Why? (Part 1/2)

[Deleted]

“When I rise to the top

I'm tellin' you right now

I'm tellin' you right now

Oh, I'll show you something

When I rise to the top

I'm tellin' you right now

As crazy as I sound

Oh, I'll show you something

(You might as well just get comfortable)

That's it”

Why is Spencer Adams here?

Not just why I’m here, but why am I HERE? Why did I opt to set my sights on a “developmental brand” as an already developed talent? Call after call, text after text..everybody’s had that same question mark floating overhead from the moment the rumblings of Spencer Adams in OCW started. I’ve been mum on that front, only letting my plan to succeed be known on a surface level and believe me, I get the frustration. Nobody likes to be cockteased afterall. Though..perhaps before we answer one question, we must answer another.

Why does Spencer Adams want to be Rise World Champion?

In some ways, there’s a fair bit of overlap, but let’s cut right to the chase. I wanted the belt the second it was labeled a world championship and the fact that I knew it would be billed as secondary? That Rise would have to “jerk the curtains” in some sense is a challenge I find myself chomping at the bit to accept, because well…I’ve been here before. No, not with the cadaver of OCW that Baylor and Co. find themselves trying to Dr. Frankenstein with their own cutesy little spin on things nor was it with a show deemed secondary to an older sibling.

Day one in WCF, Spencer Adams was fed to the sharks. It’s a story told before, but worth a refresher for those watching here in the now. Eight years ago, when I broke into the mainstream with bright eyes and an eagerness to climb, I was thrown into a pit and expected to be prey. No optimism around my future or my signing, no fingers crossed that I would pan out, and nobody in the front office rooting for the success of a twenty-five year old rookie would wanted NOTHING more than an honest shot and bid of good faith. I had greasy, slug of a man Seth Lerch playing action figure with my career as he put me up against the toughest opponents on the roster and assumed that I would suffice as fodder.

Then…I rose.

I went toe to toe with guys like Joey Flash, “unbeatable” talent who worked that ring like they were punching a timeclock and I’d find myself falling short in the end, but everytime I did so, I got back up with a hand waiting. It was people like Crow McMorris and Howard Black, people I consider equals and friends in this business now. See, those guys saw it. They “got it” when they saw Spencer Adams push off a mat with tender palms and eyes pestering the sockets to burst open and what I was given in return was appreciation.

“Hey, Spence. Chin up. You’re getting there.”

“Keep at it. You’ve got the it factor.”

“Don’t you dare fucking quit.”

In hindsight, it was probably naive for me to trust a suit again. Sure, pouring the years I did into AW paid off at times. I was able to turn the company into something more for mutual benefit, turn it into a platform for Spencer Adams and people like Spencer Adams to shine, but I implore you to bring me a contract and a pair of shackles and explain the difference to me, because I don’t see one anymore. As I get ready to step into an OCW ring for the first time, I don’t see “home.” I see somewhere in my rearview that has deemed Spencer Adams as their Pete Rose and you want to know the really fucked up part in it all?

I’m fine with it.

I’m content being some blowhard CEO’s “never again” just as I’m going to revel in going forward as OCW’s “What have we done?” simply because I’m not someone to be controlled anymore. Just because for the first time in five years, I get to shape not just a company, but this whole fucking industry however I see fit through nothing more than blood, sweat, and tears. I get to come to Rise not as some tool for a dweeb manning Gorilla to crush the dreams of their hopefuls with, but as a stubborn and determined veteran ready to make this business about mutual payoff again since I know that those cutting checks don’t have an iota of a shit to give.

What I have in front of me is an opportunity to hold the Rise World Championship over my head and invite each and every individual in that locker room to come form a line and TRY in good faith, to get their heads kicked in and their teeth fed to them out of respect for the sport. I’m a tough lesson waiting to be taught just as I am Crow McMorris and Howard Black waiting to lift that twenty-five year old up to their feet and remind them that they’re here for a reason, that what they do in this industry matters, that it can be more.

That starts with you, Trent.

---

You know, maybe this time’s a little different.

A masculine voice cuts through the ski-mask wearing pack I’d spent the past few months alongside. They’d remained vocal and consistent since day one with their less conventional pitch and introduction via videotape and hushed messaging.

I mean, this is a start up to some degree and it certainly seems more intimate of a setting.

A feminine voice offered rebuttal, one I recognized as HERS.

A restart. Don’t let the new coat of paint fool you. Seth, Torture, Page, Marcus, Britlyn. Add whatever name you want to that list, they’ll still be the same seat at the end of the day. We remain true.

The thought of the two of us alone together still put me on edge. It was her who came onto me, not the other way around, but it still felt like my secret to keep and my burden to bear. With waning availability and more and more time spent on the road, I didn’t want to know how Adilene would interpret things. I also wouldn’t expect her to understand my desire or really, my need to keep this core behind me and not ruin a good thing with this collective who had supported and lifted me up at my lowest point back in the Spring.

Spencer: She’s right…though I say let them package it as small. Let them sell this thing as an intimate experience. It will make it that much sweeter when we lift it up and trump the flagship.

Tampa air was hot and heavy, but I kept my thoughts about their overdressing for the weather to myself. We all knew it would be in their best interest to keep identities concealed and spotlights away from their specific persons. That was until Ally Calaway let herself be known amongst both the others and the rest of the world.

Ally: Maybe not..totally trump the flagship. You do your thing, I’ll do mine, and we’ll both come out a few pounds heavier for our troubles. The rest falls into place the way we see fit.

She smirked between the gap in a hoodie whose strings had been pulled tighter than they probably needed to be.

Spencer: I’ve got to admit, I’m still a little..

Ally: Surprised I’m here?

Spencer: Yeah.

Ally: Just time to make a change, isn’t it?

---

Five years.

It’s been just a little under five years since I was able to call myself a world champion and trust me, it’s not for a lack of trying. As is the case for all of us in this profession and in this life, failure is just a part of it. Sometimes, when you walk in the smaller athlete, it can be that much more a factor in the equation. I’ve gone to war with meat tank human beings who wanted nothing more than to end my career and turn my quality of life thereafter to a nosedive towards whatever rock bottom may hold and I’ve walked out the survivor every..fucking..time. I’ve been the one with both a more lasting legacy and longer career, because of a willingness to get to the next shot.

The next week.

The next match.

The next pinfall.

Short of that next big belt, there’s nothing I haven’t done in this line of work and I have no piece of paper holding me back from the desired outcome this time. There’s no “hand picked” talent waiting to help cast me aside to appease a fucking soda company or fast food chain with what they think wrestling needs or is about. Instead, I’m forcing that hand. Not through bullshit, not through conspiracy or smoke and mirrors..but through being undeniably the best to lace up a pair of boots who can give the fans something to get excited about for the first time in what feels like forever.

Through gritted teeth and muttered grievances, you’ll accept the outcome.

Through a smile and that strap held high, I’ll provide it.