia Sanchez, Big Shank, Drew Archyle/Robert Main)

XWF Hall of Legends
#4 on XWFs “Top 50” List
2009 Rookie of the Year
2009 Face of the Year
2010 Heel of the Year
8x Star of the Month
2x Star of the Year (2009/‘10)
2x Feud of the Year (2010/‘11 w/ Big Shank)
2017 High Stakes Winner
Former Owner
Lots of other random shit
Edit Hate Post Like Post
TBS Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Very random

(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)


#2
08-28-2019, 09:34 AM

[Image: A2rCv5L.jpg]

It isn't often that I say this and admitting this out loud doesn't exactly come easily to me, but I am capable of jealousy. It may not seem like I have a lot to be envious about, but we all have at least one thing that grinds us down. No, I'm not jealous of the fact that Raven is running this place – fuck no, as a matter of fact. I'm not envious of the main event of this little shindig going to SJ and The Brand – they worked really fucking hard ducking me all those years and earned the right to close this show. I don't lose any sleep over people talking about new Universal Champions being as good as I was – I'm Italian but I'm not a moron. I'm a little perturbed about Ryan Reynolds being cast as the voice of Pikachu, but that's not jealousy so much as just annoyed. But, having said all of that, I am jealous of people that can make impulsive decisions. I've never been great at that.

Every decision, every action, every move is a calculated decision that weighs on me and impacts me in ways that the average person can't possibly comprehend. Chris Page switches from Indica to Sativa on a minute's notice. Dante Anglais pivots from average human being to the most obnoxious prick in the world from second to second. Bigg Rigg pops in and out of retirement, Centurion pops in and out of feeling confident, and Barney Green shows the ability to switch between a nincompoop and a ….

Nevermind, I should have stopped at Centurion. Pay attention, by the way, and you'll notice that his popping in and out will likely coincide with the amount of time I stick around. But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, it often takes a long time to get me to make up my mind about something.

When Raven announced that I was coming back for XX, I imagine there were likely some mixed reactions. Some people probably thought it was just Raven bullshitting and I'd miss the show as he dropped the Flatline Crew on his own. Maybe some people theorized I'd just stand in the corner in a t-shirt and do the Shank version of the Greatest Hits – call someone a sword swallower, hit a super kick, probably steal the pin from Raven and go home and wait for the check to clear.

Instead, after what felt like years of difficult deliberation, you guys are actually getting the version of me that takes the time to give a shit. This isn't a comeback, this is a motherfucking celebration.

But the check better fucking clear.

In hindsight, I guess it should have been an easy decision to come back. After all, this IS the ten year anniversary of me kicking Ranma's teeth down his fucking throat and ending the most dominant Universal title reign in XWF history. What better way to celebrate that monumental event than to kick the teeth down the throat of another dominating Universal Champion and end the most dominant Universal title reign in XWF history again? Just kidding, Omega, I don't need to beat you. But, since I'm here I might as well ask the important XWF questions:
  • Do YOU need to beat me, Omega?
  • Can there be TWO most dominant Universal Championship reigns in XWF history?
  • Why are there two G's in BIGG?
  • Has Superballs always been a euphemism for just normal sized balls or is there a medical reason they're super?
  • What does Keeper actually keep? (I know, I know, Rigg's balls in his purse. Cheap heat.)
  • Why is Dr. Emo the doctor of being emo when Raziel is the one who bitches all the time? Is emo even still a thing?
  • Why in the fucking fuck of all fucks is Peter Gilmour any-fucking-where near me on the XWF top 50 of all time list?
  • Did Chad ever learn how to use a comma?
  • Why did The Big Shank really agree to show up for this?
  • How did James Raven convince Shank to show up for this?

Believe it or not, I'll answer three of those questions right now.

One of the answers is ‘Yes.' You can go ahead and figure out which one that's the answer to.


The last two? Let's just say it was a long story…


The year was 2012…

Our run as the Suicide Kings had just ended, Jonathyn Brown had just sold the XWF (again) and new ownership was coming in. I guess it was a lot to think about – new ownership meant new competition, new challengers to face, new glory to chase. You know, the usual shit that makes competitive people like us get out of bed in the morning. The truth is though, I wasn't feeling very competitive. I answered the phone that day because it rang. And it's 2012, what's he gonna do – text me?

"What about your legacy? What about that? This is a chance to really cement yourself as one of the best ever. We both know that if we stick this out together the ceiling for you is the SBOAT." Most people waste my air and my time by small talking or beating around the bush. Raven always knew when I was up for bullshit and when he was wasting his time. It's one of his like four talents.

"SBOAT?" I asked, ultimately knowing I'd regret it.

"Second Banana of all time. We keep going and we know I'll be the GOAT, but you know, no shame in second."

"Why is it always phallic shaped objects with you? I'm the second banana, you grow cucumbers in your garden, you have a giant black vibrator in your gym bag at all times. People are gonna think you're compensating."

"Says the guy who's name literally translates to Giant Dick."

Point, asshole.

"I'm not gonna say no, I'll just say maybe. Give me a call in a few days when they announce the ownership group. I heard Donald Sterling is looking to expand his portfolio, Donald Trump might play ball. Those guys got too much money and nothing better to do. If it smells right then I'll consider."


"You're right, if I owned the Clippers I'd definitely be looking to expand. Not like anything good ever happens to that LA team. It'd be pretty cool getting paid by an NBA owner."

"Yeah, I mean could you imagine if the Clippers showed up and actually took something good from Toronto? Something like really really REALLY special? Feels impossible, but I enjoy the idea of it pissing you off. Closest to the NBA you'll ever get, and closest to relevancy the Clippers will ever be."

"At least the Clippers will always be the Raptors' bitches."

"Word."

We talked for a few more minutes about how much I was enjoying LeBron fisting the rest of the NBA, how cool it was that Kaepernick was leading the 49ers to glory and was becoming a pretty big fan favorite, and other sports stories that seemed important at the time. Like I said, Raven knew when I was ready to bullshit. We ended the phone call and I swear to you, I was legitimately considering the chance. Maybe I wasn't done yet.

A few days later the phone rang again.

"It's Shane , and it's going to be fucking awesome."

"I'm out."

I hung up the phone – to this day that remains the shortest conversation we'd ever had.

It was September 29th, 2013.

There was a knock at the door and I answered. Cool story, right?

Standing in the door was the greatest sight I've ever seen in my life, and the entire reason that I remember the date this took place. There they were in all of their Heisen-glory. Decked out with bald caps and glue on goatees and topped off with the most glorious pork pie hats I'd ever seen. There they were, James Raven and Mia Sanchez dressed like Walter White at my house to watch the Breaking Bad finale. Or so they thought.

"We are the ones that knock." Yep, he said that, swear to God. No matter what he says, this totally happened.

"Say my name," was the attempt at a follow-up offered by Mia.

"Oh yeah, I guarantee you've said that before, bitch."

"Nice, a Jesse Pinkman reference!" She said back to me? Whatever that meant.

We walked from the doorway to the home theater (I know, I have a home theater, I'm better than you and I know it, right?) where the tone from the two slowly changed.

"What no snack table? Where am I supposed to put the cotton candy meth? What kind of a party is this shit? Come on man, you're better than this."

"Look, this is my own private domicile and I will not be harassed, bitch."

"Man you're killing the Pinkman tonight! This is our territory tonight! James, hang out with this Aaron Paul wannabe while I get us some snacks. And drinks."

Again, what in the fuck is a Pinkman? I am not a…

"So, Shank, it's that time again. Whaddya say? There's this new federation keeping me busy and I think it'd be a good outlet for you. They've mentioned you. We can…"


"No." I'll skip the full recap, but I told him no about fourteen times. This time it was much easier, it just wasn't in the cards for me to get back into it. It's not like I was bored, we were in the golden age of television.

"Some things are forever, Shank, You and wrestling. Me and Mia. And Breaking Bad as the greatest television show of all time. I'll drop it, but only because the show is about to start. Turn on AMC."

Before I could rebuttal Mia walked back in. Yes, he said the shit about forever WITHOUT HER IN THE ROOM! Again, no matter what he says, this totally happened.

I dimmed the lights and within moments ‘Way Down in the Hole' started playing over the sound system. Within moments we were watching the cold open of season five of ‘The Wire.'

"What in the?" Raven seemed surprised.

"Come on! It's the series finale. You're really not gonna watch Breaking Bad?"

"I'm not going to dignify that bullshit with a response. King stay the king. The Wire is the king."

We didn't even get through the credits before Mia and James were up and on their way to another TV somewhere else in my house. Ungrateful assholes. I don't know what they thought they were going to watch me do tonight, but it wasn't going to be the night they saw me declare a television show better than this one.

They were gone for about forty-five or fifty minutes. I heard some random yelling at the screen when I finally stood up and walked into the room where they were watching.

"James, can I talk to you? It's important."

"Now?"

"Now."

He paused the TV (pausing live TV? We're living in the future man) and I sat on the couch across from them. Part of me respected that Mia loved him enough to pause the live finale long enough so we could talk. Maybe he was right, love like that really might last forever.

"This new federation. Jimmy, I have to know. Did they mention me by name?"


There is a brief hesitation from them both. It's awkward, but it suits my purpose. "They did." Mia answers before James can stop her. It looks like he's uncomfortable with her answer, almost like he thinks I don't need that bullshit on my mind.

I let her response linger for a minute, as I can tell I look upset, I even look down at my phone for a moment to sell it. It's been a few minutes now.

"They used my name? In the street? Talk motherfuckers."

"The street?" Mia looks even more confused than usual, James knows where this is going. Mostly.

"When we bounce from this shit here, you tell them James that word did not get back to me. You tell them Shank will step to any motherfucker. Centurion. Chris Page. My name is my name!"

There is another brief moment of silence.

"Oh, and Bryan Cranston's character dies on the floor after killing all the nazis. Thanks for the talk."

I stand up and walk out of the room leaving Jimmy motherfucking me loudly. Thank God for internet spoiler culture. I do not know if they finished the show or not – but seriously, once you know the ending what's the point?

It's 2014 and we're at a bar.

Well, I'm at a bar. I know you want me to say, ‘that's not new,' and the old me would have, but honestly the last couple years I haven't spent very much time at the bar at all. I'm here tonight because Raven called me – news of his divorce from Mia just got broken by TMZ and the dude needs a drink. Who am I to say no to that?

He walks in with a hood pulled over his head and his head mostly faced down as he quickly strolls towards me at the bar. I never understood this about celebrity culture. Why would one and a half (I've been out of the public eye for a few years now) recognizable people meet at a public bar stool to have a conversation that they could easily have at a significantly more private location? It's almost like a series of flashbacks needs different scenes in order to seem less dull and someone didn't think this all through when putting it together. I digress.

"Jesus, you look like shit." That's pretty much a hello from me to him. He doesn't, by the way – he looks as well put together as he always does – you have no idea what I would give to break that perfect fucking jaw of his, but his ego might actually be vulnerable enough today that I might be able to make him cry. I have to take opportunity I have. "You know, poor personal hygiene is a sign of depression. You should take a shower."

"Now I know you're full of shit, I just showered with the girl who plays the neighbor in ‘Gone Girl' and she was even better at the karma sutra than your mother."

Great, nothing like fucking a D list celebrity to ruin a guy's chance to make his best friend cry. I swear, this divorce is the worst thing to ever happen to me.

"Cool, any other imaginary conquests you wanna get off your chest before we do shots and you tell me how much you miss that bitch?"

"Man, 'that bitch' is the mother of my child."


"You just made a comment about MY mother. Since when is that out of bounds?"

Point, me.

"Seriously, you alright?"

"Alright? I've never been better, honestly. Do you have any idea what hot women do when a guy they've been watching on TV for years is suddenly single and has standards lower than he normally would? Terrible, awful things. That's what they do. That's why I'm here."

"I thought you were here to tell me she left you for Krazy Kidd."

"What? Fuck you. I'm here to tell you that I need you to…"

Here we go again.

"James, Jimmy, Raven, pal, you know I love telling you no. But please don't make me do it while you're mourning your divorce. I don't want to contribute to the lowest point of your life. I can't wrestle any more. I'm done, just like your marriage."

"One, I'm not depressed. Two, I wasn't going to ask you to wrestle anymore. And three, have I mentioned fuck you? I was saying I need you to come back on the road with me. Social media makes this even easier than money used to. Look at this? It's this app called Tinder. I can schedule hookups with women months in advance based on where we're going to be. They even send pictures of themselves wearing my t-shirts and thongs to keep me interested before hand. You can be my ultimate electronic wingman, no wrestling required."

He shows me his phone as he swipes through pictures of women in front of my face like a proud father showing off pictures of their kids. Instead though, he's showing me pictures of women who MIGHT be kids that he MIGHT accidentally make kids with. This is intense.

"And these women send you picture of themselves naked?"

"Yes. All day, every day."

I might not be able to make him cry about his divorce, but there's a better than average chance he's eventually going to get arrested for child porn – and he's too pretty to NOT cry at his arraignment.

"That's really not me anymore, but I wish it were. Believe me, that looks…"

"MATCH MOTHERFUCKER!"

He interrupts my rejection swiping right on his phone apparently lining up with a girl in the bar. He orders three shots and puts two of them down in front of us before I can finish my thought. Nothing like acceptance from a girl with daddy issues to cover up the rejection of another man. That said, he might be on to something with this Social Media thing. Tinder might not be for me, but there's nothing wrong with starting a Twitter account, right?

[Image: BoQTT5k.jpg]

It's November 2016, and shit is about to get weird. In America, in Canada, in the XWF, everywhere. Raven is just about to make his comeback that will ultimately end in him winning the Universal Championship. Me? I'm, well, I'm not.

"What in the name of sweet fuck are you doing here?"

Don't fault James for his deplorable language. He's in training and probably eating too much soy. He's lost his way, like America. He needs a change, he needs a friend. He's….

He's hijacking the voice overs for the remainder of this flashback because he isn't having anything to do with this bullshit. That's right, James here. This shit needs documented.

"Shank, I asked you a question. What in the holy hell are we doing in Bumfuck North Carolina?"

"This isn't Bumfuck you elitist prick. This is Wilmington North Carolina and we're here with twenty thousand fellow proud Trump supporters gearing up for the revolution this country needs. That's the problem with you elites, you think every city that isn't controlled by the liberal media is below you"

Shank proudly points to the bright red hat he's wearing standing at the God forsaken Donald Trump rally with NO MORE THAN FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE. But don't fucking try to tell him the truth. I sat and watched him go through all of this, on repeat throughout the day. Seemingly as the dude I'd been to war for and with hundreds of times became something else. Something worse. That's right, he's worse than retired, he's a goddamned deplorable.

"Build that wall" he wailed. "Lock her up" he chanted! "Grab that puss-y" he clap-clap-clap clap clapped. And yes, he said all of this, I swear to God. No matter what he says.

"Get to the point, Mr. Raven. I know you only show up in person lately when you want me to come back and wrestle the other beta males. You know what makes men tough, James? Guns. Not wrestling. Guns."

"Actually, I was just coming to say…"

"To say what? That you think I'm wrong for voting for Trump?! You fucking Bernie Bros are all the same, always looking down their nose at our movement."

"Shank, man, I…"

"You're not a Bernie bro? You're a pant suit wearing pansy? You're with her? Of course you are, because men can't be men anymore they have to be women. You know there are only two genders, right? And nothing you see on TV is true? And you fucking foreigners are always stepping on our country."

"Did you really just?"

"I mean, how dare you come here and take advantage of our country? We really need that wall before America is totally just gone. We need to make this Country great again. And don't even get me started on global warming. What a scam that shit is."

"I didn't get you started on global warming. I didn't get you started on any of this, I was actually just going to invite you to workout with me for the comeback, but why don't you stick around here until you're feeling a little less right-wing blooded? Wouldn't want you to try and deport my trainer."


"Shared gym time? Of course because now we have to share everything, right? Because, you know, nothing is…"

I'm going to go ahead and do us all a favor and tune him out. Let me just say that the XWF is a non-political place and if you have ever experienced a terrible conversation like this there is a support group for people like you. And if you've ever stood at a podium and said those things, well, you're probably the President.
[Image: xSa2Bth.jpg]










It's 2017 and I am man enough to admit when I made a huge fucking mistake…

[Image: ma3ASKY.jpg]


It's 2019 and I'm in the last place you'd ever expect to find me.

"So let me get this straight," I said to Raven as I watched him roll around on the mat. "You've been a wrestler your whole life, right?"

"Yes," he answered completing another forward roll.

"And now you're the owner of the XWF, again?"

"Yes," he repeated completing yet another freaking forward roll.

"And now you wear this ridiculous bullshit and train for mixed martial arts by doing judo flips?" I'm pointing out the black judo gi he is wearing and trying to make a joke, but he doesn't seem to give a shit.

"It's kind of what old wrestlers do now, man. Let me ask you something – what do you think hurts more: should I spin around and hit you in the face with my elbow as hard as I can or should I pick you up and drop you on the mat? Which one do you think is gonna be more of a problem?"

"I'm not disagreeing," I respond, "I just don't understand when wrestlers finally decided this was a better approach. Why do you think I've been kicking people in the face for a decade instead of trying to jump off something tall with a bunch of flippy shit before I land on them? I'm a pioneer man, the sport has changed."

He hesitates before he answers and I can see the gears turning in his head – I know what he's gonna say before he can even say it.

"Game's the same, just got more fierce."


I fucking love The Wire.

"Speaking of that superkick, can you even lift your leg over your waist anymore?"

"I'm not a woman going after menopause, Jimmy, my legs still go way over my head."

"Good, because I need you to come back for a match at XX and prove to everyone that you're still one of the best ever."

"HA! Nice try, but I'm good." James tries appealing to my ego, but honestly, that isn't working anymore as easily as it used to.

"Okay, take two, see the Flatline Crew has been talking a lot of shit and I think it's time you shut them up. One tag match, you and me against Rigg and Balls."

"Hard pass." I honestly don't think the FLC has said anything, at this point I know Raven is just trying to piss me off. It's not going to work.

"I have a new best friend and he's been the Universal champion for like a year, don't you want to know if you could beat him?"


"Not really, I honestly don't need that anymore. Competition, being better than people, shit-talking? None of that really sounds like fun."

"So fun is your problem? That's the hesitation here?"

"Sure, why do something that doesn't really sound like I'm going to enjoy it?"

"Shank. Dude. For the past ten years you've done nothing but try and piss people off. You repeatedly deny me any sort of XWF appearance, just to piss me off. You start imaginary fights about fucking TV shows. You made a Twitter account based on my ex-wife, you're mocking modern training AND YOU VOTED FOR DONALD FUCKING TRUMP. At what point are you going to realize that you just need a medium to piss people off and this can be your goddamned medium?! "

Hey, who told him about the Twitter account??

"Truthfully, I didn't even vote."

"Oh for Christ's sake. Do you see what I'm talking about? Nobody wants to see you back except me. Nobody. People are legitimately not going to be happy. You can make that happen. All you have to do is agree to show up and…"


"And what?"

"And get a passport, it isn't 2012 anymore we have standards to get into Canada these days."

"Fuck. Fine. But this is gonna suck."

Let no man ever question the dedication of James Raven. His ex-wife can question it, many women he promised to call and never called back can question it. But no MAN can question how hard he worked to make this happen. But let's be very very clear about my motives here.

This is not designed to be about competition – I don't expect the Flatline Crew to put up much of a fight at all, but we'll get to that later.

This is not about proving I'm better than anyone – I already know exactly where I stand.

This isn't about proving I'm more than just a big-mouthed bigot with homophobic jokes that don't exactly sit right with me post 2016. Then again, that might be at least a small benefit of this whole thing.

This is exclusively about the audible sigh I know is being groaned from many of your parents' basements where you troglodytes go to use the WiFi. This is about everyone who has wondered out loud or inside their heads' if they might be better off in a world without The Big Shank. This is for everyone who has never seen me wrestle and wondered if the myth might be bigger than the man – it's fucking not – and now you're all gonna know it.

This is because guys like Omega and Soldier and Lux have been able to parade around completely oblivious to the fact that they're fucking lucky that I don't work anymore and after Saturday they're going to KNOW that they're lucky I don't fucking work anymore.

This is because guys like Centurion and Peter Gilmour and Famine, and yes, even Chris Page, have inflated their own standing in the history of the XWF thanks to my absence, and they're going to get a reality check on Saturday.

This definitely isn't about Bigg Rigg. Some of you might want to paint this as a bromance story. You'll say that I came up under Rigg and I learned from him. I did, in 2003. You'll say that I've had a chip on my shoulder for years and I need to beat him to prove myself, and I did, in 2010. Now? He's just the name on the other side of the scorecard.

Rigg and I met for the Universal Title in 2010 (Hi Famine, you were there too, remember?) and I put him down then, when it fucking mattered. He definitely doesn't matter now. This match doesn't matter, because when it did matter he couldn't hang. He might have even disappeared after that match and didn't resurface until recently. I can't be sure, because I couldn't see his tears through the confetti and the streamers that were flying after the match, but I know he and I haven't spoken since. And that doesn't bother me. Not even a little. Rigg is the microcosm of why I'm doing this now - my relationship with him worked much better when he thought I couldn't beat him. He was happy to call me his little pal when we were two Italian ships crossing at the night, never to intersect. And honestly, I don't think I'm going out on a limb here by saying that he probably didn't think I COULD beat him. And after I proved him wrong he never looked at me the same way again. Rigg was much happier to live in a world where he could hide behind his delusions, just like everybody else who watches me tear him apart on Saturday and tries to convince themselves I couldn't do the same to them.

Rigg is one of the greatest ever, that's un-fucking-deniable. And he can't beat me. So what exactly does that say for everybody else?

Take it from Rigg, it's one thing to wonder if you can beat someone – it's a whole other thing to know you can't. At least, that's what people say, I've honestly never been in the ring with someone I couldn't beat. I've lost before, sure, I'm not perfect. But there's nobody walking this Earth that's undefeated against me. Nobody. Not Raven, not Ramna, and most definitely not Bigg Rigg.

And this isn't about Superballs or the rest of the Flatline Crew. I know Keeper's had my foot in his mouth a time or two, those were fun times. Silverbullet never talked much, so he and I never had much of a problem. And to be honest, I always like Superballs. The only problem I have with them, or the entire concept of the Flatline Crew, is they all peaked right there in those black and orange cutoff t-shirts. Other than Rigg, nobody ever moved on from that and accomplished anything, and they like to tie my name to that organization like it's a blood-in/blood-out kinda commitment. And it just ain't that.

The Crew was a stepping stone for me, and it was a long time ago. Do you think Kawhi Leonard is going to want to be remembered as a Raptor after he wins titles in Los Angeles? Do you think Peyton Manning wants to be called a Colt and have his Super Bowl in Denver overlooked? Do you think Mia Sanchez wants to be called Mrs. Raven after she gets done gang-banging the entire Arizona Cardinals linebacker core?

No, we are all so much more than where we started people!

So if it's all the same to you, my alumni dues to the Flatline Crew are going to go unpaid this year. I'm glad the team can get it together and show up for some nostalgia; hell, that's kind of the theme for the whole night. But if it's all the same to you gentlemen, I'll be across the ring and I won't be making small talk about all the places we've gone since 2003. You all know my resume, and to be honest, I'm not all that interested in yours.

So no, this isn't about Rigg or the Flatline Crew, or about any one singular thing. This is because everyone has been a little too motherfucking friendly around here lately, and they need a reminder of how this shit would really work if I wanted it to. And even though they might not say it, I KNOW it's going to cost them sleep. It's going to eat at them and they're going to spend at least one more millisecond pissed off than they would have if I never showed my face again – and THAT is worth giving up bread for a month so I can take my shirt off on international TV. THAT is worth everything and that is why I am going to do what I'm about to do.

And I don't care if it pisses you all off or not. Honestly, I'd prefer it that way.

















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[-] The following 6 users Like TBS's post:
Barney Green (08-28-2019), James Raven (08-28-2019), Madison Dyson (08-31-2019), Peter Fn Gilmour (08-28-2019), Theo Pryce (08-28-2019), Unknown Soldier (08-28-2019)
Superballs Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#3
08-30-2019, 08:09 PM

8/10/2019
0530 hours
Loughton Estate
San Jose, California


“I’m getting too old for this shit.”

Jake sat on the edge of the bed trying to crack his knees, ankles, and every other joint he could imagine. Training for a return match after essentially a decade and a half out of the ring has been a far different experience from the regular workouts. The aches and pains have amplified. The guilt trip from the XWF offices was too much to resist. They threw every possible scenario out to see what would stick. He thought he was clever with his response. He figured if he told them to get four members of the Flatline Crew to do the show that he could get out of it.The ability of Bigg Rigg to draw old names out of the woodwork is very similar to Donald Trump’s ability to draw out racists.

“3 more weeks, and then I can be done. Forever.”

As he stood up, all the joints cracked and aligned into place to fuel the movement machine of his 7’3” frame. Pulling a fresh t-shirt over his body, he heads down the stairs to the sounds of K-Pop coming from the kitchen.

“Hey! Turn that shit off! I didn’t raise you to listen to this garbage.”

Hard to believe that Jessica has already turned 18. She hasn’t left the house and has started college. Dad did not have any say in her school of choice, but she didn’t want to leave home. She decided to get her schooling in at San Jose State University.

“Have you been to bed? It is 5:30 in the morning.”

Jessica shrugged, internally making a joke about old people being so frail.

“Well, either way, classes are coming up. Have you picked up all of your books and stuff? I don’t want you to show up on the first day without what you need.”

“I have it all taken care of, Dad.” He’s like a hen sometimes. Mom left when Jessica was very young. Hope was never made to be a mother. Jessica hears from her on occasion, but her mother has a very different life. “Thank you for continuing to look after me. The credit card is nice, too.”

“Well, you know, I have to make sure my little girl is taken care of. By the way, have you heard from Aunt Tara at all?” Jake missed his sister. Since taking over an all female wrestling school on the East coast, they never see one another.

“She texted me earlier and said she heard something about you wrestling again. Why didn’t you tell me?” Jessica was relatively upset. She doesn’t have too many memories of her Dad’s wrestling career. She sees the trophy case full of old belts, the videos are there, but she can’t remember seeing it live. She didn’t remember being part of an old storyline somewhere else.

“So yeah, about that.” How was he going to cover this one? How the hell did Tara hear about it on the East coast? “I am wrestling on September first in Toronto. Want to go?”

“Toronto? Hell yes!” Of all the trips they’d taken to other countries, she had never been to Canada. Like...it’s just Canada.

“Alright, I’ll have the office make all the arrangements so you can see me and Uncle John what made us rich men.” He didn’t really expect Jessica to jump at the opportunity like that.

“Wait, you’re wrestling Uncle John?” Now her interest was piqued.

“No, we’re tagging against Big Shank and James Raven.” He noticed the disappointment in her face. “John and I have had our battles up and down the road. I’m pretty sure we even had a match in Zimbabwe at one point. This is an opportunity to introduce our brand of old school to a completely new generation. Half of this generation has never heard of us besides incorrect record books and second-hand stories. We are considered ‘legends’ because that’s all people have to remember us by. Stories and legends.”

“Passionate, Dad. But why the guy that looks like Deadpool and someone who used to be your partner?” Even before Shank had joined the Flatline Crew, he was in a different stable with Rigg and Jake. The Titan Confederacy ran roughshod for a short time in a place far away from the XWF. Maybe it was during one of the XWF’s periodical shut-downs? Either way, the three men held titles at the same time and obliterated the competition.

“Shank was always a mercenary, of sorts. His focus has always been number one. He bailed on us when we needed him the most, because he didn’t see the benefit for himself. Despite the countless times we got him out of trouble, he couldn’t turn up. We still forgave him, but it would never be the same with us again. Eventually he fizzled out and went away entirely.” A look of pain shot across his face as he rubbed the spot on his arm where he had to have plastic surgery to repair what looked like a shark took a bite out of him due to Shank not being there. “I still have all the love in the world for that man. We had some of the best times when the three of us were together on the road. That was only a small fraction of our time. Before he was ever indoctrinated into the Crew, he was our boy. We rode in those small ass rental cars together.”

“Well, I need to check and make sure my passport is good so we can go to Toronto!” Jessica had since finished her breakfast and was headed anywhere that wasn’t the same room as a reminiscing father.

“Alright, like I said, we’ll get it all taken care of.” Jake was excited to take another trip with his daughter even if it was to god forsaken Toronto.

8/29/2019
1730
San Jose State University
San Jose, California


“I’m really glad you don’t have any Friday classes. I want to make sure we get there with plenty of time to spare.” Jake got out of the car and hugged his daughter. All of the suitcases were in the trunk and her school bag would take their place when they left.

“I can’t believe I get to cross Canada off the list!” Jessica was excited for the trip to Toronto. She had watched the transformation of her father into a wrestler again. He had never stopped working out. He wanted his body to be in the right shape for movies and tv when those opportunities came up.

“I’m glad that I get to be there with you for that.” They sped off from the campus of San Jose State for the short drive to the San Jose Airport.

08/10/2019
1600
Dreadnaught Studios
San Francisco, California


“Welcome back ladies and gentlemen to the Dreadnaught Podcast and I am your host Shane Silvestri. Today, we’re joined by XWF Legend, Superballs.” Shane Silvestri was an announcer for a company that Jake worked for way back in the day. Occasionally, he’ll reach out to Jake to talk current wrestling news and things of that nature.

“Thanks for having me, Shane. I’m excited to be back in the chair.” He really wasn’t. If his sister had found out that he was going to be a part of the XWF XX show, there was no doubt in his mind that the IWC had already caught on.

“I was going to mess around and talk about cutesy things, but I want to get right down to this. I heard a rumor…” He got cut off.

“Yes, it is true. I am returning to the ring on Labor Day Weekend in Toronto. To my knowledge, this will be the last match I ever have.” Maybe the last sentence wasn’t entirely necessary, but he felt the need to throw it in there. He wanted to make sure that there was no confusion. This was not a comeback. He DID NOT want to wrestle anymore. “They asked, and I obliged. They ask me to do appearances every now and then, and I turn them down every time. The timing felt right for this one. XWF fans haven’t seen me since 2009, and there’s a reason for it. I needed to raise my daughter. At that time, she was already 8 years old, and I had missed quite a bit of stuff while a nanny basically raised her. She’s an adult now, a college student. The timing seemed right to bid my farewell.”

Shane was so excited, he could hardly handle it. He was getting breaking news! “So, not a return, but a farewell. Your run with the XWF ended on good terms, did it not?”

“What do you think I am? My contract had expired, I wasn’t looking to lock into something long term and really just needed a rest. I had gone from being in the army during Desert Storm to touring as a wrestler for years. I was tired. I had achieved everything I’d ever dreamt of and more with this career and had built a great life for my daughter and I. I’ve been running my business and raising her. That’s it.” He was proud of his accomplishments. It came through with each little uptick in his voice.

“So, Toronto. What more do you know about it?” Shane was going in for the kill. He wanted all the juicy details.

“Well, I’ll be teaming with Bigg Rigg to face The Big Shank and James Raven. I think it is a wheelchair on a pole match.” He laughed at his own joke. Sad.

“Well, you heard it here first, folks! The XWF is getting some old school on their 20th anniversary show.”

8/30/2019
1030
Shangri-La Suite
Shangri-La Hotel
Toronto, Ontario


“I’m just telling you, I grew up in a house smaller than this room.” Jake smiled at what he was able to afford. He watched as his daughter smiled from ear to ear as she inspected every inch of the $10,000/night suite.

“I believe it. That’s what happens when you’re born in a crappy part of Detroit.” She loved to dig at her dad for his beginnings. Part of it had to do with how well he made sure she was taken care of her whole life. He was ready for a child when she was born.

“Listen, at least I was able to see you turn 18.” Reminiscing about the untimely death of his parents at the age of 13 still hurt. 33 years later, and it still hurt. They had only themselves. They refused to go in the system and took up for one another on the streets until they could join the army. Triplets on the run.

“I wish Uncle Mark could have seen this.” Jessica wasn’t old enough to remember her Uncle Mark, but she has heard many stories of him.

“Believe me, we saw things together that you can’t imagine. The three of us were all over the world for quite some time. When Mark died, it tore my world apart. So much so that I finished his bookings and no one knew the difference. It was a different time then. The internet wasn’t as easily accessible as it is now. As a matter of fact, your computer made funny noises when you connected to it.” He laughed, knowing she’s never had to experience that.

“So, this match on Sunday. What about that?” Wait...did she just goad him into cutting a promo?

“This match, I hope, is everything I’ve waited a decade for. The right partner, the right opponents, the right venue. The card is stacked with some of the greatest wrestlers in the history of the XWF from top to bottom. Christ, they pulled The Brand out of obscurity for this thing. If you look at the list of matches, it basically is a who’s who of the Hall of Legends.

Trent Gein vs. Famine of the VIle. Are you kidding me? The Plainsfield Butcher against The Demon King?! This might be the match I’m looking forward to the most. Those sick bastards are going to take each other to the limit and then some.

Legion vs. OrChasm? I haven’t seem that DISTURBED weirdo in years! But Legion, man, what a match this is going to be.

Raziel vs. Mike Raboin. Mike freakin’ Raboin?! I mean, if he shows up, Raziel is probably going to beat him to death, but I’m amped for this one too.

Star vs. Tomoko Hanahara vs. Heather Halliwell. Sweet Jesus. I can only handle so much beauty. Those women are going to tear the house down. Look for Tomoko to clean that up.

The Brand vs. Steve Jason. Listen, once upon a time, I went to war with Steve Jason. I also produced a match one time where he almost died like twelve times. Thin Ice...what kind of maniac comes up with something like that. But Steve also introduced me to Fish and Chips when we were in Australia one time. The Brand has been out of the ring longer than I have. Steve Jason hasn’t lost a step. I’m going to pick my boy here. I’m going with Steve Jason.

But listen, I’m supposed to talk about my match. Rigg and Balls vs. Shank and Raven. The Flatline Crew against The Suicide Kings. Dude, that’s some dream match shit right there. Who would have ever thought that we’d be on the opposite side of the ring from Shank? Jesus Christ, who would have thought James Raven would still have both of his legs?

I have been training for the last 3 weeks harder than I have in my life. Staying in decent shape helped, but I’ve probably over done it. I want these fans to get exactly what they remember. I don’t look different, I don’t move different. I’m the same smart-ass they all grew to love as I was shoved down their throats like a hard weiner on prom night.

But sometimes, things can get personal.” His whole demeanor changed. A dark look hit his eyes.

“Sometimes, people make you an afterthought and that’s what bothers you the most. They only focus on Bigg Rigg. Don’t get me wrong, his list of accomplishments will always look better than mine. He did this for a lot longer than me, and I was content playing second fiddle. I was happy to be there. I was along for the ride. He picked me up in Extreme Hardcore Championship Wrestling and I hitchhiked my ass all the way to the XWF with him. He is my brother. But he has the spotlight. I was the muscle then, and I’m still the muscle now. I know my role. I clean up messes, I knock faces in, and I take care of business. I picked up a laundry list of less important titles on my way to a Hall of Legends career so that Bigg Rigg could have the accomplishments. So that Bigg Rigg could get the girl. So that I could do whatever I could to repay him for his kindness. So I could repay his taking me under his wing and teaching me everything.

And I think I did that. He was there for all of my important events, and I think I was there for his. John Gambino will always be my brother. I love that man and would fight till my last breath for him.

But Shank? That selfish, back-stabbing twat, I haven’t forgotten him. He’s probably long forgotten what he did to us, but I never will. I trusted that man and he shit all over it. Sunday night, I’m going to give him what he’s got coming. A hard left hand, right in the chops.

James Raven, the ultimate flip-flopper. The back and forth between executive and wrestler. Maybe she should marry the boss’ daughter somewhere? I don’t know that the two of us ever had a match. I don’t seem to remember one. But hell, I’m sure it was forgettable or I’d remember right?” Mood lightening.

“What are you on about mate?” There’s only one voice like that boomer. Keeper...got in the room?

“Hey, you sick fucker! Did you happen to bring Mystery with you? I miss the old Dangerzone days.”

“That cunt has fucked off somewhere.” Keeper, never one to mince words, forgets he isn’t on the other side of the pond.

“So, you ready to do this thing on Sunday?”

“Mate, I’m ready. All I have to do is stand outside the ring. You fuckers get to do all the rough stuff.” A knock at the door signals breakfast has finally arrived.

“Breakfast!”

08/31/2019
1900
Rogers Centre
Toronto, Ontario


“Action” He’s always hated promos like this. No emotion, no anything. Just a camera and some dumbass saying ‘action.’

“Tomorrow night marks the end of a journey for me. For ten years I have thought about this very moment. I didn’t think I wanted it. I didn’t think I deserved it. Then, as I discussed it with the XWF offices, they assured me that I did deserve it. I was entitled to a true send off in old timey fashion.

Here’s the difference. I’m. Not. Going. Out. On. My. Back.

I don’t do it. I won’t do it. If I have anything to do with it, the last three seconds of my career will be spent staring out at the crowd and not the lights. I’ll hit the ring, and do what I did best for so many years. Win.

This is not a game. It hasn’t been in my blood, but something reignited. When I looked at the names on that card, it lit a fire in me. There’s names there that I haven’t heard in years. YEARS! And here we’re going to be. In this very building, in that very ring. All on the same night. To commemorate the lasting legacy that is the Xtreme Wrestling Federation.

Suicide Kings, you are not prepared for what is, essentially, Rip Van Winkle. I’ve been a sleeping giant for a decade. Now it’s time to wake up. (It’s feeding time?) My joints aren’t what they used to be, and I’ll openly admit that. No man is immortal. But they’re still functional. I still breathe the same competitor’s breath I always did.

Maybe after this match is finished, I can get with that championship committee about fixing my titles. They missed some spots.

I wish The Savior was available for this. I miss that dude too.

Bigg Rigg, my brother. Once again, we ride into battle. Once again, we shall be victorious. You think Orchid will be down for that threesome now? I’m just trying to get that cookie one time, bro.” Jake laughs, knowing his joke may have finally gone too far. He hadn’t mentioned it in years. Maybe Rigg remembers, maybe he wants to fight.

Either way, the training has been done. The cards have been written and the checks have been signed. Jake Loughton walks into Rogers Centre with nothing to lose and a whole new generation of superstars to teach. He’ll walk out with his ability to love the rest of his life and go out on his terms.


[Image: profilepic_2359.jpg?dateline=1567205065]
I don't know what belts I had.
Who are you?
Get off my lawn.
I don't know you, that's my purse.
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XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#4
08-31-2019, 06:55 PM

I made this banner. Big Shank is a con artist. Don't fall for his bull shit.

[Image: A2rCv5L.jpg]

I’ll be honest, there was a small part of me that actually believed we were going to play nice.

I’ve always liked Bigg Rigg and Superballs. Sure, I wasn’t a part of the Flatline Crew family and never got to rock around the ring in those cool orange and black cut offs Big Shank was talking about, but I had my own bonds with them. Did you know Bigg Rigg was the one-night-only GM the night I first appeared on XWF television? Did you know Superballs was the first person to give me ownership of a promotion when he handed me the keys to the Titan Wrestling Corporation? Did you know I spent the entirety of my career singing the praises of both men and telling fans that they had done more than me, even as I repeatedly celebrated over their motionless bodies and took their title belts home for my own mantle?

Like I said, there was a part of me that honestly believed we were going to be chill about all of this…

That was before Big Shank came kicking the doors in with a metaphorical flamethrower and decided there was a new primary mission; bury everybody. Fuck nostalgia and tradition, and fuck going through the motions to try and appease a generation of fans that have long since turned their back on the XWF. The Suicide Kings don’t do anything half assed. Fuck reuniting Shank with his old FLC running mates (they don’t understand him like I do anyways damn it!) and most importantly fuck Bigg Rigg for having the audacity to flap his stupid Italian gums and ask for this match in the first place. Fuck him for opening this Pandoras Box of an ass whipping that I’m sure he’ll spend the next half decade whining about at his “retired has beens of wrestling” autograph signing.

$30 bucks a pop for a signed photo, kids. $25 if you tell him how much Jon Brown screwed him fifteen years ago, and can say it with a straight face.

That’s right! We’re turning back the clocks, boys and girls! Middle fingers to the world and to hell with anyone that doesn’t like it. We ARE the greatest to ever do it and it doesn’t matter which broken down legends or resurgent icons crawl from the gutters of XWF history to face us, as soon as we put our names on the dotted line the result was signed, sealed and delivered. Don’t believe me? Go ahead and wheel and K Money out here, and bring Centurion and Maverick too! If those guys can still walk after the “Raw Brutality” match we’ll happily put all four of them down in less time than it would take you to run to the concession stand for one last beer before the main event. Damn, pull The Kings out of retirement! They’ve been more than happy to brag about a nearly year long reign over a division with no contenders, let’s get Theo and one of his cronies to really find out which pair of Kings wear the crown.

Wooo boy, this kool aid is strong! Someone take the cup away before I try and defect from Apex and tell Omega and Drew to leap if they’re feeling froggy.

Bigg Rigg, do you have any earthly idea what you’ve done? Can the pressed sausage meat inside your thick skull process what you’ve manifested? You thought you were arranging a nice curtain call for some old friends, and instead you’ve released the goddamn Krakken and drug Superballs, Keeper and Silver Bullet along to face the wrath! Shank hit the nail right on the head, Gambino. It was easy to keep those guys riding on your coattails all these years; they were never going to accomplish anything more anyways. They were never a threat to you. They were never going to step up or try to usurp you as the head goombah. Shank and I were different. We respected you, and maybe we admired you… but we never worshipped at the altar of John and swore our allegiance to you like you would have hoped. We wanted more.

We deserved more.

We TOOK more.

I was the rookie that came out of nowhere and spoiled your star of the year bid. I was the guy that snatched World titles from you like they were your lunch money. I was the guy that shattered your stables like cheap Christmas ornaments and bounced you from rumble matches and tournaments so often you’d think I got paid a bonus for it. I trained my girlfriend to wrestle just so she could beat the ever loving shit out of your wife and I became the legend you try to tell people you were… that you tell YOURSELF you were.

At XX, I’m sending you back out into the cold, Bigg Rigg. I’m shutting off the lights once and for all and ending your XWF career, shitting on your legacy, and making sure that no fan goes home remembering you as anything more than a spectre of some bygone era… never to be heard from again.

Sorry. I really thought we were going to play nice, but Shank reminded me that’s not what we do. It’s what people like you do, when they know they’re outgunned and praying for mercy. The Suicide Kings were the best for a reason; we take no prisoners.

You asked for this Bigg Rigg.

That’s The Truth.




2012
I relived the moment every day for months.

“Your winners… and STILLLLL tag team champions… THE SUICIDE KIIIIINGS!”

Those words echoed in my head. They resonated and reverberated every few hours, a constant reminder at what had been. I thought we were going to hear a lot more of it, proclaimed through arenas worldwide to the delight of screaming fans… but instead it was just in my head.

I heard it echo as Jon Brown stepped away from the XWF (again) and handed it over to new management, and I heard it as Big Shank quietly filed retirement papers with the company and slipped into the shadows for good. I heard it echo as I listened to people like Cyren and Tristan Slater ridicule him for “taking his ball and going home” and as I watched new teams appear from the woodwork to fight for our belts and claim themselves to be legitimate champions.

Fuck them. They all knew the truth. They never dared say any of it to me face.

I heard the words one more time on the morning that Big Shank arrived at the XWF offices to pick up his last batch of paperwork and make everything official. Steve Sayors has called me and told me Shank was heading in. I met him in the parking lot when he left the building that afternoon, and he was ecstatic to see me.


SHANK: What the fuck are you doing here?

See? I told you!

RAVEN: I need you to think about what you’re doing. I need you to reconsider.

SHANK: Not a chance. It’s done.

RAVEN: Seriously, just walk back in there and tell them you changed your mind. They can tear up the paperwork! Trades get messed up in the NHL constantly because of fax machines! FAX MACHINES, DUDE! We can make this disappear, no problem.

He shook his head, barely listening as he passed me and headed towards his own car, his eyes hidden by reflective sunglasses as he slides by.

SHANK: Let it go, man. It’s over. I’m done.

RAVEN: I don’t give a shit if you think you’re done, asshole! I’M not done! WE’RE not done! This whole return to the ring was your goddamn idea, mother fucker!

The change in my tone got his attention. He turned slowly, removing the sunglasses to stare at me intently as I lose my mind in the parking lot. It wasn’t my finest moment, hissing and spitting and throwing every nasty name in the book at him.

RAVEN: We came back for a reason! It wasn’t because of Jon Brown, or because of anyone on the XWF roster. We came back for us! We had goals, and a legacy we wanted to build! We were supposed to get you into the Hall of Legends! Do you honestly think we’re finished with any of that?!

He sighed. He took a while to answer me, and even though he had no concrete answers it didn’t seem to bother him.

SHANK: I don’t know if we did any of that, James. I just know that I’m over it all.

It was deflating, a knife to the gut that all but left me shattered.

SHANK: It’s not my game anymore, man. I’m tired, I’m… I’m just done. Things have changed; and it’s not just ownership. The whole business is different, and it’s exhausting man. I’ve been at this for a decade, and it’s time to walk.

RAVEN: What about the times I wanted to walk away? I’ve felt all that shit you’re talking about, and you kept pushing me to do more! It’s time for me to push you!

SHANK: Well, the difference is I knew you weren’t done...

He grinned at me, but I didn’t find it funny. I was furious, inches from a nervous breakdown. He had no idea how much I understood where he was coming from, and in retrospect it’s probably why I had been fighting him so fiercely. I didn’t WANT The Suicide Kings, I NEEDED them. I needed something in my life, at the very least in my career, to keep me getting out of bed each morning… to keep me pushing…

I was going to have to find something else to keep me going. I tell myself that. I tell myself “you need to find something new to fill that void”, but it didn’t work. I knew it, he knew it, and the fans that had followed our careers knew it… the James Raven they all knew was finished. The career I was used to? It was finished.

The Raven I wanted to be couldn’t exist without him. The Suicide King would be forced to lay down his crown…


RAVEN: What about me, then? What am I supposed to do, huh?

Shank stared at me for a long while before rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. He opened the door of his rental car, and stepped halfway inside before looking back at me.

SHANK: “Fight on my men” Sir Andrew said, “For while I’m hurt I’m not yet slain”...

He doesn’t have to finish the poem. I was the one that had first recited it to him a few years ago in a locker room in Pittsburgh, and at the time he had looked at me exactly as I’m looking at him now.

RAVEN: OK…

He smiled. He nodded. He slid into the drivers seat and started up the ignition, slamming the drivers side door shut and pulling forward out of his parking spot. He stopped the car in front of me, rolling down the window and extending a fist out of the car for me to bump.

SHANK: It’s been real.

RAVEN: Don’t close the door on this yet, Shank. We’re not finished. If you call me in a month, or a year, and tell me you want to come back? I’m in. I’ll drop anything I have going on and the Suicide Kings ride again.

SHANK: It won’t happen. Not for a long, long time.

RAVEN: I don’t give a shit. However long it takes, when you’re ready… I’ll be here.

I bumped his fist, and he grinned at me again. It was the same devilish and toothy grin I had seen a thousand times over the past few years, across the ring from me and in my corner. I was going to miss him.

SHANK: I hope you die. Brutally. Painfully. In a grease fire. Oh, and your wife is a whore.

He sped away in an instant. I stood alone in the parking lot and watches as his car disappeared.

I remember that day a lot like I remember our tag team reign. You don’t always get the perfect ending you think your story deserves. You don’t get all of your loose ends tied into a neat little bow, and to tuck your kids in with a goodnight kiss and fall asleep with no questions left in your head.

Sometimes things… well, they just sort of…


END



Oh, I’m sorry? Did you guys think we were finished?

I just got the fire going again, kids! We’re just getting started! You can all be honest, it’s been years since you’ve seen me rolling like this hasn’t it? All it took was dragging Big Shank away from his online poker and Hannah Montana reruns (don’t judge him, the bible says not to!) and suddenly James Raven is firing on all cylinders again, working his silver tongue and razor wit like whiplashes across the backs of the Flatline Crew! This is the James Raven that your sister used to write about in her diary, and the one your girlfriend caught herself thinking about to try and get herself over the hump… giggity. This is the James Raven that made it to the Hall of Legends, making opponents tap out before the opening bell even sounds, and above all else…

… this is the James Raven that Superballs hoped against hope he wouldn’t have to see.

Hey, buddy! You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you, did ya? Of course not! I was just a little preoccupied with the mouth breathing, knuckle dragging guido you find yourself still aligned with. What’s going on here? Have you honestly not figured out that Rigg’s loyalties lay with you only when it’s convenient for him? Think about it Balls, as much as he screams “FLC FOR LIFE!” in the streets like a ‘roid raging asshole… has he ever actually reached out to you when he knows he’s lacing up the boots again and needs a partner? Has he ever asked you to ride with him when it mattered? To watch his back when it counts?

Of course not.

He calls on you for a nostalgia tour, when he knows he’s already alienated everyone else he had available to him. Famine of the Vile has already moved on and partnered himself with THE Tristan Slater. Chris Page has barely whispered his name in the last few weeks, and why do you think that is? Because he uses people, and betrays their trust. You know it, Balls. You’ve seen it firsthand, and you know that the only reason you’re here is because Rigg talked himself into a match with the Suicide Kings and needed you to bring an army of old friends with you to try and even the odds.

I don’t give a shit, Balls.

An army of sheep can’t tame a lion, let alone two.

There’ve got to be a few more names for you to bolster the ranks with. I promise, Keeper and Silver Bullet won't be enough. Where’s Mystery these days? Anyone heard from The Savior or MC Terrible? Jose Chavez has got to be able to pull off some flippy shit still, and the Engineer and Mechanic can’t be doing anything of importance anymore. Bring every member the Flat Line Crew ever had, Balls, bring every member of the TWC roster from back in the day! Shank and I will lay them to waste, one by one, and stack their bodies in the center of the ring until the pile is high enough to climb out of the fucking Rogers Centre… and we will save you for last, and make you watch.

Remember who you’re talking to, Balls. This isn’t the 19 year old that walked into your company, took every title you had available, took a spot in your Hall of Fame, and took control of the business you couldn’t keep afloat… this is the 29 year old that’s walking into XX as a Legend and taking something much more valuable from you.

I’m taking your swan song. I’m taking your moment in the sun.

There will be no rejuvenation of your career, and no fond memory for your old fans. There will be no new generation that discovers your talent and goes back to find your early work. There is no legacy anymore, you may as well be Chasm when you head home Sunday night.

Sometimes you have to question the company you keep, Balls. Ask yourself what they really bring to the table when you’re in need, and what sort of trouble they drag you into.

Ask yourself if it’s worth it.

Probably not.

Looking forward to this Flatline Crew reunion, pal.

Beep… beep… beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep…




2019

I haven’t relived the moment in years.

“Your winners… and STILLLLL tag team champions… THE SUICIDE KIIIIINGS!”

It was a buried memory, too painful to dig up. It was one of the few moments of my career that I felt was an unfinished chapter, and it was one I never felt I’d have an opportunity to pen an ending to. I had tried several times over the years; I had pitched him every opponent under the sun, and even booked him against myself hoping his ego would be challenged so much he’d HAVE to show up.

It wasn’t going to happen. He was happy now, as surprising as it was to say. He had made a living off of being a cantankerous asshole with a chip on his shoulder, and an undying pleasure in destroying the hopes and dreams of those foolish enough to challenge him… but he had found a life beyond that, and as much as it pained me at times I couldn’t force myself to try and drag him back into something that may be poison for his veins.

I came back on my own in 2017. It had been five years since the Suicide Kings had run roughshod over everyone in every company we stepped foot in, and this time I had to find my way alone. I was a joke to the new era, a memory pissed on by previous management and stars like Pest. There was nobody to watch my back, nobody to tell me which pitfalls to look out for or which handshakes to distrust… and I hit the scene like a nuclear bomb and reminded everyone what the fuck was up, and who the true People’s G.O.A.T. was and would always be.

Shank was there.

In 2012, I thought the end of the Suicide Kings was the end of Shank and Raven. Luckily I was wrong. He was my main training partner on my run to a third Universal title, the loudest voice in the stands as I climbed to the top of a new mountain and did my best to share a spotlight he didn’t want with him. He was there through my divorce, he was there when I met Betsy. He was there when I founded XWF Classic, and when I returned to the ownership structure of the current company. He was there in my highs, he was there in my lows… and one day… out of the blue…

He agreed to be there in the ring again.

I met him in the parking lot outside the HILITE Fighting Club, a gym I founded in downtown Toronto a few years ago with Shanks help. He was ecstatic to see me.


SHANK: I’m already regretting this.

Like I said, ecstatic.

RAVEN: Don’t think about what you’re doing. Don’t reconsider.

He shakes his head and walks away from his own car and towards me, removing his reflective sunglasses and grinning his trademark toothy and devilish grin. His hair is shorter now, but other than that? Same old Shank.

SHANK: So… it seems we’re not done?

RAVEN: Apparently not. Bigg Rigg’s been talking some shit. We need to tell him The Truth.

SHANK: I feel like that’s some reference I’m missing. Remember, post 2012 I’m a clean slate.

RAVEN: Don’t worry about it. It’s a long story and I don’t have the crayons or real estate necessary to explain it to you.

SHANK: Fuck off. Remind me why I’m doing this again?

I shrug indifferently, squinting in the sunlight.

RAVEN: You came back for a reason. Not because of Jon Brown, or because of anyone on the XWF roster. You came back for us. We had goals, and a legacy we wanted to build. We were supposed to get you into the Hall of Legends. Did you honestly think we were finished with any of that?!

He sighs. He took a while to answer me, and even though he had no concrete answers it didn’t seem to bother him.

SHANK: Whatever man. Did you hear they’re rebooting Lizzy McGuire? I’m pumped.

No matter what he tells you, he actually said that. I swear. It was nice to know he had something to look forward to, since the Hannah Montana reruns were getting really old.

RAVEN: So, any last words before we get you back in the gym? If you got anything for me, hit me now, because you’re going to be puking too much in an hour to cut a promo on me.

Shank stared at me for a long while before rolling his eyes and shrugging his shoulders.

SHANK: “I’ll just lay down and bleed a while, and then I’ll rise and fight again…”

He doesn’t have to start the poem. I was the one that had first recited it to him a few years ago in a locker room in Pittsburgh, and he had spit it back at me in one of the lowest moments of my career in 2012. Full circle.

RAVEN: OK.

He smiled. He nodded. The significance was not unintentional on his part. He holds out a fist as we turn towards the gym.

SHANK: Hey… for what it’s worth… after all these years? It’s been real.

RAVEN: Of course, dude. I always told you; however long it took, whenever you were ready… I’d be here.

I bumped his fist, and he grinned at me again.

SHANK: I hope you die. Brutally. Painfully. In a grease fire. Oh, and your ex-wife is a whore. Your new girlfriend is cool, though.

I think for the rest of my life, I’ll remember this day a lot like I remember our tag team reign. You don’t always get the perfect ending you think your story deserves. You don’t get all of your loose ends tied into a neat little bow, and to tuck your kids in with a goodnight kiss and fall asleep with no questions left in your head.

But sometimes you do.


END



This was all I ever wanted; closure. I wanted a chance to say goodbye to something that was special to me, instead of seeing it ripped away by circumstance and lost in the sands of time. I’m sorry, I know this dort of sappy and emotional shit isn’t what people want to see from their Legends, but fuck you it’s my airtime. I’ll do with it what I please.

Big Shank was everything to my legacy, and I mean that literally. He was EVERYTHING.

Centurion and Aidan Collins get a lot of credit for my early development, but it was Big Shank that gave me the hardest matches of my career when I was just a rookie, and prepared me for the battles that were to come. He drove me to my physical and mental breaking points, and left me chasing him for months until I had no choice but to elevate myself to a level I didn’t know was possible. He was my most unwavering ally, a voice of reason, and a firm hand to slap me in the face and tell me to man up.

He was the co-pilot that kept me sane as we made each town, night after night.

He was the one that took and impressionable kid who was new to the business, and taught him the ins and outs of every aspect, and turned him into the Peoples G.O.A.T. He was criminally underrated, and our tag team legacy all but stolen from us at the end.

All I ever wanted was closure. One last ride into battle, and a chance to say goodbye before the Suicide Kings lay down their crowns.

Thank you for everything, Shank, and more importantly fuck you, die in a grease fire.

“Fight on my men” Sir Andrew said,
“For while I’m hurt, I’m not yet slain,
I’ll just lay down and bleed a while,
Then I’ll rise and fight again.”

I’ll talk you into one more someday. I’ll never say goodbye, but for now, I’m finally content to lay down and bleed a while brother. It’s been an honor, and my priveledge.

Fear the Raven… Fear the Suicide Kings… Forevermore.

The People’s G.O.A.T.
120-24-3

3x Universal Champion, 3x World Champion, 9x Xtreme Champion, 1x Hart Champion, 2x Phoenix Champion, 1x Women’s Champion (lol), 1x Federweight Champion, 1x Heavymetalweight Champion, 5x Tag Team Champion
(w/ Aidan Collins, Roxy Nova, Mia Sanchez, Big Shank, Drew Archyle/Robert Main)

XWF Hall of Legends
#4 on XWFs “Top 50” List
2009 Rookie of the Year
2009 Face of the Year
2010 Heel of the Year
8x Star of the Month
2x Star of the Year (2009/‘10)
2x Feud of the Year (2010/‘11 w/ Big Shank)
2017 High Stakes Winner
Former Owner
Lots of other random shit
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