“The number that you have dialed has a voice mailbox that has not been set up… Goodbye.”
That’s a message that I’ve heard a lot lately, and I’m sure that I’m not the only one. Dolly Waters actually reached out to me the other day. She wanted to know if I had any other way of contacting Cadryn. Sadly for her, I don’t. I haven’t spoken to the man since Warfare after Peter Gilmour broke his hand with that hammer. His last words to me before the EMT’s loaded him into the ambulance were, “I’m done, I have no desire to do this anymore”. I quickly grabbed up my things and headed to the hospital. When I got there, I found out that Cadryn never checked in. The ambulance that was bringing him never showed up, but the EMT’s did phone in sometime later and claimed that he had overpowered them and stolen their ambulance. I’m sure that he is upset with me, he always blames me for getting him into trouble around here. He’s been attacked by Robbie Bourbon, Chris Chaos, and now Peter Gilmour, all because I was scheduled to fight those guys. This is the first time that he has just vanished on me, though. I don’t know if he is depressed over his hand being broken, or just pissed off that yet another guy has targeted him to try and get at me. Whatever is going on with him, the fact remains that he is missing from the XWF, and not returning anyone’s phone calls.
It’s frustrating.
I have one true friend in this business and it’s him. Despite the bullshit that we did a few months back with the stalking and closet kidnapping, the truth is, Cadryn and I have known one another for a few years now. Cadryn actually lives about an hour away from me, and when he came up to Pittsburgh looking for someone to train him to enter this business, it was me that he came to. I didn’t handle the training myself, after all, I was out of the business and at the time I had no plans of returning in any capacity. I did, however, refer him to a local promoter that I knew, Johnny Wolf. Johnny would bring Cadryn in the old school way, traveling with the shows, setting up rings, selling merchandise, and learning how to work this craft everywhere in between.
When Cadryn was booked to work his first match in front of an audience, I was there. He invited me to come, said that he really wanted to know how I thought his training was advancing. I came, I saw, and I liked. Cadryn is a scrappy kid now, even smaller back then, but the way that he fought in the face of adversity, the way that he pushed on even when it would seem that he had no chance of winning. That was something that I liked, something that I related to.
The fact that Cadryn isn’t around right now and isn’t answering anyone’s calls. That’s all because of Peter Gilmour. This scrappy little kid that I have grown to call a friend is hurt and alone, unwilling to show his face around the XWF. The fighter that I had grown to love and respect hasn’t shown his face around the XWF in over a week. He hasn’t spoken to me in over a week, and he hasn’t spoken to his partner at Lethal Lottery in over a week. At this point, I really don’t know what the future holds to Cadryn. I don’t know if I will be able to get in contact with him, or even if I do if I would be successful in talking him back into an XWF ring.
What I can do and what I will do, is take all of this frustration out on Peter Gilmour.
March 24th, 2017
TIJUANA, MEXICO
The vacation is officially over. I submitted my first verbal assault on Peter Gilmour last night, and now that he knows what I’ve been doing, I’m sure he is going to come back at me hard. That means that my time with my family is over, and my time with the XWF, my second family has begun. I’m wired with a mic and XWF camera drones are buzzing all around me. Yep, it’s good to be back, even if you have like ZERO privacy when you’re on the road with this company. Now I just need to figure out where in the hell this Jefferson Jackson hotel is.
”Excuse me, sir!
The older gentleman that I flag down stops and looks at me with a confused look. I’m sure that he’s wondering what this gringo tourist could possibly want from him. If he’s thinking directions, then he’s right!
”Can you tell me how to get to a Jefferson Jackson hotel?”
He continues to look at me, confused. I didn’t even consider the possibility that he doesn’t speak English, but guess what?
”Tú estúpido mierda, aprender a hablar español o salir de mi país!”
Okay, so now it’s me standing here with a confused look. This old dude, on the other hand, seems to look more annoyed than anything right now. Regardless, maybe he can still help me. I just need to convey my message in a way that he may understand.
”X-W-F wrestler.”
I say slowly as I point to myself.
”Su estúpido buscando culo es un luchador? ¡Mierda!”
Hmmm, I understood luchador, maybe I’m getting somewhere.
”Where do I go? Where wrestle?”
”Buena suerte mierda mierda!”
An oddly wicked smile as he points down the road to a sign that reads “VIERNES NOCHE QUE LUCHA! ¡DESAFÍE EL CAMPEÓN Y GANE UN BURRO!”. I have no idea what any of that means, except for Lucha. I doubt Lucha is referring to the XWF, but maybe if there is another wrestling establishment in town, they can at least point me in the right direction.
I walk down the road and follow the signs that clearly say Lucha. After about a mile of walking, I come across an old looking, kinda ran down building. The word LUCHA is painted above the front doorway, and two generic masked wrestlers are painted on either side. This isn’t AAA or CMLL, but it does appear to be some sort of local wrestling promotion, and if anyone would be able to direct me to the hotel that is hosting Lethal Lottery, it would be these guys.
I walk up to the door and pull, but guess what? It’s locked. I decide to knock, maybe someone is inside that could help me out right? After a few pounds on the door, this short fat Mexican with a Forest Whitaker eye opens the door.
”El espectáculo comienza a las ocho, gringo!”
This midget of a man tries to slam the door in my face, but I kick my foot out to block the door.
”Wait! Do you speak English!?”
”Estúpido, of course, I speak English!”
”Great! Can you tell me where the Jefferson Jackson hotel is?”
”Do I look like a tour guide? Cabeza de mierda!”
He tries to slam the door again, but again, my foot blocks the door from shutting.
”Listen, my name is Micheal Graves. I’m a wrestler for the XWF, and we are holding a show down here next weekend. I just need to find the hotel.”
Suddenly this little man gets a big wide toothy smile across his face.
”There is no XWF down here, someone has given you bad information my friend.”
”No, it says right here…
I hold out promo poster for LL, pointing to where it says the location of the event.
The little guy looks over the paper for a moment before snatching it out of my hands. He unfolds it and continues reading before he laughs to himself and holds it back out for me to read.
”Estúpido americano, aprende a leer!”
I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even look at the rest of the poster. I just read the first location listed and hopped a plane to California before driving down here. Now I’m going to have to rush around to get situated in North Korea before the first.
”You know, since you are already here, you could work our show tonight.”
”I don’t know, I’m going to have to drive back up to the states and get a fight scheduled to Korea now. Besides, I’m not sure how the XWF would feel with me working another event.”
”Don’t sweat it, we don’t televise, and if you work the show, I can make sure that you get to your other event in time.”
It probably wouldn’t hurt to get some extra training in before climbing into the ring with Peter Gilmour.
”Okay, I’ll work your show tonight, so long as you can get me to Korea by tomorrow.”
”Sure, sure, so long as you put on a good show, I’ll get you back into Texas, and I’ll even purchase the plane ticket.”
'Oh, well I thought this guy might have a private jet or something, but whatever, that works I guess.
”Alright, so who will I be facing?’
”Oh you will be in my main event. XWF Gringo vs Doble Grande!”
To Be Continued…
Well here we are, just eight days away from Lethal Lottery, and still not a word from Peter Gilmour. Are you surprised? I’m not. The guy isn’t exactly a dominating force, and that’s because he doesn’t have any drive. Enough about that, though, I feel that I covered the laziness of Peter Gilmour well enough already, and with each passing day of silence on his end, he just adds another exclamation point to what I’ve already said. Today I would rather address what I can and will do come Lethal Lottery, and that is to absolutely embarrass Peter Gilmour. You see, for all of the struggles that I’ve had trying to get back into my groove since returning, there is one thing that I know to be true no matter what. That is the fact that I am better than Peter Gilmour in almost every way imaginable. Gilmour has held a combined total of 26 championships in the XWF over the course of his long career. That is where his victories over me begin and end. I’m not a decorated former champion like Gilmour, but I am a better talker, a better performer, and overall, a more marketable star. Gilmour claims that he IS Xtreme. The only thing extreme about Peter Gilmour though is just how fucking lame he really is. Seriously, let's take a look at some of the recent work from our queen of extreme.
When we faced off against Robert Main and Justin Sayn in the second round of LL, Gilmour told me that he had an amazing idea for a promo. That idea turned out to be a cookie cutter rip off of a segment that Rober Main had already recorded earlier that week. Ripping off the ideas of your opponents almost never works. Not unless you are super cool and edgy, and you are able to make a statement with the mockery of your opponents promo. Peter Gilmour is none of those things, so unsurprisingly, his segment fell very flat. Do you think that Gilmour realized that? I highly doubt it. That guy is so full of himself, that every time I tried to tell him anything, I’m pretty sure all he was able to actually hear is “I’m a tool, I’m a tool, I’m a tool, tool, tool”. When I fought Chris Chaos, I commented on the dudes ego. I pointed out how full of himself he was, and do you know what happened? Chris Chaos proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that his ego is earned. Sure, he’s still a fucking dick, but he’s a fucking dick that can back up what he says. Gilmour on the other hand, he’s not going to back up whatever bullshit he does end up recording. How do I know this? Simple, I’ve been forced to team with him for a month.
You learn a lot about a guy when you have to share the ring with him as a friend, or an enemy. Gilmour and I have shared that ring as both. We both have learned a lot about the other. What I learned about Gilmour is that he is a lazy has-been who is absolutely fine with the idea of coasting by on his past accomplishments. What he should have learned about me is that I am a starving fucking tiger who is desperate for the killing strike. Gilmour can have his history, he can have his FORMER title reigns. He can sit back, work lazy matches, cut lazy promos, and collect his paychecks. I, on the other hand, will not be happy until my name is at the top of the card. I don’t mean having people call me a main eventer, or a legend either. I mean winning one of the big titles here in the XWF. Hart, Xtreme, Universal. It doesn’t matter to me. Eventually I plan on having them all, and the day that I realize that I no longer have what it takes to compete for those titles, the day that I realize that my drive and focus have gone out the window, that’s the day that I walk away from the XWF, from this business entirely.
Gilmour should have walked away after he dropped his Universal Title in December. The man has been on cruise control ever since. Hell, an argument could be made for the fact that he was already on cruise control when he won the fucking thing. Well, I’m not on cruise control, I’m coming to the Lottery for one reason, to beat Peter ‘Fucking’ Gilmour!
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