Post by Jay Stevens on Oct 25, 2022 21:25:28 GMT -5
“Mijn naam is Leon van Zandt. Ik ben een professionele worstelaar.”
Cold open.
For the first time in a while, we find ourselves in a minimalist home gym, composed of various Indian clubs and mace bells, thick mats, and one man sitting in the middle of it all.
The Professional has returned.
“My name is Leon Van Zandt. I am a professional wrestler.
“For years I have practiced and honed my craft in rings throughout all Europe, including the United Kingdom, and that phrase, whether spoken in English or my native Flemish was all I ever needed.
“It is only recently I took my business into North America, and despite the concerns of myself and my mentors that I would not be able to reach my full potential on those shores, I found a loyal audience and the respect of my peers.”
Leon scoffs and shakes his head.
“As I look at Wrestle: UK, I am confounded by the parody they put in the ring and call ‘wrestling.’
“I did not imagine, in all my years, that the nation that treated wrestling like the sport it was, the nation of hard men who treated wrestling with almost as much respect as it gives the football it invented, would reduce it to such a CIRCUS.”
Leon raises a hand and starts counting on his fingers.
“A CIRCUS of the flea-bitten “pageantry” that many declare wrestling to be in North America.”
Another finger.
“A CIRCUS of pretentious, self-important oafs with their ludicrous chants that try too hard to be that ‘cleverness’ that seems to pervade much British humor.”
Three now.
“A CIRCUS of idiotic blowhards who grew up seeing their identity as a wrestling nation stripped away by the most abominable dreck across the ocean, and rather than fight to protect that heritage, lost sight of it so badly that they sought to IMITATE what they were seeing from America… LITERALLY.”
The Belgian grappler takes a deep sigh and shrugs, trying to stifle a laugh as he wraps his arms around his chest.
“That is not a joke or an exaggeration; a mentor once told me of a visit he made to England, wherein he was asked to imitate a wrestler from American television with an Olympic background. They asked him to wear tights designed like the American flag. He was as dumbstruck by that request as I was when he told me that story.
“So imagine my surprise when I found comrades in philosophy and outlook in North America; men who believed as I did in the seriousness of combat in the ring. In the solemnity of a sport where hard men sought an alternative to underpaid labor in mines, and found something greater. In the very things that made wrestling a timeless sport.”
Leon pauses and looks to the side.
“My mentors could not believe it either.
“So when Gus Arnold reached out to me, after Northern Pro Wrestling’s abrupt closure, asking if I would like to participate in this operation I was all too eager to say yes; not least of all because I remembered the respect and understanding with which Meneer Arnold treated me under his employ, but also because I saw the need for a fine nation like the United Kingdom to be brought to its senses, to be reminded of its wrestling past, and the potential of its future.”
Van Zandt smiles, for the first time today.
“Which leads me to the Battle of Britain, and the tag team gauntlet.
“I can’t say the terms of a gauntlet match give me much enthusiasm. Not because I don’t think I would do well under those rules, but because it is exactly the kind of slip I am talking about. But it does not matter; I will gladly march into that ring with Meneer Stevens, and show the people of Wrestle: UK what true wrestling is.
“We will beat them on their terms.”
What was once a confident smile now becomes a snaky grin.
“And then, we will dominate them under ours.
“Our union will take Wrestle: UK by storm, and as we destroy the decrepit pillars of that company, one by one, we will turn Wrestle: UK into wrestling that Britain can be PROUD of.
“That road begins at Battle of Britain, it will be paved on the bones of pretenders who foolishly call themselves ‘wrestlers.’ This is your first and only warning."
==/==
Jay Stevens.
"My father used to tell me 'only the stupidest of men become pro wrestlers but the smartest among them can conquer the world.'
Now I'm sure if you peel back the layers he intended for that to be far more profound. Or he was just trying to discourage me from following in his footsteps.
Or maybe he was just shining a light on the fact that as much as he loved the sport, he didn't represent it, but something far worse. A manipulation of the reality of professional wrestling and ultimately, the cancer that would help to kill the host.
For me, my story will always be inherently tied to ‘the almighty Team Danger'. My father, my family, my mentors and my albatross. Those are the ones personal to me but when their tale is told, other words are often spoken…
‘Outlandish… renowned… crazy… celebrated… feared.’
'Legends.'
Legendary tales too numerous to fully recount.
Stories that are still told in hushed tones in locker rooms across the world by witnesses. Celebrated with great fervor in nightclubs and after parties by the winners. Angrily spewed through gritted teeth in seedy bars by the losers.
But the most important story is the one that we are telling now. Because as much as I am forever chased by the shadows of my father, their story is just the prologue to my own.
They were also responsible, in part, for the complete bastardization of wrestling as it had been for over one hundred years. Justifying their outside of the ring antics by being one-hundred percent focused inside the ring.
But I don't believe there is a separation. What you do is who you are and while I am a professional wrestler, the rest are just clowns in the circus. Make no mistake about it, the clowns and the acrobats are necessary attractions under the big top, but they’re not the main event. People clamor to the gates to see incredible feats of danger.
We are that danger.
Dusty Griffith. Oxford Osland. Leon Van Zandt. Sam Horry.
Forged in hell and designed specifically for this war. The war to take back what has been ruined by those who have no business stepping foot inside that ring. In the absence of true power, the weak have conquered the kingdom.
We start to change that at The Battle of Britain.
Five teams stand between us and the mission we have embarked on. Step one was Halifax, to show that we had arrived. Donzig wasn’t the only target that night, but he was the only one with the balls to not run and hide.
Mormo and Moloch? I can understand your anger. You were drafted into a war that you did not choose and now, after having lost more than just your pride, you must continue the fight on behalf of your master. You had the courage to step into the ring that cold night in Canada and I can respect that.
But courage is what stupid men use to substitute intelligence. You aren’t smart enough to recognize the severity of the threat in front of you so you rely on blind hope that you are strong enough.
You’re not.
Same goes for The Dark Stars. Niko and Kono. I know you well from our time in Northern Pro. Your weirdo obsession with S&M that has no basis in professional wrestling aside, you both have my respect inside that ring. Perhaps in another life we could have stood shoulder to shoulder but in this era of time? You are going to be reduced simply to footnotes.
Neon Bushido. Team Fairtex. The Purge.
I hope that we share the ring during this insufferable ‘gauntlet match’. Leon Van Zandt and I would like nothing more than to inflict the maximum amount of pain upon you and erase youfrom history.
Don’t misunderstand and think that we’ll show you any mercy, if anything, we’ll show you less.
On the other hand, I hope you survive the night.
Someone has to live to tell the tale."
Cold open.
For the first time in a while, we find ourselves in a minimalist home gym, composed of various Indian clubs and mace bells, thick mats, and one man sitting in the middle of it all.
The Professional has returned.
“My name is Leon Van Zandt. I am a professional wrestler.
“For years I have practiced and honed my craft in rings throughout all Europe, including the United Kingdom, and that phrase, whether spoken in English or my native Flemish was all I ever needed.
“It is only recently I took my business into North America, and despite the concerns of myself and my mentors that I would not be able to reach my full potential on those shores, I found a loyal audience and the respect of my peers.”
Leon scoffs and shakes his head.
“As I look at Wrestle: UK, I am confounded by the parody they put in the ring and call ‘wrestling.’
“I did not imagine, in all my years, that the nation that treated wrestling like the sport it was, the nation of hard men who treated wrestling with almost as much respect as it gives the football it invented, would reduce it to such a CIRCUS.”
Leon raises a hand and starts counting on his fingers.
“A CIRCUS of the flea-bitten “pageantry” that many declare wrestling to be in North America.”
Another finger.
“A CIRCUS of pretentious, self-important oafs with their ludicrous chants that try too hard to be that ‘cleverness’ that seems to pervade much British humor.”
Three now.
“A CIRCUS of idiotic blowhards who grew up seeing their identity as a wrestling nation stripped away by the most abominable dreck across the ocean, and rather than fight to protect that heritage, lost sight of it so badly that they sought to IMITATE what they were seeing from America… LITERALLY.”
The Belgian grappler takes a deep sigh and shrugs, trying to stifle a laugh as he wraps his arms around his chest.
“That is not a joke or an exaggeration; a mentor once told me of a visit he made to England, wherein he was asked to imitate a wrestler from American television with an Olympic background. They asked him to wear tights designed like the American flag. He was as dumbstruck by that request as I was when he told me that story.
“So imagine my surprise when I found comrades in philosophy and outlook in North America; men who believed as I did in the seriousness of combat in the ring. In the solemnity of a sport where hard men sought an alternative to underpaid labor in mines, and found something greater. In the very things that made wrestling a timeless sport.”
Leon pauses and looks to the side.
“My mentors could not believe it either.
“So when Gus Arnold reached out to me, after Northern Pro Wrestling’s abrupt closure, asking if I would like to participate in this operation I was all too eager to say yes; not least of all because I remembered the respect and understanding with which Meneer Arnold treated me under his employ, but also because I saw the need for a fine nation like the United Kingdom to be brought to its senses, to be reminded of its wrestling past, and the potential of its future.”
Van Zandt smiles, for the first time today.
“Which leads me to the Battle of Britain, and the tag team gauntlet.
“I can’t say the terms of a gauntlet match give me much enthusiasm. Not because I don’t think I would do well under those rules, but because it is exactly the kind of slip I am talking about. But it does not matter; I will gladly march into that ring with Meneer Stevens, and show the people of Wrestle: UK what true wrestling is.
“We will beat them on their terms.”
What was once a confident smile now becomes a snaky grin.
“And then, we will dominate them under ours.
“Our union will take Wrestle: UK by storm, and as we destroy the decrepit pillars of that company, one by one, we will turn Wrestle: UK into wrestling that Britain can be PROUD of.
“That road begins at Battle of Britain, it will be paved on the bones of pretenders who foolishly call themselves ‘wrestlers.’ This is your first and only warning."
==/==
Jay Stevens.
"My father used to tell me 'only the stupidest of men become pro wrestlers but the smartest among them can conquer the world.'
Now I'm sure if you peel back the layers he intended for that to be far more profound. Or he was just trying to discourage me from following in his footsteps.
Or maybe he was just shining a light on the fact that as much as he loved the sport, he didn't represent it, but something far worse. A manipulation of the reality of professional wrestling and ultimately, the cancer that would help to kill the host.
For me, my story will always be inherently tied to ‘the almighty Team Danger'. My father, my family, my mentors and my albatross. Those are the ones personal to me but when their tale is told, other words are often spoken…
‘Outlandish… renowned… crazy… celebrated… feared.’
'Legends.'
Legendary tales too numerous to fully recount.
Stories that are still told in hushed tones in locker rooms across the world by witnesses. Celebrated with great fervor in nightclubs and after parties by the winners. Angrily spewed through gritted teeth in seedy bars by the losers.
But the most important story is the one that we are telling now. Because as much as I am forever chased by the shadows of my father, their story is just the prologue to my own.
They were also responsible, in part, for the complete bastardization of wrestling as it had been for over one hundred years. Justifying their outside of the ring antics by being one-hundred percent focused inside the ring.
But I don't believe there is a separation. What you do is who you are and while I am a professional wrestler, the rest are just clowns in the circus. Make no mistake about it, the clowns and the acrobats are necessary attractions under the big top, but they’re not the main event. People clamor to the gates to see incredible feats of danger.
We are that danger.
Dusty Griffith. Oxford Osland. Leon Van Zandt. Sam Horry.
Forged in hell and designed specifically for this war. The war to take back what has been ruined by those who have no business stepping foot inside that ring. In the absence of true power, the weak have conquered the kingdom.
We start to change that at The Battle of Britain.
Five teams stand between us and the mission we have embarked on. Step one was Halifax, to show that we had arrived. Donzig wasn’t the only target that night, but he was the only one with the balls to not run and hide.
Mormo and Moloch? I can understand your anger. You were drafted into a war that you did not choose and now, after having lost more than just your pride, you must continue the fight on behalf of your master. You had the courage to step into the ring that cold night in Canada and I can respect that.
But courage is what stupid men use to substitute intelligence. You aren’t smart enough to recognize the severity of the threat in front of you so you rely on blind hope that you are strong enough.
You’re not.
Same goes for The Dark Stars. Niko and Kono. I know you well from our time in Northern Pro. Your weirdo obsession with S&M that has no basis in professional wrestling aside, you both have my respect inside that ring. Perhaps in another life we could have stood shoulder to shoulder but in this era of time? You are going to be reduced simply to footnotes.
Neon Bushido. Team Fairtex. The Purge.
I hope that we share the ring during this insufferable ‘gauntlet match’. Leon Van Zandt and I would like nothing more than to inflict the maximum amount of pain upon you and erase youfrom history.
Don’t misunderstand and think that we’ll show you any mercy, if anything, we’ll show you less.
On the other hand, I hope you survive the night.
Someone has to live to tell the tale."