Post by Deleted on Jun 12, 2013 2:08:59 GMT -5
There’s a smoky little bar in New York City; one of the few bars in the big apple that you can still light up. The 88 is a deliberate homage to the old days. It’s the cleanest possible version of a late 50’s, early 60’s aesthetic put together by people born a generation afterward. All the good, none of the bar. At a corner booth a man sits and watches the piano play. The camera that’s taken us into this bar slowly approaches the table. He doesn’t bother to look at it, too absorbed in the song and the atmosphere of the bar. He’s handsome enough. A dignified, square jaw and well tanned skin. His slicked back hair is the color of a dark rust or, if one wanted to be morbid, old blood. One can’t help but be drawn to his eyes. They’re an intense, dark green. While everyone else in the bar is laughing and smiling he seems to study everything he sees. He doesn’t smile when the camera comes down next to him. He speaks in a measured, easy tone.
A waiter walks up and puts a glass of brown alcohol down in front of him. The stranger picks it up and takes a drink. In the bare physical, there’s a dozen of him in the club that night. A dozen guys in snappy three piece suits looking like peacocks. There are differences though. The obvious is his size. Even in his seat he’s tall. He’s got broad shoulders underneath his black jacket. The other difference? They’re dressed to impress. He isn’t. He puts his glass down and speaks again.
Another drink. This one finishes the glass and Alexander slides it across the table. He leans back in the seat and smiles a little at the camera. Well, that’s the motion. There are certainly teeth. Then again, there’s a curving mouth and a bunch of teeth on a shark too.
A woman walks in front of the camera. A pretty blond in a blue dress. He turns to watch her leave and she turns back and catches sight of him. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. He frowns and turns back to the camera.
Another smile. This one more genuine.
He pulls a smoke from his pocket. He doesn’t light it, he simply holds it up to the camera and gets more comfortable in his seat.
He pulls a lighter from his pocket. It is, as one might expect by now, older in design. He opens the top of the silver zippo with a quick flick of his hand and lights the cigarette. He puts it back in his pocket before he takes time to indulge. Alexander flicks some ash in the tray and speaks again.
”There’s are nearly three thousand bars, taverns and nightclubs in this city. A lot of choices. Me? I like to find one I enjoy and stick with it. My father used to come here to the 88. His father put money into it and opened the place up. My family hasn’t had to pay for a drink in here my entire life. I’m creature of routine. I’m…I’m a man who respects the ability to make things go the same way all the time.”
A waiter walks up and puts a glass of brown alcohol down in front of him. The stranger picks it up and takes a drink. In the bare physical, there’s a dozen of him in the club that night. A dozen guys in snappy three piece suits looking like peacocks. There are differences though. The obvious is his size. Even in his seat he’s tall. He’s got broad shoulders underneath his black jacket. The other difference? They’re dressed to impress. He isn’t. He puts his glass down and speaks again.
”My name is Alexander Kincaid. Some of you might know who I am already. Some of you don’t. All of you will, soon. I’ve been a professional wrestler for ten years. In those ten years I’ve made a pretty decent career for myself. My name’s on title histories from Philadelphia to Paris, from Toronto to Tokyo. Well now, I’m coming to Chaotic Pro Wrestling. After I signed my contract I was asked to send in a video. I was asked to introduce myself to the CPW audience. I was asked to come down to the CPW offices so they could discuss what I’d say. Well, no. No, I’m afraid I won’t be doing that. I feel like it’s important to set the boundaries of my relationship with CPW right now: I go where I wish. I take what I want. I have what I will.”
Another drink. This one finishes the glass and Alexander slides it across the table. He leans back in the seat and smiles a little at the camera. Well, that’s the motion. There are certainly teeth. Then again, there’s a curving mouth and a bunch of teeth on a shark too.
”I appreciate a place like the 88 because it represents something. It represents a chance to go back to old values, old techniques. A lot of people in wrestling grew up watching the Hogans and the Austins of the world. My interest in professional wrestling went a little further back than that. If you grew up on companies like CPW or New Era Wrestling, these companies that appeal so much to the common man what you’re used to in a wrestling crowd is people screaming, spilling beer and pumping their fists. I wrestled in high school. I wrestled in university. When it became clear that this was what I wanted to do for a living my father recommended I check out Wrestling at the Chase. If you’ve been around long enough you’ll remember it as a program that aired of St. Louis. Started in 1958 and I’d argue it’s best years were in the early to mid 60’s. There’s a marked difference between what wrestling was then and what it is now. See, back then if you were going the matches you took the wife. You got dressed up in your nicest suit. You cleaned the kids up. If you look at the Chase you’d see all these guys in their nicest suits. Women who know how to dress. Respect. Class. If you’re coming to see the best athletes in the world, you should dress the part. We were worth getting dressed up for.”
A woman walks in front of the camera. A pretty blond in a blue dress. He turns to watch her leave and she turns back and catches sight of him. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. He frowns and turns back to the camera.
”This is what I’m talking about. Right there. You know there’s a reason you hear so much about the good old days. It was a different time, full of different people. A woman like that knew her place. She knew better than to roll her eyes and make a big fuss of her disapproval. Because in the old days, conduct like that was unbecoming for a woman. It marked you. It let everyone know you thought you were better than you really were. People knew what they were back then. I’ve heard people say things were only so great if you were a certain type of person. If you part of a privileged class. Part of a privileged color and part of a privileged sex. You know what? I’m not so blind to the world that I’ll argue. What I would say is maybe there’s a reason. Maybe people like me were in charge because we reached and took it. Ayn Rand talked about the motor of the world. Men like me have the key, whether you like it or not.”
Another smile. This one more genuine.
”So why professional wrestling? It’s simple. Two men stand across from each other and they go to war. They tell you it comes down to technique. They tell you it comes down to strength. I know the truth, the truth is professional wrestling is all about will. The will to dominate. The will to control. If I want something, I take it and there is no better way to demonstrate that principal than in wrestling. It’s quintessential America. Take what you want. Like I said, the old days. The height of the American industrialist when my family made it’s money. You can talk about the spirit of the American worker all you want but it certainly helped that our major competitors were a smoking hole. A little bit of will and lot of violence can get you pretty far in the world.”
He pulls a smoke from his pocket. He doesn’t light it, he simply holds it up to the camera and gets more comfortable in his seat.
”My father’s generation did what they wanted. You know, the 88 prides itself on being a smoking facility. Everyone’s gone all clean in the Empire City. You know, you’ve got doctors who constantly tell us about cancer. You look at a carton of smokes and you see all this horrible imagery of people with rotting lungs and holes in their throats. You know what I think? I think we’re all adults. I think we can make choices. People enjoy a good smoke. Yeah, it might kill them someday. Sure. What won’t? So you make a choice. You choose whether or not those few seconds of pleasure are worth worrying about getting sick down the road. With a cigarette people think that’s an insane choice now. Of course it isn’t right? Funny thing is, you make those decisions every day. You talk to a girl at work when your wife might not like what you say. You eat something that might not be great for your heart. Choices. Moments of pleasure measured against long term pain.”
He pulls a lighter from his pocket. It is, as one might expect by now, older in design. He opens the top of the silver zippo with a quick flick of his hand and lights the cigarette. He puts it back in his pocket before he takes time to indulge. Alexander flicks some ash in the tray and speaks again.
”Chaotic Pro Wrestling hiring me is a drag on a cigarette. It is a temporary pleasure that will cause long term pain. People will watch this video and they’ll think I’m another wealthy prick who got into wrestling to try and be the next world champion. For the prestige and the shiny belts. Here’s the thing: I have money. I have power. I have respect. I could walk through this place and there would people wanting to follow me. You know what the difference between someone like me and someone like you walking through a place like this is? When I walk out, no one cracks a joke. At this point in my life what gives me pleasure is imposing my will. There’s a man in Clinton tonight who’s homeless solely because he took too long to answer a question I asked him. Because it made me happy to change his life in an instant. There’s a woman with a fresh scar across her face in Westchester because I wanted it that way. Changing lives is what makes me happy. You met it’s petty, you might think it’s small…but I think there’s nothing in the world more powerful than me when I want things to be different. I’m coming to CPW, because I’d like to affect a little change on you.”
Another puff of the smoke. He has no trouble with these admissions. To him, admitting he scarred someone and destroyed a man’s life is like saying he had trouble with the traffic on Fifth Avenue.
The last shot is of him extinguishing the smoke in the ash tray. The embers flare to bright red light and then slowly…slowly…fade
Another puff of the smoke. He has no trouble with these admissions. To him, admitting he scarred someone and destroyed a man’s life is like saying he had trouble with the traffic on Fifth Avenue.
”Right now, you’re happy drifting through life thinking that you’re in charge. I aim to change that. That’s not new rhetoric for professional wrestling. There have been plenty of people who want you to change how you see things. But I’m not some liberator. I’m not here to tell you to change the world. I’m not someone reaching down to take your hand. I’m the boot on your neck. I’m here to reinforce what you already know: That you are inferior. That your betters control you every day. Because we want to. Because we will it. It’s been that way for a very long time. It’s been that way since men like me defined what it meant to be an American. It’s been that way since a better time. CPW’s made it’s decision to bring me in. It lit up. It’s about to take a puff. Cancer, well, cancer comes later.”
The last shot is of him extinguishing the smoke in the ash tray. The embers flare to bright red light and then slowly…slowly…fade