One Fall, Page 2
Spencer Baum
CHAPTER 2
GWA Burn ended its live broadcast from Oklahoma City at eleven central. Ten hours later and six hundred miles away, three middle-aged men sat around a buffet table in a luxury hotel room in Worcester, Massachusetts, discussing what they had seen on the program.
They analyzed the production, noting with pleasure that the show continued its recent streak of mishaps, from the wrong camera angles being aired to inexcusable difficulties with the ring announcer’s microphone.
They analyzed the writing, and were again pleased that last night’s broadcast was less than perfect. The first ninety minutes were disorganized and made little sense. No storylines were created or advanced, and wrestlers who should have gone over did not.
They analyzed the wrestling. These three men loved wrestling, and loved to talk about wrestling, spending more than an hour going over the technique of each wrestler who appeared on Burn. Every suplex, every punch, and every body slam were examined, and, in their opinions, the wrestling on last night’s show was sub-par.
But most important to these men was the response of the live crowd. They were interested in who got cheered, who got booed, and who got nothing. The live crowd was the most accurate barometer of the response of wrestling fans worldwide.
The men were in agreement about the lesson to be learned from the crowd’s reaction to last night’s show. Burn had found a new superstar. His name was Joey Mayhem.
The three men were the Head Booker, Talent Manger, and President of Revolution Wrestling, the GWA’s primary competition. This Tuesday morning meeting was a repeat of their meeting a week before in Providence, and the week before that in Hartford. For them, GWA Burn was for Tuesday-morning viewing and discussion, because Monday nights were spent producing their own live show, Revolution Riot, which aired directly opposite Burn nationwide, in an intense competition for viewers known in the wrestling world as the “Monday Night Battle.”
For the past two years, GWA Burn consistently garnered higher ratings than Revolution Riot, but wrestling fans knew the tide was changing. While Burn was growing tired and complacent, Riot was taking off, stealing a growing chunk of the GWA’s viewers every week. Because of Riot’s recent success, these Tuesday morning meetings of late were little more than congratulatory sessions, giving the three men an opportunity to pat themselves on the back while their competition floundered.
The good cheer continued this morning, until they watched Burn’s main event and the way the crowd reacted to newcomer Joey Mayhem.
“What do we know about Joey Mayhem, and how soon can he be working for us?” said Max Zeffer, President of Revolution Wrestling.
It was well known in the wrestling world that Max Zeffer saw employment contracts and company loyalty as minor inconveniences on his path to assembling the ultimate wrestling promotion. A multi-millionaire by birth, and the youngest major player on the North American wrestling scene at only thirty-six, Max had built Revolution Wrestling into the second largest promotion in the world by the brute force of his money. The majority of his staff, from the wrestlers to the production crew to the men sitting with him this morning, were former GWA employees whom Max had personally bought out.
“He’s just a couple months into a standard developmental deal over there. He’ll be up for negotiation next year, but not before,” said a short balding man with a whiney voice. The man was Larry Jenkins, Revolution’s talent manager, responsible for finding and cultivating new stars. “I honestly don’t think this kid is that big of a deal. We marked him as a prospect the first time we saw him do a match in Memphis. Good enough to keep an eye on, but not good enough for our developmental program. We thought he was a risk. He was unfocused and careless in the ring.”
“We thought he was a risk, or you did?” said Gene Harold, Revolution’s Head Booker. A giant of muscle and fat with a bushy beard, Gene was unique among the three in that he was once a professional wrestler himself. His angry tone openly condemned Jenkins for passing over this hot talent. Gene Harold and Larry Jenkins had a dislike for each other dating back to the early seventies, when both men worked as road agents for The Mid-America Wrestling Alliance, which would eventually be purchased by the GWA. Back then, Gene and Larry both had ambitions of becoming the major wrestling promoter in the Midwest. Had they not been trying so hard to climb all over each other, the wrestling landscape might not have been such easy pickings for Duke Correlli to create the GWA and run all the regional promotions into the ground.
“I thought Joey Mayhem was risky when I saw him in Tennessee,” said Jenkins. “I take full responsibility for letting him go. As far as I’m concerned, he still isn’t a good prospect.”
“Not a good prospect?” said Gene. “You’re right, he’s not a good prospect. He’s not a prospect at all anymore. As of last night, he’s the real deal.”
“I’m telling you guys, I’ve seen him wrestle a real match, not like the made-for-TV blip he did last night, and the kid’s reckless and unfocused,” said Jenkins. “He might make it to the top, but he’s going to hurt someone doing it.”
“That wink was reckless,” said Max. “But it showed spunk. I bet the Internet fans are already excited with him.”
“I don’t get it, Larry,” said Gene, ignoring Max’s comments. “If you know he can wrestle, you put him in the ring with the right people and let him wrestle. Who else are you letting slip through the cracks?”
“This is one guy Gene, relax,” said Larry.
“Gentlemen, come on,” said Max. “This argument is pointless now. The kid’s a star and we don’t have him. The fans loved him last night. They’re going to talk about him. They’re going to tune in to see him. If we can’t have him on our show for a year or more, then what are we going to do to make sure people watch us rather than him?”
Gene and Larry looked at each other to see who would speak first. They both had plenty of ideas for the show, ideas they would love to express to Max in private when the other wasn’t there to criticize.
Jenkins turned to Max and spoke as if Gene wasn’t at the table. “I’ve been thinking about a hot shot angle to open up the show next week,” he said.
“Out of the question,” said Gene. “None of the angles, none of the storylines, and none of the booking will be changed. We’ve been planning next Monday’s show for seven months. It’s the very best we’ve got to offer. If Duke can come up with something better than what we’ve got, then so be it.”
“I disagree, Gene,” said Larry, his intonation one of forced civility. “I think we need to let it all hang out right now. This Joey Mayhem kid could become a tidal wave or he could wash out next week. If we get people talking about us instead of him--”
“Oh, so now the kid’s got potential. You just said--”
“I just said that the kid’s reckless and wasn’t a good prospect for us. I don’t deny that he was a hit last night, and because he was a hit, we should put on our very best show next week.”
Gene shook his head and sighed.
“We are putting on our best show, Larry. I will strongly oppose any changes to next week’s script because they will, by definition, be inferior to what we already have. Next week’s show is the climax of a seven-month long story and it has been thought about and planned for since last January. We can’t abandon a winning plan just because our competition may have finally gotten their act together. The best we can do is stick to the script.”
Larry threw his hands up and turned his head to look out the window.
“What about defections?” asked Max, bringing Larry back into the conversation. “Zeke Thunder’s still holding out for a better contract over there. Maybe we should snatch him up.”
Revolution Riot had made its greatest leaps in the television ratings when a series of high-profile wrestlers defected from the GWA and showed up unexpectedly on Riot the next week. The GWA responded by putting all of its big-name wrestlers on extended, big-money contracts. The comp
etition for big-name wrestlers between the promotions had resulted in a huge increase in average salary for professional wrestlers in the two promotions, and had put a sizable financial strain on both companies.
This competition for wrestlers made free agents out of big names whose contracts came due for renewal. Most notable of the existing free agents was a veteran performer named Zeke Thunder, who had demanded a large raise from the GWA last month. When Duke Corelli refused, Zeke chose to hold out for more money, thinking that if the GWA didn’t give him a nice raise then Revolution would. The aging wrestler had since been off television for almost a month, with neither promotion offering anything close to what he demanded.
“Yes,” said Larry. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We don’t need to change existing stories, just find ways to hot shot the ratings and keep the buzz on us rather than Joey Mayhem. I’m all in favor of renewing talks with Zeke right away.”
“We’ve already decided we don’t want Zeke,” said Gene. “He’s locker room poison and we don’t need him.”
“Dammit Gene. Even if he adds nothing to the product as a whole, he still carries enough weight to get people talking. We just need some rumors from those Internet kids,” said Larry.
“So start some rumors,” said Gene. “We really don’t need another politicking old-timer in our locker room. Besides, even if you were able to pull something off, those Internet kids wouldn’t care. You should never book something with them in mind.”
Max quietly stood up and left the table, as if he had nothing to offer until this argument worked itself out.
“Typical old fashioned hogwash,” said Larry. “You’re still living in a world of cartoon heroes and cauliflower ears Gene. Wake the fuck up. These Internet kids you hate so much are the lifeblood of our business. They’re the ones buying the pay per views and spreading the good word. When little kids in the school bus and big kids in the office talk about our business, it’s the Internet geeks who speak with authority. More than anything, it’s their loyalty that will decide who wins Monday Nights.”
“That’s great Larry, have you ever visited one of the wrestling web sites?” said Gene. “These kids are cynical know-it-all naysayers who will turn to a comic book or a video game the minute we piss them off, and if we start pandering to them we will piss them off, because we will never make them happy. We’re gaining viewers because we’ve stuck to our guns while Duke’s been floating in the wind. Good storytelling can’t happen if you don’t tell a story, and people tune in to see where we’re going to take them, not where they’re going to take us.”
“You’re such a windbag Gene,” said Larry, giving up. “What are you thinking Max?” he called toward the kitchen.
Max walked out of the kitchen sipping on a mug of coffee.
“I don’t like our options,” he said in a soft voice.
“I don’t either,” Larry agreed.
Max sat back down at the buffet table and began speaking like a teacher addressing two debate students.
“The thing is, neither of you are saying what I want to hear. I agree, Gene, that next week’s script is our very best effort and will only be made worse by tinkering with it. But I very much disagree with the idea that we do nothing to quell the buzz that is certain to surround Joey Mayhem and his performance last night. I will not sit back and let Duke beat us in the ratings during May sweeps, that’s just not an option this time.”
“What’s the big deal with the ratings?” said Gene. “If we stick to plan we’ll have our biggest pay per view ever next month.”
Max put his coffee cup on the table, freeing his hands to wave about as he spoke.
“I don’t care so much about the pay per view this month,” he said. “May sweeps is the bigger fish to fry right now. Duke’s already on the ropes with ITN. Now is the time to move in for the kill.”
Gene decided not to argue the point. He didn’t completely understand all the ins and outs of the TV business like Max did, and guessed that Max probably knew what he was talking about. GWA Burn had been a ratings winner for Imagine Television Network (ITN) for ten years, but was still disliked by the network’s executives, at least according to the gossip. The execs at ITN didn’t care much for the fact that their number one show regularly featured half-naked women wrestling in pools of muck, or monstrous men beating each other over the head with sledgehammers and steel chairs. With ITN already reticent about Burn, a ratings victory for Riot in May would be invaluable. The month of May was a crucial time for television networks, because advertising rates for the next quarter were calculated based on May’s ratings. As such, it was common for both wrestling promotions to put on bigger, better shows throughout the month.
“What exactly did you have in mind, Max?” asked Larry, now in full eager-to-please mode.
“I don’t know. I’m thinking I might go down south and knock around.”
“What does that mean?” said Gene.
“I’m going to go snoop around the GWA tour and see what I can dig up that might be useful,” said Max.
“Just what do you hope to accomplish?” said Gene, with a tone of skepticism.
“Well, I want more options than I presently have, so I’m going to go down there and see if I can find some.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Larry.
“It sounds like a shitty idea if you ask me,” said Gene.
“You know,” said Max, “it’s no wonder Duke beat you guys to the punch all those years ago. You both play it way too safe to make it to the top.”
“Oh go to hell, Max,” said Gene. “How are we supposed to know what the fuck you’re talking about when you say you’re going to go snoop around the GWA tour? If you weren’t my boss and this wasn’t your own god-damned company I’d tell you that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. No one from the GWA is going to talk to you. If they’re even seen with you they’ll be suspected of defection. Hell, if anyone sees you down there the Internet geeks are gonna go hog wild.”
Max chuckled as he stood up and left the buffet table. He walked to the kitchen and dumped out his coffee cup in the sink.
“I’ll call from Dallas tomorrow night,” said Max. “Gene, you’ll need to run the production meeting on Thursday. Tell the production team I went home to visit my daughter, and if anyone needs to contact me for any reason, they can do it through one of you.”
“You’re going alone?” Larry asked.
“Yes, Larry. I’m going alone.”
“Yes Larry, he’s just going to head off to Dallas, find someone from the GWA, and convince them to give him some juicy gossip.” said Gene sarcastically.
“Professional wrestlers are ambitious people,” said Max. “You give them what they want, they’ll give you what you want.”
“That’s a nice little cliche, Max. If only it were so easy,” said Gene.
Max smiled. “Hey, it worked with you two, didn’t it?”
GWA Burn ended its live broadcast from Oklahoma City at eleven central. Ten hours later and six hundred miles away, three middle-aged men sat around a buffet table in a luxury hotel room in Worcester, Massachusetts, discussing what they had seen on the program.
They analyzed the production, noting with pleasure that the show continued its recent streak of mishaps, from the wrong camera angles being aired to inexcusable difficulties with the ring announcer’s microphone.
They analyzed the writing, and were again pleased that last night’s broadcast was less than perfect. The first ninety minutes were disorganized and made little sense. No storylines were created or advanced, and wrestlers who should have gone over did not.
They analyzed the wrestling. These three men loved wrestling, and loved to talk about wrestling, spending more than an hour going over the technique of each wrestler who appeared on Burn. Every suplex, every punch, and every body slam were examined, and, in their opinions, the wrestling on last night’s show was sub-par.
But most important to these men was the response of the live crowd. They were interested in who got cheered, who got booed, and who got nothing. The live crowd was the most accurate barometer of the response of wrestling fans worldwide.
The men were in agreement about the lesson to be learned from the crowd’s reaction to last night’s show. Burn had found a new superstar. His name was Joey Mayhem.
The three men were the Head Booker, Talent Manger, and President of Revolution Wrestling, the GWA’s primary competition. This Tuesday morning meeting was a repeat of their meeting a week before in Providence, and the week before that in Hartford. For them, GWA Burn was for Tuesday-morning viewing and discussion, because Monday nights were spent producing their own live show, Revolution Riot, which aired directly opposite Burn nationwide, in an intense competition for viewers known in the wrestling world as the “Monday Night Battle.”
For the past two years, GWA Burn consistently garnered higher ratings than Revolution Riot, but wrestling fans knew the tide was changing. While Burn was growing tired and complacent, Riot was taking off, stealing a growing chunk of the GWA’s viewers every week. Because of Riot’s recent success, these Tuesday morning meetings of late were little more than congratulatory sessions, giving the three men an opportunity to pat themselves on the back while their competition floundered.
The good cheer continued this morning, until they watched Burn’s main event and the way the crowd reacted to newcomer Joey Mayhem.
“What do we know about Joey Mayhem, and how soon can he be working for us?” said Max Zeffer, President of Revolution Wrestling.
It was well known in the wrestling world that Max Zeffer saw employment contracts and company loyalty as minor inconveniences on his path to assembling the ultimate wrestling promotion. A multi-millionaire by birth, and the youngest major player on the North American wrestling scene at only thirty-six, Max had built Revolution Wrestling into the second largest promotion in the world by the brute force of his money. The majority of his staff, from the wrestlers to the production crew to the men sitting with him this morning, were former GWA employees whom Max had personally bought out.
“He’s just a couple months into a standard developmental deal over there. He’ll be up for negotiation next year, but not before,” said a short balding man with a whiney voice. The man was Larry Jenkins, Revolution’s talent manager, responsible for finding and cultivating new stars. “I honestly don’t think this kid is that big of a deal. We marked him as a prospect the first time we saw him do a match in Memphis. Good enough to keep an eye on, but not good enough for our developmental program. We thought he was a risk. He was unfocused and careless in the ring.”
“We thought he was a risk, or you did?” said Gene Harold, Revolution’s Head Booker. A giant of muscle and fat with a bushy beard, Gene was unique among the three in that he was once a professional wrestler himself. His angry tone openly condemned Jenkins for passing over this hot talent. Gene Harold and Larry Jenkins had a dislike for each other dating back to the early seventies, when both men worked as road agents for The Mid-America Wrestling Alliance, which would eventually be purchased by the GWA. Back then, Gene and Larry both had ambitions of becoming the major wrestling promoter in the Midwest. Had they not been trying so hard to climb all over each other, the wrestling landscape might not have been such easy pickings for Duke Correlli to create the GWA and run all the regional promotions into the ground.
“I thought Joey Mayhem was risky when I saw him in Tennessee,” said Jenkins. “I take full responsibility for letting him go. As far as I’m concerned, he still isn’t a good prospect.”
“Not a good prospect?” said Gene. “You’re right, he’s not a good prospect. He’s not a prospect at all anymore. As of last night, he’s the real deal.”
“I’m telling you guys, I’ve seen him wrestle a real match, not like the made-for-TV blip he did last night, and the kid’s reckless and unfocused,” said Jenkins. “He might make it to the top, but he’s going to hurt someone doing it.”
“That wink was reckless,” said Max. “But it showed spunk. I bet the Internet fans are already excited with him.”
“I don’t get it, Larry,” said Gene, ignoring Max’s comments. “If you know he can wrestle, you put him in the ring with the right people and let him wrestle. Who else are you letting slip through the cracks?”
“This is one guy Gene, relax,” said Larry.
“Gentlemen, come on,” said Max. “This argument is pointless now. The kid’s a star and we don’t have him. The fans loved him last night. They’re going to talk about him. They’re going to tune in to see him. If we can’t have him on our show for a year or more, then what are we going to do to make sure people watch us rather than him?”
Gene and Larry looked at each other to see who would speak first. They both had plenty of ideas for the show, ideas they would love to express to Max in private when the other wasn’t there to criticize.
Jenkins turned to Max and spoke as if Gene wasn’t at the table. “I’ve been thinking about a hot shot angle to open up the show next week,” he said.
“Out of the question,” said Gene. “None of the angles, none of the storylines, and none of the booking will be changed. We’ve been planning next Monday’s show for seven months. It’s the very best we’ve got to offer. If Duke can come up with something better than what we’ve got, then so be it.”
“I disagree, Gene,” said Larry, his intonation one of forced civility. “I think we need to let it all hang out right now. This Joey Mayhem kid could become a tidal wave or he could wash out next week. If we get people talking about us instead of him--”
“Oh, so now the kid’s got potential. You just said--”
“I just said that the kid’s reckless and wasn’t a good prospect for us. I don’t deny that he was a hit last night, and because he was a hit, we should put on our very best show next week.”
Gene shook his head and sighed.
“We are putting on our best show, Larry. I will strongly oppose any changes to next week’s script because they will, by definition, be inferior to what we already have. Next week’s show is the climax of a seven-month long story and it has been thought about and planned for since last January. We can’t abandon a winning plan just because our competition may have finally gotten their act together. The best we can do is stick to the script.”
Larry threw his hands up and turned his head to look out the window.
“What about defections?” asked Max, bringing Larry back into the conversation. “Zeke Thunder’s still holding out for a better contract over there. Maybe we should snatch him up.”
Revolution Riot had made its greatest leaps in the television ratings when a series of high-profile wrestlers defected from the GWA and showed up unexpectedly on Riot the next week. The GWA responded by putting all of its big-name wrestlers on extended, big-money contracts. The comp
etition for big-name wrestlers between the promotions had resulted in a huge increase in average salary for professional wrestlers in the two promotions, and had put a sizable financial strain on both companies.
This competition for wrestlers made free agents out of big names whose contracts came due for renewal. Most notable of the existing free agents was a veteran performer named Zeke Thunder, who had demanded a large raise from the GWA last month. When Duke Corelli refused, Zeke chose to hold out for more money, thinking that if the GWA didn’t give him a nice raise then Revolution would. The aging wrestler had since been off television for almost a month, with neither promotion offering anything close to what he demanded.
“Yes,” said Larry. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We don’t need to change existing stories, just find ways to hot shot the ratings and keep the buzz on us rather than Joey Mayhem. I’m all in favor of renewing talks with Zeke right away.”
“We’ve already decided we don’t want Zeke,” said Gene. “He’s locker room poison and we don’t need him.”
“Dammit Gene. Even if he adds nothing to the product as a whole, he still carries enough weight to get people talking. We just need some rumors from those Internet kids,” said Larry.
“So start some rumors,” said Gene. “We really don’t need another politicking old-timer in our locker room. Besides, even if you were able to pull something off, those Internet kids wouldn’t care. You should never book something with them in mind.”
Max quietly stood up and left the table, as if he had nothing to offer until this argument worked itself out.
“Typical old fashioned hogwash,” said Larry. “You’re still living in a world of cartoon heroes and cauliflower ears Gene. Wake the fuck up. These Internet kids you hate so much are the lifeblood of our business. They’re the ones buying the pay per views and spreading the good word. When little kids in the school bus and big kids in the office talk about our business, it’s the Internet geeks who speak with authority. More than anything, it’s their loyalty that will decide who wins Monday Nights.”
“That’s great Larry, have you ever visited one of the wrestling web sites?” said Gene. “These kids are cynical know-it-all naysayers who will turn to a comic book or a video game the minute we piss them off, and if we start pandering to them we will piss them off, because we will never make them happy. We’re gaining viewers because we’ve stuck to our guns while Duke’s been floating in the wind. Good storytelling can’t happen if you don’t tell a story, and people tune in to see where we’re going to take them, not where they’re going to take us.”
“You’re such a windbag Gene,” said Larry, giving up. “What are you thinking Max?” he called toward the kitchen.
Max walked out of the kitchen sipping on a mug of coffee.
“I don’t like our options,” he said in a soft voice.
“I don’t either,” Larry agreed.
Max sat back down at the buffet table and began speaking like a teacher addressing two debate students.
“The thing is, neither of you are saying what I want to hear. I agree, Gene, that next week’s script is our very best effort and will only be made worse by tinkering with it. But I very much disagree with the idea that we do nothing to quell the buzz that is certain to surround Joey Mayhem and his performance last night. I will not sit back and let Duke beat us in the ratings during May sweeps, that’s just not an option this time.”
“What’s the big deal with the ratings?” said Gene. “If we stick to plan we’ll have our biggest pay per view ever next month.”
Max put his coffee cup on the table, freeing his hands to wave about as he spoke.
“I don’t care so much about the pay per view this month,” he said. “May sweeps is the bigger fish to fry right now. Duke’s already on the ropes with ITN. Now is the time to move in for the kill.”
Gene decided not to argue the point. He didn’t completely understand all the ins and outs of the TV business like Max did, and guessed that Max probably knew what he was talking about. GWA Burn had been a ratings winner for Imagine Television Network (ITN) for ten years, but was still disliked by the network’s executives, at least according to the gossip. The execs at ITN didn’t care much for the fact that their number one show regularly featured half-naked women wrestling in pools of muck, or monstrous men beating each other over the head with sledgehammers and steel chairs. With ITN already reticent about Burn, a ratings victory for Riot in May would be invaluable. The month of May was a crucial time for television networks, because advertising rates for the next quarter were calculated based on May’s ratings. As such, it was common for both wrestling promotions to put on bigger, better shows throughout the month.
“What exactly did you have in mind, Max?” asked Larry, now in full eager-to-please mode.
“I don’t know. I’m thinking I might go down south and knock around.”
“What does that mean?” said Gene.
“I’m going to go snoop around the GWA tour and see what I can dig up that might be useful,” said Max.
“Just what do you hope to accomplish?” said Gene, with a tone of skepticism.
“Well, I want more options than I presently have, so I’m going to go down there and see if I can find some.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” said Larry.
“It sounds like a shitty idea if you ask me,” said Gene.
“You know,” said Max, “it’s no wonder Duke beat you guys to the punch all those years ago. You both play it way too safe to make it to the top.”
“Oh go to hell, Max,” said Gene. “How are we supposed to know what the fuck you’re talking about when you say you’re going to go snoop around the GWA tour? If you weren’t my boss and this wasn’t your own god-damned company I’d tell you that’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard. No one from the GWA is going to talk to you. If they’re even seen with you they’ll be suspected of defection. Hell, if anyone sees you down there the Internet geeks are gonna go hog wild.”
Max chuckled as he stood up and left the buffet table. He walked to the kitchen and dumped out his coffee cup in the sink.
“I’ll call from Dallas tomorrow night,” said Max. “Gene, you’ll need to run the production meeting on Thursday. Tell the production team I went home to visit my daughter, and if anyone needs to contact me for any reason, they can do it through one of you.”
“You’re going alone?” Larry asked.
“Yes, Larry. I’m going alone.”
“Yes Larry, he’s just going to head off to Dallas, find someone from the GWA, and convince them to give him some juicy gossip.” said Gene sarcastically.
“Professional wrestlers are ambitious people,” said Max. “You give them what they want, they’ll give you what you want.”
“That’s a nice little cliche, Max. If only it were so easy,” said Gene.
Max smiled. “Hey, it worked with you two, didn’t it?”
