Post by Calvin Constantine on Nov 18, 2009 20:50:31 GMT -6
A change gonna come.
In its short history, Combat Zone Wrestling has seen its fair share of superstars pass through the door. Up-and-comers like AJ Styles and CM Punk and legends like Sabu and Tommy Dreamer have stepped into a CZW ring. Unfortunately for the Philadelphia based independent promotion, these athletes typically move on to bigger and brighter things.
Such is the case tonight.
On the corner of Swanson and Ritner in South Philadelphia, a handful of people mill around the ticket office of The Arena. The crowd braves the cold, wet November night, but to no avail-the show is sold out.
Tonight, another superstar enters the extreme world of CZW-Calvin Constantine, matched up with CZW World Heavyweight Champion Drake Younger.
Backstage, Calvin sits solitary in the communal locker room. Other wrestlers keep their distance, giving the former ICW World Champion an occasional suspicious glance.
Calvin studies them too.
Hopeless spot monkeys chatter away. Vanilla midgets buzz about the room, trying to compensate for their stature with sheer energy. Others are hopefully wooden, mouths glued together as if by tetanus.
Calvin thinks they don’t deserve his contempt. Calvin thinks they don’t deserve his pity, either.
A road agent moves into Calvin’s field of vision, pulling him out of his haze.
Road Agent: Hey Calvin, we’re gonna give you a few minutes on the stick before the match. Just do what you like, you know, do your thing.
Calvin: Aight. How’s the crowd?
Road Agent: Oh, they’ll be hot. I’m not sure which way, but they’ll definitely be hot.
Later…
“Whatever” by Godsmack hits…
Ring Announcer: INTRODUCING FIRST…
WEIGHING IN AT 210 POUNDS…
FROM INDIANAPOLIS INDIANA…
HE IS THE PSYCHO SHOOTER…
AND HE IS THE CZW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!
HE IS…DRAKE YOUNGER!
The crowd gives the champ a mixed reaction as he sprints down the aisle. From the gorilla position, Calvin watches, bemused, as his music hits.
Ring Announcer: AND THE CHALLENGER…
WEIGHING IN AT 230 POUNDS…
FROM PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA…
HE IS THE FORMER ICW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…
AND HE IS THE “REAL DEAL!”
HE IS…CALVIN CONSTANTINE!!!
Calvin steps out from the back and raises his hand the sky. The crowd gives a mixed reaction, some cheering the arrival of a hometown hero, others booing the representative of “big brother”, ICW, a company whose fan-base CZW has done their best to co-opt.
Calvin steps into the ring and takes the mic from the announcer.
Calvin: C…Z…W
The crowd pops.
Calvin: It’s a pleasure to be here, in my hometown. And it’s a pleasure to be here in The Arena, a place where so much blood has been spilled, so many chances taken, and so much of the history of this business has been written.
Calvin: But I’ll tell you what’s not a pleasure…
Calvin: It’s no pleasure having to share the ring with a half-witted, no talent, never gonna make it, already half forgotten goon like this one-
Before Calvin can continue, Drake seizes the opportunity and attacks him, and the two begin brawling.
A typical CZW spotfest ensues, with both men doing serious damage to each other’s bodies. As the match unfolds, and it becomes clear that Constantine, the favorite, is in for a fight, the crowd slowly begins to give its support to Drake.
At 12 minutes, Calvin sent Drake flying over the top rope, through a glass table, and the crowd was hushed into a stunned silence.
Blood pouring down his face, blood on his hands, Calvin looked around. These were his people, the people of Philadelphia, and yet they had deserted him. They had paid to come see him lay waste to this ham and egger, yet he had lost their support.
However, at the 16 minute mark, their dreams were shattered. Drake looked for Drake’s Landing, the reverse double-underhook piledriver, onto a roll of barbed wire. Calvin somehow reversed into the Alpha and the Omega, leaving the champ down and out.
Calvin stood above him. The ref was ready. The crowd, while not pleased, was resigned to it.
But Calvin did not cover.
Instead, he grabbed the house mic.
Calvin: Listen to me. LISTEN! Everyone in this building came to see me kick the shit out of this guy, and I delivered. And yet, when he hurt me, you cheered. When I hurt him, you groaned. You all wanted to see your CZW Champion pick up a victory over me and bring this company out of the gutter. Well, it didn’t happen. But it occurred to me-why would I want my name associated with a third rate shitstrap like the CZW World Championship? Why would I cover this glorified stuntman? Beating him would be like beating a woman, or a cripple, or one of you morons-a no win proposition.
The crowd, at first curious to hear what Calvin had to say, started to boo.
Calvin: If you want to see me with a championship around my waste, check out the originator of insanity-ICW. So, in conclusion, fuck CZW, fuck Drake Younger, and fuck you.
Calvin tossed the mic down and stormed out of the ring.
Backstage, the promoter stands slackjawed, Calvin’s pay envelope in his hand. He’s just watched a world renowned wrestler, who was supposed to be here to give the promotion a shot in the arm, completely bury his champion, his championship, and his entire operation.
Calvin seizes the envelope without a word, and storms out the backdoor.
In its short history, Combat Zone Wrestling has seen its fair share of superstars pass through the door. Up-and-comers like AJ Styles and CM Punk and legends like Sabu and Tommy Dreamer have stepped into a CZW ring. Unfortunately for the Philadelphia based independent promotion, these athletes typically move on to bigger and brighter things.
Such is the case tonight.
On the corner of Swanson and Ritner in South Philadelphia, a handful of people mill around the ticket office of The Arena. The crowd braves the cold, wet November night, but to no avail-the show is sold out.
Tonight, another superstar enters the extreme world of CZW-Calvin Constantine, matched up with CZW World Heavyweight Champion Drake Younger.
Backstage, Calvin sits solitary in the communal locker room. Other wrestlers keep their distance, giving the former ICW World Champion an occasional suspicious glance.
Calvin studies them too.
Hopeless spot monkeys chatter away. Vanilla midgets buzz about the room, trying to compensate for their stature with sheer energy. Others are hopefully wooden, mouths glued together as if by tetanus.
Calvin thinks they don’t deserve his contempt. Calvin thinks they don’t deserve his pity, either.
A road agent moves into Calvin’s field of vision, pulling him out of his haze.
Road Agent: Hey Calvin, we’re gonna give you a few minutes on the stick before the match. Just do what you like, you know, do your thing.
Calvin: Aight. How’s the crowd?
Road Agent: Oh, they’ll be hot. I’m not sure which way, but they’ll definitely be hot.
Later…
“Whatever” by Godsmack hits…
Ring Announcer: INTRODUCING FIRST…
WEIGHING IN AT 210 POUNDS…
FROM INDIANAPOLIS INDIANA…
HE IS THE PSYCHO SHOOTER…
AND HE IS THE CZW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!
HE IS…DRAKE YOUNGER!
The crowd gives the champ a mixed reaction as he sprints down the aisle. From the gorilla position, Calvin watches, bemused, as his music hits.
Ring Announcer: AND THE CHALLENGER…
WEIGHING IN AT 230 POUNDS…
FROM PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA…
HE IS THE FORMER ICW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION…
AND HE IS THE “REAL DEAL!”
HE IS…CALVIN CONSTANTINE!!!
Calvin steps out from the back and raises his hand the sky. The crowd gives a mixed reaction, some cheering the arrival of a hometown hero, others booing the representative of “big brother”, ICW, a company whose fan-base CZW has done their best to co-opt.
Calvin steps into the ring and takes the mic from the announcer.
Calvin: C…Z…W
The crowd pops.
Calvin: It’s a pleasure to be here, in my hometown. And it’s a pleasure to be here in The Arena, a place where so much blood has been spilled, so many chances taken, and so much of the history of this business has been written.
Calvin: But I’ll tell you what’s not a pleasure…
Calvin: It’s no pleasure having to share the ring with a half-witted, no talent, never gonna make it, already half forgotten goon like this one-
Before Calvin can continue, Drake seizes the opportunity and attacks him, and the two begin brawling.
A typical CZW spotfest ensues, with both men doing serious damage to each other’s bodies. As the match unfolds, and it becomes clear that Constantine, the favorite, is in for a fight, the crowd slowly begins to give its support to Drake.
At 12 minutes, Calvin sent Drake flying over the top rope, through a glass table, and the crowd was hushed into a stunned silence.
Blood pouring down his face, blood on his hands, Calvin looked around. These were his people, the people of Philadelphia, and yet they had deserted him. They had paid to come see him lay waste to this ham and egger, yet he had lost their support.
However, at the 16 minute mark, their dreams were shattered. Drake looked for Drake’s Landing, the reverse double-underhook piledriver, onto a roll of barbed wire. Calvin somehow reversed into the Alpha and the Omega, leaving the champ down and out.
Calvin stood above him. The ref was ready. The crowd, while not pleased, was resigned to it.
But Calvin did not cover.
Instead, he grabbed the house mic.
Calvin: Listen to me. LISTEN! Everyone in this building came to see me kick the shit out of this guy, and I delivered. And yet, when he hurt me, you cheered. When I hurt him, you groaned. You all wanted to see your CZW Champion pick up a victory over me and bring this company out of the gutter. Well, it didn’t happen. But it occurred to me-why would I want my name associated with a third rate shitstrap like the CZW World Championship? Why would I cover this glorified stuntman? Beating him would be like beating a woman, or a cripple, or one of you morons-a no win proposition.
The crowd, at first curious to hear what Calvin had to say, started to boo.
Calvin: If you want to see me with a championship around my waste, check out the originator of insanity-ICW. So, in conclusion, fuck CZW, fuck Drake Younger, and fuck you.
Calvin tossed the mic down and stormed out of the ring.
Backstage, the promoter stands slackjawed, Calvin’s pay envelope in his hand. He’s just watched a world renowned wrestler, who was supposed to be here to give the promotion a shot in the arm, completely bury his champion, his championship, and his entire operation.
Calvin seizes the envelope without a word, and storms out the backdoor.