Post by Job on May 22, 2022 22:26:12 GMT -5
Level Up offered us something brand new,
But also something warm and familiar,
A retro approach ahead of its time
Seeming to exist outside of all this.
It's one feeling to be welcomed inside,
Another to know you're finally home.
The Game Changers went to war. We all lost.
Some felt that they knew better, knew the best,
Were the best and therefore were our betters.
But cynicism isn't true wisdom
Any more than cheating is true victory
Or selfishness is true heroism,
But the libraries are packed full of books
By wise heroes who lived to spin their tales.
Prometheus rose, Icarus fell, and
The Game Changers went to war. We all lost.
It didn't come as too great a surprise,
But rather expected disappointment.
We were beaten on paper, then canvas.
Now I'm begging Sisyphus for a push.
It seems all I can do is dip my pen
And write down my first-hand account of when
The Game Changers went to war. We all lost.
On his phone, Paul watched one of his favorite videos with all the same focus he had afforded it the first time he had seen it. Every time was like the first time. He knew the motions inside and out, but there was still so much satisfaction to witnessing them and imagining how they felt. He was so intent on his video, in fact, that he at first failed to notice either the knock at the door or the creak as the latch experienced catastrophic failure under the gentle impact and allowed it to swing open.
At the same time, he became aware of the growing wedge of light from the hallway and a woman's voice. "Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry, I didn't..." He looked up to see Amanda, cringing and covering her eyes with one hand at first, then slowly letting the hand fall, limp, and taking in the scene before her. "Okay, so, I didn't expect the fucking door to swing open, but when it did I figured you would be..." She trailed off again, leaving Paul to figure out what she meant.
"No, I- what? No! With Jommy in the room? No fucking way!"
The following evening, true to her word, Amanda showed up to Paul's and Jommy's hotel room right around sunset with a large cheese pizza. It was, in truth, simply enormous, perhaps the largest any of them had seen, if not by area then by volume. In seemingly every respect, it brought more to the table than the pizzas to which they were accustomed. Mountains of cheese rested on lakes of tomato sauce, all barely or at least almost contained by retaining walls of thick crust.
"When do you think we'll get to MVW?"
Amanda's face displayed the practiced passivity of someone reflexively fighting back a visceral, but familiar, response. With a smile that never even made an earnest attempt to approach her eyes, she sweetly said, "I don't know, Paul. When we're ready for it, I guess."
Hey, Level Up fans! This is Paul Freedom, coming at you from the Chinatown Hotel right here in the Windy City, specifically in.. uh... Chinatown. I guess that was probably pretty easy to figure out, but I wanted to clarify it anyway. After all, if your minds aren't boggled after the events of DOOM then you've got more resilient gray matter than me by far!
There's so much to unpack from that show that I hardly know where to start. I suppose I could begin with words of welcome to the many wrestlers who made their respective debuts, in-ring or otherwise! Jack Sullivan gave a hint of what she's capable of in a victory over Nocturne, and if she can keep up that momentum she's going to do great. Um, what else? Oh! Also, Catalina Cortes of Carnage fame has made a return, we were introduced to two wrestlers who probably have the same last name because they're married, and apparently Level Up is going to have another Paul. Welcome to Cat, the Stratfords, Other Paul, and Other Paul's Girlfriend!
I also want to extend some congratulations to Level Up's two new champions!
After what seems to have been a long and arduous climb up the Level Up ladder--er, figuratively, the literal ladder featured elsewhere--and a match with Joey Crash that seemed to be the textbook definition of intensity, Duncan Shepard has taken on the role of Level Up's Final Boss. I wish him well in his time at the top! I've heard it can get lonely up there, and it seems like there's a lot farther to fall, but I doubt there will be anyone who manages to topple him all too soon.
In a similar vein, Buster Gloves has unseated the Roundest Robin, Ahmya, as our new Wisdom Champion! Between his background, the way he conducts himself now, and his vision looking to the future, I think he's going to excel in this role. I'm probably not the most qualified person to comment on his effectiveness with, like, grappling and submission stuff, but I think he's got a black belt and you don't get one of those just by trading in skeeball tickets.
There was more, of course. Peter Vaughn came away from the opening match with the Game Genie that will grant him a title shot of his choosing when he wants it, the identity of the Developer was revealed, and... well, I guess I have to address it at some point. The Game Changers and Mac Bane won the War Games match, though Mac Bane perhaps most of all. He was all too happy to play the role of gun for hire to Larry Tact, then turn on him the moment the match was over. I guess it might seem like a fitting ending, that maybe now we can let this bad blood die and put all of it in the past...
But, as William Faulkner famously wrote, "The past is never dead. It's not even past."
Even if I never again find myself across the ring from one of the Game Changers or Mac Bane, that conflict isn't done. I'm not done. There's more on the line now, and always has been, than one match at one show on one night. The shots I took in that contest will remain a part of me always, and the blood I lost remains with me as a part of my legacy.
I guess that kind of brings me to my match this week!
Once again, I find myself in a contest where teamwork will be paramount. Luckily for me, my partner is Eli Goode! Not only did we get the chance to fight alongside each other at DOOM, but he's one of Level Up's Multiplayer Champions! That seems to me like it will be pretty helpful for our prospects in this match. I just hope I don't let him down.
Both of our opponents made their respective Level Up debut at DOOM. Samantha Voxx seems like a capable competitor and a really interesting woman! I get the impression that she's deeply spiritual, and that's kind of rad, you know? But I think it'll come as no surprise that Jack Sullivan is the opponent I have my eye on at this point.
It's interesting to me to see how different we are in the ways we're alike. From what I understand, her father was and remains a constant fixture in her life, whereas I didn't know who mine was until after he had passed away, but it seems like both men are central to the motivation of their respective successors. I believe that my time in the sun is coming, just as soon as I manage to step out of the shadow my dad cast over me. I just need to make my way into the light. Jack, though? It's like... it's like she thinks she's in the dark because other people are taking away her own shine, and so she charges deeper into the darkness to put a stop to it at its source. Or something. I don't know.
What I do know is that, abstracting everything else out, Jack has the advantage over me going into this match. She has winning momentum, she's bigger, and I'm not ashamed to admit that her style is more polished. But you know what else I know? I know that I don't care about what advantages my opponents have. I'm not going to back down any more than she is; if anything, someone telling me the odds are against me sounds to me like a bugle signaling a charge.
You know who had a lot of momentum built up before I pinned her? Amber Bane-Ryan. That was within a couple minutes of my debut. You know who was bigger than me? Drake Wilcox. By over a foot and a couple hundred pounds. You know who had more polish and experience than me? Diamond Steele. And, frankly, pretty much every opponent I've had.
So that's the situation. Clashing legacies with a lot to prove. Make sure to check out the stream, because however this goes I guarantee it will be interesting. Appreciate you, guys. Paul Freedom out.
But also something warm and familiar,
A retro approach ahead of its time
Seeming to exist outside of all this.
It's one feeling to be welcomed inside,
Another to know you're finally home.
The Game Changers went to war. We all lost.
Some felt that they knew better, knew the best,
Were the best and therefore were our betters.
But cynicism isn't true wisdom
Any more than cheating is true victory
Or selfishness is true heroism,
But the libraries are packed full of books
By wise heroes who lived to spin their tales.
Prometheus rose, Icarus fell, and
The Game Changers went to war. We all lost.
It didn't come as too great a surprise,
But rather expected disappointment.
We were beaten on paper, then canvas.
Now I'm begging Sisyphus for a push.
It seems all I can do is dip my pen
And write down my first-hand account of when
The Game Changers went to war. We all lost.
* * *
The waxing moon, just short of half full, hung over the city, lending its glow to the debris and trash that tumbled through the streets with the whims of the breeze. It was framed and occasionally obscured by thick clouds, looming large and with menacing intent. It was another night in Chicago. It was another night in Chinatown.
In the Chinatown Hotel, tucked away in a room that was nondescript in appearance but bursting with sound, Paul Freedom sat on the edge of his bed and stared, bleary-eyed, at his phone. The room wasn't much to look at, it was true, but it was not only an inexpensive place to spend a night, but also within a mile of the venue where Paul would next wrestle. In hindsight, Paul considered, perhaps the rooms had been cheap enough that he would have been better off lobbying for a third one rather than sharing one with Cousin Jommy.
Still, though Cousin Jommy snored like an industrial vacuum cleaner sucking up cream of mushroom soup, there was a certain amount of comfort to the racket. The two of them had been sharing a hotel room ever since Paul had embarked on this professional wrestling venture. His trainer, Amanda Davis, would traditionally have her own adjacent room, where she would often also struggle with sleep due to the terrible sounds Cousin Jommy emanated whenever he lost consciousness.
In the Chinatown Hotel, tucked away in a room that was nondescript in appearance but bursting with sound, Paul Freedom sat on the edge of his bed and stared, bleary-eyed, at his phone. The room wasn't much to look at, it was true, but it was not only an inexpensive place to spend a night, but also within a mile of the venue where Paul would next wrestle. In hindsight, Paul considered, perhaps the rooms had been cheap enough that he would have been better off lobbying for a third one rather than sharing one with Cousin Jommy.
Still, though Cousin Jommy snored like an industrial vacuum cleaner sucking up cream of mushroom soup, there was a certain amount of comfort to the racket. The two of them had been sharing a hotel room ever since Paul had embarked on this professional wrestling venture. His trainer, Amanda Davis, would traditionally have her own adjacent room, where she would often also struggle with sleep due to the terrible sounds Cousin Jommy emanated whenever he lost consciousness.
On his phone, Paul watched one of his favorite videos with all the same focus he had afforded it the first time he had seen it. Every time was like the first time. He knew the motions inside and out, but there was still so much satisfaction to witnessing them and imagining how they felt. He was so intent on his video, in fact, that he at first failed to notice either the knock at the door or the creak as the latch experienced catastrophic failure under the gentle impact and allowed it to swing open.
At the same time, he became aware of the growing wedge of light from the hallway and a woman's voice. "Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry, I didn't..." He looked up to see Amanda, cringing and covering her eyes with one hand at first, then slowly letting the hand fall, limp, and taking in the scene before her. "Okay, so, I didn't expect the fucking door to swing open, but when it did I figured you would be..." She trailed off again, leaving Paul to figure out what she meant.
"No, I- what? No! With Jommy in the room? No fucking way!"
"Look, I'm not trying to make it weird-"
"You're making the weirdness effortless, yeah."
"But you're a teenage boy staring at his phone late at night. You have to understand my perspective."
"But you're a teenage boy staring at his phone late at night. You have to understand my perspective."
"Do I have to? Because I'd really rather not think about it, let alone talk about it."
"Fair. What are you watching, then?"
"Um..."
She stepped unbidden into the room, her eyes glued to his display, then stopped a few paces shy of the gap between the double beds, standing at Jommy's feet. "Is that wrestling?"
"Well..."
She took another pair of tiny steps, then stopped short. It was, in fact, wrestling, and one of the wrestlers was a man she would never fail to recognize, no matter how painful it might be. "Piter?" She asked, her tone disturbingly neutral as a squall of emotions made its way across her face.
She stepped unbidden into the room, her eyes glued to his display, then stopped a few paces shy of the gap between the double beds, standing at Jommy's feet. "Is that wrestling?"
"Well..."
She took another pair of tiny steps, then stopped short. It was, in fact, wrestling, and one of the wrestlers was a man she would never fail to recognize, no matter how painful it might be. "Piter?" She asked, her tone disturbingly neutral as a squall of emotions made its way across her face.
"Yeah, it's my dad," Paul said. He then added by way of explanation, "It's a highlight video. The eight craziest Piter Svoboda moments."
Amanda's button nose wrinkled. "Eight? Why eight? Why not five or ten?"
Paul shrugged. "I forget what eight was for. Maybe they just couldn't find a full ten."
"If they couldn't find ten, they weren't looking very hard. In fact," she continued, "while most of Piter's craziest moments occurred off camera, I have a feeling the eight they went with weren't even top twenty."
"If they couldn't find ten, they weren't looking very hard. In fact," she continued, "while most of Piter's craziest moments occurred off camera, I have a feeling the eight they went with weren't even top twenty."
"Well, maybe. I give them a lot of credit for trying. It's not like my dad's matches are easy to track down these days."
"What if you didn't have to track them down?"
"That'd be great! Better than a highlight video. I'll bet I could learn tons of cool moves from complete matches!"
"That'd be great! Better than a highlight video. I'll bet I could learn tons of cool moves from complete matches!"
Amanda's face sank, but she snickered. "Did you seriously try to teach yourself to wrestle from Piter Svoboda highlight videos?" Paul nodded. "That's insane! I'm amazed you didn't break your neck."
"My neck? What would happen to my neck?"
"Look, correct me if I'm wrong, but most of his highlights were just him hitting the Impressive Display of Agility, and that move hates vertebrae with a passion." Paul arched an eyebrow. "Executing it won Piter a lot of matches, but trying to pay homage to it cost a lot of indie wrestlers their careers."
"Oh, come on, it's not that bad." Her face told him that, as far as she was concerned, it, in fact, was. "Seriously? If you push off at the right angle and tuck in soon enough, the move practically executes itself." There was a beat. "Why are you looking at me like that? Did I sprout a second head or something?"
"How long did it take you to learn that move?"
"I don't know. A while."
"Okay. How many months is a while?"
"Months!?! I mostly got it on, like, the tenth try. I spent the rest of the day working on my accuracy with the knee."
Amanda stared blankly at him for a few moments before breaking her silence. "Tell you what," she began. "I have a bunch of Piter's old matches on my laptop. I found a gigatorrent a while back and went for it. No regrets. We had our issues, but the man could fucking wrestle. What do you say that, tomorrow night, we get a large deep dish from Connie's Pizza and watch some?" Paul beamed and nodded. "Great. Try to get some sleep. And maybe set your deadbolt."
* * *
The following evening, true to her word, Amanda showed up to Paul's and Jommy's hotel room right around sunset with a large cheese pizza. It was, in truth, simply enormous, perhaps the largest any of them had seen, if not by area then by volume. In seemingly every respect, it brought more to the table than the pizzas to which they were accustomed. Mountains of cheese rested on lakes of tomato sauce, all barely or at least almost contained by retaining walls of thick crust.
Amanda immediately resorted to a fork and knife, but Jommy made a valiant effort to eat his pizza with his hands before conceding it was folly even to try. Paul, on the other hand, refused to surrender to the substantial advantage this new challenger had over him and, despite the mess, stayed the course in regards to picking up each slice and eating it as though that were a reasonable thing to do.
As they worked their way through the pie, they crowded around Amanda's laptop, watching ancient camcorder footage that depicted matches from the early days of Piter Svoboda's career. For Amanda and Jommy, it was bittersweet at best to see the young man Piter had once been. He had entered both of their lives after scores of matches and hundreds of days on the road had already begun to take their toll. For Paul, it was inspirational at worst. As far as he had seen, taken only from highlight videos, his father had always been a seasoned pro in the prime of his career who scored a decisive victories no more than a minute apart.
It helped Paul to see Piter struggle.
Perhaps most of all, it helped to see him lose.
Together, as they gorged themselves, they took in the scope of Piter's career from the very first time a fan had deemed his work worth bootlegging. It wasn't his debut, of course. By all accounts, Svoboda had started at the very bottom, in wrestling's sub-basement, and didn't wrestle at an event with double digit attendance for months at minimum.
Nevertheless, he persisted.
Each of them was struck, during the viewing, by some different quality of the man Piter had been before he got in front of a TV camera, something that would stick with them for days to come. For Paul, it was the unpredictable and varied offense Piter had seemingly always brought to bear, perhaps to compensate for the fact that he couldn't throw an effective punch to save his life. For Jommy, it was how easily marketable the ready charm and boyish good looks of the young grappler would have been for anyone who had cared to make a buck off him. For Amanda, it was not something that was there, but rather something that was missing. She wouldn't have thought it possible, but there was a time when Piter's eyes weren't only barely penning in a menagerie of agony. Without it there, they reminded her of Paul's.
Finally, as the ring announcer of Psycho Wrestling Federation began the introductions for Piter's first televised match, Amanda made a performative check of the time on her phone and yawned dramatically. "This seems like a good stopping point."
"This seems like the worst stopping point."
"This seems like the worst stopping point."
"Worse than a half second into that cheese grater attack?" Jommy inquired innocently.
Paul grimaced. "Okay, fine, this isn't the worst stopping point, but it's pretty bad."
"Well," Amanda said, "we've been out of pizza for the past hour and it really is getting late. Besides, didn't someone once say 'Always leave them wanting more?'"
"A lot of people say it was PT Barnum, but nobody says where or when."
"Well, anyway, good night, guys. I had a really good time."
"A lot of people say it was PT Barnum, but nobody says where or when."
"Well, anyway, good night, guys. I had a really good time."
"Me, too!"
"When do you think we'll get to MVW?"
Amanda's face displayed the practiced passivity of someone reflexively fighting back a visceral, but familiar, response. With a smile that never even made an earnest attempt to approach her eyes, she sweetly said, "I don't know, Paul. When we're ready for it, I guess."
* * *
Hey, Level Up fans! This is Paul Freedom, coming at you from the Chinatown Hotel right here in the Windy City, specifically in.. uh... Chinatown. I guess that was probably pretty easy to figure out, but I wanted to clarify it anyway. After all, if your minds aren't boggled after the events of DOOM then you've got more resilient gray matter than me by far!
There's so much to unpack from that show that I hardly know where to start. I suppose I could begin with words of welcome to the many wrestlers who made their respective debuts, in-ring or otherwise! Jack Sullivan gave a hint of what she's capable of in a victory over Nocturne, and if she can keep up that momentum she's going to do great. Um, what else? Oh! Also, Catalina Cortes of Carnage fame has made a return, we were introduced to two wrestlers who probably have the same last name because they're married, and apparently Level Up is going to have another Paul. Welcome to Cat, the Stratfords, Other Paul, and Other Paul's Girlfriend!
I also want to extend some congratulations to Level Up's two new champions!
After what seems to have been a long and arduous climb up the Level Up ladder--er, figuratively, the literal ladder featured elsewhere--and a match with Joey Crash that seemed to be the textbook definition of intensity, Duncan Shepard has taken on the role of Level Up's Final Boss. I wish him well in his time at the top! I've heard it can get lonely up there, and it seems like there's a lot farther to fall, but I doubt there will be anyone who manages to topple him all too soon.
In a similar vein, Buster Gloves has unseated the Roundest Robin, Ahmya, as our new Wisdom Champion! Between his background, the way he conducts himself now, and his vision looking to the future, I think he's going to excel in this role. I'm probably not the most qualified person to comment on his effectiveness with, like, grappling and submission stuff, but I think he's got a black belt and you don't get one of those just by trading in skeeball tickets.
There was more, of course. Peter Vaughn came away from the opening match with the Game Genie that will grant him a title shot of his choosing when he wants it, the identity of the Developer was revealed, and... well, I guess I have to address it at some point. The Game Changers and Mac Bane won the War Games match, though Mac Bane perhaps most of all. He was all too happy to play the role of gun for hire to Larry Tact, then turn on him the moment the match was over. I guess it might seem like a fitting ending, that maybe now we can let this bad blood die and put all of it in the past...
But, as William Faulkner famously wrote, "The past is never dead. It's not even past."
Even if I never again find myself across the ring from one of the Game Changers or Mac Bane, that conflict isn't done. I'm not done. There's more on the line now, and always has been, than one match at one show on one night. The shots I took in that contest will remain a part of me always, and the blood I lost remains with me as a part of my legacy.
I guess that kind of brings me to my match this week!
Once again, I find myself in a contest where teamwork will be paramount. Luckily for me, my partner is Eli Goode! Not only did we get the chance to fight alongside each other at DOOM, but he's one of Level Up's Multiplayer Champions! That seems to me like it will be pretty helpful for our prospects in this match. I just hope I don't let him down.
Both of our opponents made their respective Level Up debut at DOOM. Samantha Voxx seems like a capable competitor and a really interesting woman! I get the impression that she's deeply spiritual, and that's kind of rad, you know? But I think it'll come as no surprise that Jack Sullivan is the opponent I have my eye on at this point.
It's interesting to me to see how different we are in the ways we're alike. From what I understand, her father was and remains a constant fixture in her life, whereas I didn't know who mine was until after he had passed away, but it seems like both men are central to the motivation of their respective successors. I believe that my time in the sun is coming, just as soon as I manage to step out of the shadow my dad cast over me. I just need to make my way into the light. Jack, though? It's like... it's like she thinks she's in the dark because other people are taking away her own shine, and so she charges deeper into the darkness to put a stop to it at its source. Or something. I don't know.
What I do know is that, abstracting everything else out, Jack has the advantage over me going into this match. She has winning momentum, she's bigger, and I'm not ashamed to admit that her style is more polished. But you know what else I know? I know that I don't care about what advantages my opponents have. I'm not going to back down any more than she is; if anything, someone telling me the odds are against me sounds to me like a bugle signaling a charge.
You know who had a lot of momentum built up before I pinned her? Amber Bane-Ryan. That was within a couple minutes of my debut. You know who was bigger than me? Drake Wilcox. By over a foot and a couple hundred pounds. You know who had more polish and experience than me? Diamond Steele. And, frankly, pretty much every opponent I've had.
So that's the situation. Clashing legacies with a lot to prove. Make sure to check out the stream, because however this goes I guarantee it will be interesting. Appreciate you, guys. Paul Freedom out.
