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Author Topic: The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels  (Read 1680 times)

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Offline Cross Recoba

The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
« on: February 10, 2020, 02:39:38 AM »
Life always throws you curveballs, trust me - I know. Perry, in his infinite wisdom, saw what I did with the match in Ohio and decided the best thing he could do would be to team me up with Edgar Malcovich. I’m seeing it as a kind of mentoring program for those who struggle to get by in 4CW and, for my fourth match in, I’m kind of honored he chose me.

The press throng had assembled, as they always did ahead of the latest stop on 4CW’s almost continuous global tour - their latest stop, Milwaukee. The hum and murmur that announced their presence was audible behind the platform that stood, front and center, at the front of the conference room. Kestrel and Rebecca Thoreau had just walked past the curtain and out into the spotlight as they set the tone for the evening.

The majority of the scribes were on hand to get the most clicks to their sites in the build-up to what some had called a masterpiece by Perry, The Hall of Fame Showcase match that pitted Chris Madison against Elijah Carlson. The time would come when they’d hear the last words to hype the match between the pair but Wallace had been shrewd, he’d seen wrestlers come and go and what the smart promoters always did was realize that whilst the money today came from those on top, there would come a day when they’d have to retire and so building up the next generation of stars to bring in the views, the buys, and the almighty dollars was vital.

Edgar Malcovich was pensive, his partner seemingly going for radio silence. He’d received a message claiming that Recoba would be present but, this late in the game, it seemed that the man who was only too happy to shove a t-shirt down his throat in Cleveland was now playing mind games with his own partner.

“Hey, Edgar!” The voice came from behind Edgar but he knew who it belonged to. The accent acquired rather than natural, clipped to appear high in status.

When Malcovich turned around he was almost taken aback to see Cross Recoba smiling in his direction. Was this going to be the start of yet more of his arrogance?

“Look, it doesn't matter if my shirt in your mouth is the most expensive thing you ate that day, the point is I'm sorry."

Edgar felt his fist tighten at the remark, Cross either paid no attention or no mind to the reflex action as he continued.

“I’ve been doing some thinking and what’d be a great start to all this is to agree a name, like a team. I know, your vote is for something like ‘Murder Inc.’ or ‘Maim, Break, Annihalate’ which would work for me because I’m around MBA’s a lot. But...hear me out, I put some thought into this and I’ve got something that could be a winner...The Dirty Rotten Scoundrels!” Cross still wore a shit-eating grin, even when he was claiming to be being helpful.

The name itself wasn’t bad at all, Edgar formed a smile as he mulled the name over. The snivelling shitrag might have stumbled onto something.

“Great! I’m reading the smile as you’re in. So, I took that idea, and I kinda extrapolated from there. So, the reason I’m a little late in catching up with you is because I’ve done some more work into making us into a proper team. I’m not going to try and spoil the surprise or overwhelm you because I get it, information downloads aren’t what you do in the Zombie Clan. I always imagined they’d just look at Extinction Rebellion and then plan on being less effective in their aims than them.”

Malcovich found himself wishing he’d elected to bring brass knuckles that day but security was never lax.

“What do you mean ‘more work’?” Malcovich seemed guarded in his enquiry.

“Right, so you went ahead and fired everyone up last week. I saw that and thought, I’ll see what this does to Willie Pete and Johnny Violence. Now, I could have just sat back and done nothing, but I don’t want to come across as a father figure to you, that’d be weird - I’m  the younger one here! Instead, I used the time to think of the bigger picture. You know, Pete is just...well, he’s pretty much just a metronome of stream of consciousness and Violence, he’s like the Wal-Mart of your brand.”

Edgar once more found his tolerance lowering at the same pace the temperature of his blood rose.

“You know what I mean. I haven’t seen him yet. Security probably think he’s waiting to buy AFI tickets or something. Anyways, I’ve scored us some amazing music-  custom, naitch. Even had a hand in it myself, it’s a banger though! You’ll find out what I mean when these two stop trying to resurrect the dead horse of a spot they’ve found themselves on the card.  Between that and brainstorming some great double-team offense we could do, I kind of flaked a bit on the whole press thing...but that’s why today is great. I’ll make sure that our match gets eyes and plaudits and you can just benefit from that...it’s ideal, you can just do whatever it is you do…”

“Double-team moves, go on - hit me.” Edgar decided to focus on the positives, he could do without the paperwork that came with levelling your own team-mate before the event had even started.

“Right, glad you asked. The fir-”

“- Following that first match, we’ve got a tag-team showdown between four guys guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat!” The compere announced, cutting off The Fox.

“Sorry, Edgar. I’ll explain another time, even bring a whiteboard with me if it helps. You’re going to have your mind blown when you hear this…”

There was no time between his statement and the music for Malcovich to react. The speakers started to blare with an old timey Police Siren. An unfamiliar beat is heard in the background, staccato in its delivery. Then what sounded very much like Cross himself blaring through a megaphone.


“The drumbeat? That spells out your name in Morse Code. Didn’t want it to seem too one-sided.”
Cross’ pride in the music spoke as the PR team of 4CW ushered them towards the stage.

Edgar spied the steel chairs that sat behind the press conference table and wondered if any of the promotional material was held up by thumbtacks.


Who do we face though? It’s the team of Willie Pete and Johnny Violence. One is the guy who has pretty much made it his mission to make sure that none of my tweets get no interaction and the other a man who is so punk he went and signed himself to the biggest wrestling company on the planet….NO! YOU SOLD OUT, MAN!

Where do I start with this one? You see, Willie Pete and I go way back and it’s always the same. I join a company, some idiot goes through companies I’ve been in before and touts up Willie Pete for a contract and before you know it I’ m bombarded with tweets that make as much sense as a painting by Dali in a kindergarten class. I’d love to say it was an achievement of his own hubris that lands Willie Pete in these situations but that’d be doing him a favor I just can’t perform.

Here’s the deal with Willie, he’s pretty much all shock. Once you get past the rambling tales and the non-sequiturs what you’re left with is someone who the system failed badly. Who decides to enter a pro-wrestling ring at forty? I’ve tried to understand him, tried so many times to work out what makes him tick and the answer is always insanity at best and delusion at worst but, I can only beat what’s in front of me. That’s what I’ll intend to do and you can guarantee that’s what will end up being the result.
Why so confident? Last time around I told you all why Malcovich was a hack, how he had no features of any consequence and that the man saw a yard sale as preparation for his next wrestling match but here’s the twist. He NEEDS to win, he knows his record as well as we all do, he has to live with it. I know, because it’s a natural reaction, that he needs to come into this fight not looking just for the win but he needs to do it conclusively. I know that he’ll be spending his time ensuring that the Malcovich we see in the ring when we arrive in Milwaukee isn’t the same on you saw on his debut, nor the one that fought me, it’ll be one full of determination and a certain amount of desperation. You ever seen an animal in a trap? You’ll see that in the Detroit Zombie come the time that he steps into that ring at Adrenaline 111!

You know how I know? You fight a man you start to get a read for what drives them, how hungry they are for the win and in Cleveland he delivered that, he was just unlucky he had to face off against a man of my calibre. I outwrestled him, I out-thought him and I outlasted him. Luckily for me, our opponents aren’t even in the same sport as me, let alone the same league.

Completing the team with Willie Pete is Johnny Violence and the most charitable thing I can say about him is that I’d even thought about a name for you both but Outlaw Pete’ll have Perry answering calls from Springsteen’s lawyers before the ring crew have disassembled the ring! Besides, I doubt Dancing in the Dark is in any of Wallace’s Spotify playlists of any year!

Violence, here’s the deal. You’re paired with a man who thrives on his own unpredictability and, when he’s in a singles match, that might work for him but if I were his partner? I’d flip a coin and that’s the Willie Pete you’d get. Is he going to come out like a starved lion ready to take down the prey in front of him or is he likely to freeze up when he realizes that it’s a trap as the crosshairs of the gun hone in on him?

That’s just focusing on Willie Pete, why don’t we focus on you. You see, you can tell yourself you’re tough, that you’re unbroken and hold the will of a Buddhist Monk but that doesn’t change anything when your words get tested in the ring. That doesn’t prove a thing to anyone when you find yourself in the midst of a barrage of offense that you just can’t shake off and it doesn’t prove a thing when you inevitably realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been overmatched like you have this time around.

I’ve made tougher men than you tap out to my submission, I’ve driven sterner heads than yours into the mat with my tombstone piledriver and throughout it all I’ve done it in a fashion that means that people keep on paying to see more. I don’t want their applause, I just want their money because that’s the aim of the game, isn’t it? More money, more exposure, more fame and we’re happy.

The difference between us though is glaring. You see, when you took that swipe at my partner on Twitter about his bio you were doing so either not knowing or not caring that Johnny Violence is up there with possibly the worst names this sport has ever seen. I get it though, you’re edgy. What happens when you decide to lose the edge? I’ll save you the piss break it’d take you to rename yourself - surely, you’d be Johnny Appleseed? You’re a caricature, you’re an outdated version of an outdated trope that honestly should have died out and done us all a favor.

You know, going through the video of you since you got here it’s evident that you haven’t changed, not since high-school when you craved attention. A coffin, a noose, a running history of the hood rate. Yet you have the temerity to bring what I wear into question? You once asked what was 6,600 days ago and yet you use it as a positive sign? I’m guessing for you it was ‘update MySpace top 8 to include the girl who only talks to me out of pity, write in my LiveJournal so people know how deep I can be, and then make sure my fringe is perfect to show my disdain for the world’.

Some things change, Johnny, but not your need for validation and not the cold, hard, truth that we could fight once, we could fight ten times, and we could fight a hundred times but in not one of those bouts would you get the upper hand on me inside that wrestling ring!  Add in that I’ve seen the work Malcovich can do first-hand, have seen what his trainers could do...first-hand, and you get to the crux of the matter - you’re not like Dakota Smith but Edgar? He’ll have watched Smith’s arm get raised and wonder how he can better it, how can he make that moment but with his own flair. Me? I watched it and felt the same thing I always feel when someone is obviously outclassed….pity.
« Last Edit: February 10, 2020, 02:51:16 AM by Cross Recoba »