Buffalo '97

A particularly hot day in the City Of Light. Given that name for it’s early embrace of electric power, today you could name it so for the radiant rays of the blistering hot sun. People moved about on the city streets, doing their best to keep cool with varying degrees of success. The heat did what it often did, the most pervasive effect being that many Buffalo residents were much quicker to anger on a day like today.

Opie’s Open Kitchen, a well known diner downtown that was always filled with as many regulars as tourists. It was a special place, beloved by anyone that ever had the privilege of dining there. Opie’s was an institution in downtown Buffalo that had been handed down for several generations in its namesake’s lineage. The current owner was Kathy Flynn and today was a difficult one for her, as hot days usually were. And it was only about to get harder.

Not one to sit back in an office while her business carried on beyond her sight, Kathy was always seen working the floor. She could be found assisting wherever she was needed most; be it serving tables, seating guests, or washing dishes if the need arose. She moved through the establishment as if she could have done so blindfolded. Sashaying through the narrowest of passageways between tables and patrons alike, Kathy never gave away the stress of her position. She greeted everyone with a smile and even dealt with the more discourteous guests with saint-like patience and understanding.

As Kathy greeted a large party of guests, a young man toured the dining room with a black plastic bus bin. Clad in a white t-shirt, a white apron soiled by the onslaught of dirty dishes, and black flour dusted pants, it was easy to see that the pressure of such a day was weighing on him. He wore it plainly on his face which is something that he had been trying to work on recently but to no avail. Today did not lend itself to self improvement.

The bus boy had not worked here long and he was desperate to stand out from his peers. He made a point of stacking the dishes in the bus bin far beyond what any other bus boy could handle. In doing so, he struggled to move through the seemingly endless hoard of patrons. This was another thing that he was cautioned against.

“Aye boy. Can we get some fuckin’ water over here?” said a surly, middle aged man. The bus boy showed his inexperience, not sure how to answer. The man wore an unkempt handlebar moustache and a Buffalo Bill’s mesh back cap. His stomach protruded through the space between his t-shirt and belt buckle, spilling over the metal centerpiece causing it to be barely visible.

“I can tell your server.” the bus boy said. His voice was stressed, lacking any semblance of confidence. Worse than that, his arms were starting to fail under the weight of the overloaded bus bin.

“Just go get it. It’s right there. Hot as fuck out here kid and you ain’t got no air conditioning. Customer is always right.” The man said. “And take this will ya?” The customer tossed his plate onto the top of the bus bin. The proverbial straw. The boy couldn’t maintain his grip and the bus bin fell from his hands landing on the floor with a thud.

Although the restaurant was loud with chatter from the dozens of people within, that thunderous crash got everyone’s attention. The man glared at the bus boy because a glass of milk that had not been finished was among the dishes and the remaining contents splashed up and coated the man’s dirty jeans. He was instantly furious. The man stood up and grabbed the bus boy by the collar.

Everyone in the restaurant was watching now but no one moved to intervene. Before the man could get another acerbic word from his mouth the bus boy quickly raised his fist and punched him right in the mouth. Gasps escaped the mouths of many patrons. The man was an imposing figure, standing a few inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the bus boy. But the strike found its mark perfectly and the man quickly found himself on the floor beside the bus bin.

The restaurant went quiet. The bus boy stood over the man wearing a blank expression. Still as a statue, he was startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to where it had landed and instantly knew who it belonged to because of the signature pink nail polish. Kathy didn’t often scowl but scowl she did in this moment.

“Go to the back Rory. Now.” she said in a stern whisper.



I’ve had better starts but I’ve also had worse.

Like I said the last time I did one of these, I had no problem with being in a dark match. My star has faded over the last few years and no one could be sure that I was a solid bet. Despite what I had to say last week there were probably still a veritable mob of people who just see me as a glue factor candidate just looking for a pay day. Not the case, but I can see the reasoning. If I came in and failed then Project: Honor could quietly dismiss my contract and send me dancing toward the bingo hall circuit. Hell, if that were the case then I wouldn’t blame them for kicking me to the curb. There is a wealth of young talent in this company that deserves the spotlight, a lot more than someone who is as long in the tooth as me.

And yet here I stand.

I’ve got nothing against Crash Rodriguez but I did have to make a statement at his expense. So that’s what I did. A Stripper’s Real Name and he was dick up in the dirt. Thanks for coming, kid. You went out there and tried your best but what it came down to was that I just wanted it more than you. For all of my stupid jokes and self depricating nonsense -- I took that match very seriously. A lot more seriously than you. You tried, you failed. It happens. I don’t need to tell you to remain confident, you grew up in the business. You know how it goes. Only a handful of people actually witnessed you lose so you’ve still got a leg to stand on. Maybe we meet again down the road and I fuck you up proper in front of some cameras.

Don’t wish for that.

Despite being lower than a curtain jerker, I did manage to get on camera later in the evening when I was leaving. Ran into a group of French hoodlums who expected ignorance from me. Thought that they could talk shit right in front of me. In their defence, I don’t look like someone who has mastered their native language let alone two. Anyone who has ever been in the presence of someone who speaks another language may have experienced that shit idea that maybe they were being spoken about. What you wouldn’t give to be able to know the truth of it. Well I did and let me tell you, it felt pretty fucking great. Not the first time that I’ve had people talk shit about me and definitely not the last but it was nice to put the little bastards in their place.

Small victories.

I had considered going to talk to Christian DeMarco about my future but I’ve spent enough time in offices over the course of my career. I had my victory, I made my opening statement. There was no real need to push it any further. Let the cards fall where they may and all that bullshit. Deciding to skulk off into the night was probably a good decision considering that DeMarco spent the bulk of the episode dealing with meddling from Rock Johnson and alike. Plus, I got my answer without having to visit him so it all worked out in the end.

The Noble Championship.

I mentioned it. Seems like the appropriate direction for me right? Some might think that the Ascension Championship would be a better route but any length of time in that division would only bring about the end of my fuckin’ career quicker. Yeah, I know. I’m on Fallout and unless a match is contested under Noble Rules then it is “anything goes”. So be it. But working in a division that is more about pure wrestling is better for me at this point in time. I’ve gotta try to get the most out of this last run so I have to be smart.

Know your limits, play within them.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am fine doing the hardcore thing. It’s a style that I know real fucking well and I’ve got the scars to prove it. Barbed wire, cages of all shapes and sizes, glass, explosions, fucking Lego -- I’ve done it all. Happy to do it again. But aside from self-preservation, the Noble Championship speaks to me. If I want to get back to where I once was I need to show the Project: Honor and the world that this vintage hasn’t turned to vinegar.

Increasingly exquisite with each passing day.

Winning a poll to face the champion at Wired Consequences doesn’t really look like it’s in my future. Not when you have people like Jason Long on the ballot. He’s more well known to this generation of fans, he is a proven commodity in the eyes of the office. He beat the champion and seems like the logical choice to challenge her first. Can’t argue with that. I can argue with a fucking internet poll deciding a challenger but I’ll save that for later. I will prove that I deserve to be a name on that list and after Fallout III you’ll find me right there up at the top.

I’m gonna put on a fucking show.



“Why do you have to be like this?” Kathy said as she sat behind her desk. A large white board featuring the schedule was hanging on the wall behind her and her cheeks were flushed from the heat. Air conditioning was not a luxury that she could afford and more than that she appreciated the fresh air coming in from the large open windows at the front of the restaurant. Unfortunately for Kathy and Rory, the breeze didn’t reach the back.

“He put his hands on me. I had to stand up for myself.” Rory said. He had been sitting in the office for the better part of the last two hours. He didn’t want to go out into the dining room to even get a drink of water, embarrassed for what he had done.

“Yeah and that was wrong. But I’m running a business here. A business that is going to be yours someday. Do you want our regulars telling their kids and other members of their family that the future owner of Opie’s likes to punch out customers?” Kathy said.

It didn’t sound like a bad idea to Rory. This city loved it’s gossip. A sixteen year old kid knocked out a piece of shit customer, a story like that would do well in Buffalo. Could improve business. Not that Opie’s needed it.

“What if I don’t want it to be mine?” Rory asked. It had always been the plan, he would take over Opie’s just like Kathy had done from his grandfather. He had been told this for as long as he could remember. As of late, he started to think that maybe he’d like a life outside of… this.

“What are you talking about? You’ve wanted this since you were little!” Kathy said. “How long have you been thinking about doing something else?”

He felt bad. Terrible even. He could only remember a few instances when she had looked so disappointed. One time being when he had offered third grader Tim Thompson two dollars to roll in a pile of dog shit. Tim did it happily but that wasn’t how Rory had found himself in the principal’s office. It was because Rory didn’t pay him. Tim squealed and Rory was suspended. Today her disappointment was different, she had stifled laughter at that prank, but not today.

“A while. It’s just not for me. I don’t really think I like people. Not like you.” He said.

“You think I like these people? Some of them, yes. But a lot of them are awful. They come at you with that ‘customer is always right’ nonsense but that isn’t true. What is true is that the customer is always a customer and we have to treat them properly. They could spend their money anywhere. We need to give them as many reasons as we can to spend their money here.” She told him. “This is your legacy Rory. This is your birthright. This is what I can give you.”

He was feeling ungrateful now. She was really good with guilt trips as any seasoned mother needed to be.

“I think you need to fully understand what we do here. You need to learn some pride in the service that we provide. I have an idea. Get your coat.” She said, shooting up from behind her desk.

“Coat? It’s fucking July!” He said.

His mother tried not to smirk, she was still quite upset with him. “Figure of speech. Don’t curse. We’re going to The Butcher Shop.”



When I chose to sign with Project: Honor I did so because it looked fucking phenomenal from the outside. A lot of exciting young talent, some interesting concepts, a great track record of events. If there was anywhere that I should go to reinvent myself it would be here. But then I arrived. I showed up at Fallout last week, did what I had to do, then watched the show later that evening after a much needed ice bath. What I saw was not what brought me here.

Namely -- Kayla Richards.

You know, I had considered taking it easy on you. Not in the ring of course, but from a shit talk standpoint. I didn’t want to talk down to you or belittle what you have done so far in Project: Honor. But then Fallout II aired. You’ve had a rough go of it these last few weeks. Yes you have some second rate accolades, you did some COOL SPOTS, and you have started to make a name for yourself in Project: Honor. But not in the way that you want. For all of your arrogance and bravado you have only succeeded in becoming one thing--

--a fucking joke.

I figured it would be too easy to point out what you have become. You see, for someone like me, who travelled the world and learned every single style of fighting that I could find, it’s easy to punch down because there are so many people beneath me. I’ve done all that someone can do in this industry. And then I did it all again. Coming to Project: Honor, I wanted to help elevate new talent just as much as I wanted to elevate my own legacy. I want to give credit where credit is due.

You deserve no credit.

Yeah you were the last surviving Fallout roster member in War Games. Bully for you. DeMarco is easily impressed and he decided to give you a participation ribbon in the form of the Noble Championship. Not because you won, but because you kind of survived. Giving someone who ALMOST attained victory in such a dangerous match a championship that represents pure wrestling makes perfect sense. Right? I guess when you’re an idiot. You do not embody any of the traits that the Noble title is supposed to represent.

You are fucking far from it.

It represents tradition and sportsmanship. Or at least, it was meant to. Not only were you handed a championship for losing, you went out and lost in your first match as champion. No wonder that the scuttlebutt about Fallout is that we aren’t to be taken seriously. All three of our champions gave piss poor performances last week and lost. Some might say that those results lend themself to the idea that Fallout has a veritable murderer’s row of competitors, that anyone can win at any time.

Bullshit.

What that tells the world is that the wrong people are on top. The fact that you were handed a championship and proceeded to shit all over it is absolutely ridiculous. The Noble Championships means less than nothing and it is all your fault. You should be ashamed of yourself. For many reasons, but being a dogshit champion being the most egregious sin. You were LITERALLY handed the opportunity to make that championship into something worth caring about and your response was…

“I’m shooting a little higher, but I’ll take what I can get right now.”

That is not the attitude of a champion. I get it, you’re a cheeky competitor who likes to talk shit and thinks that she’s God’s gift. Blah, blah, blah. You’ve stepped out of your sister’s shadow and now you are going to blaze your own trail. I wouldn’t have expected you to fall all over yourself in a fit of glee when you were handed the title but “I’ll take what I can get right now”?

The FUCK kind of attitude is that?

Confidence is important. No doubt about that. But say you were to go out and lose immediately after being handed a championship that you didn’t earn. A response like “I’ll take what I can get” might make you look like a bit of a fucking moron. And it did. Because that happened. The decision to just lob the title into your undeserving arms was a complete joke in and of itself but then you added a really nice tag to that joke when you failed so spectacularly. The Noble Championship might as well have been tossed in the trash right then and there.

That would be a preferable spot for it instead of around your waist.

Cementing a new championship as something that people actually want is hard enough. But now you’ve made it a seemingly unreachable feat. That championship has exactly zero prestige right now. You didn’t have to fight to earn it and now the first person to challenge for it will earn that opportunity in a fucking internet poll? Is this what professional wrestling has come to in 2021? I usually cringe when people call a championship a “belt”. It devalues it. It is meant to be a goal, a mountain top, an achievement.

But not in your hands.

You have given everyone in the Noble Division a real test. No, not defeating you. We’ve seen that dusting your ass is not an achievement that is hard to attain. The test is transforming this division from a stillborn farce into something to actually give a shit about. Jason Long took the first step last week when he put you on the mat but we can’t start to build this division until that title is out of your hands. If you were any kind of champion you would have put the title on the line last week. Or even this week. But you’ll “take whatever you can get” and you’ll desperately cling to it through whatever measure available.

You are what is wrong with this industry.

Now I may be walking the line of a surly old veteran here but you would be hard pressed to find anyone of substance that is actually impressed by you falling on your face in such grand fashion. You told Long that you didn’t need dirty tactics, you didn’t need weapons, you were going to beat him with skill alone. We saw how that turned out. You don’t deserve the roster spot that you occupy. I don’t give a shit about how you survived a clusterfuck and still lost. Anyone can pull off a highlight reel spot in a match like that. Right place, right time. You’ve proven that in a real contest that means something, you just can’t cut it.

You’re a failure.

So please, try your bullshit on me. I’ve forgotten more dirty tricks than you could ever think up. Experience doesn’t always necessitate skill but trust me Dreamkiller… it does with me. You are nothing new to me. I’ve seen people like you handed things that they don’t deserve a million times in the last twenty years and it never fails to make me sick to my fucking stomach. The only dream that you’ve killed is the dream of the Noble Championship being worth anything at all. You know what else kills dreams?

Waking up.

And I’m about to wake this division the fuck up. I am going to resurrect the dream of the Noble Division being a centerpiece of this brand after you strangled it in its crib. I don’t give a good shit about what you think of me because your arrogance, your entitlement, and your embarrassing lack of skill has pissed me off. Trust me, you don’t want to face me when I’m in a bad mood. Of course, you have no reason to believe me but it would be in your best interest to take me seriously. If you come correct on Fallout and actually show me a glimpse of worthiness then I’ll have no problem accepting that. Hell if you can manage a victory, I’d have no problem retracting everything I’ve said. But I don’t expect it. What you should expect is for The Goddamn Butcher Man to come and cut you to pieces.

If you don’t, then you’re gonna embarrass yourself again.