Don't Come Back

[Chandler Scott]

◉ OFF-CAM


I had powered down the cell, disconnected the landline and kept the blinds shut. While I appreciate her support, I didn’t want Noelle telling me that I did a great job. Even though she’d mean well, I didn’t want Fujiko telling me that I should feel proud of myself. I didn’t need anyone trying to make me feel better by saying that it took a low blow and multiple finishers to defeat me. The fact of the matter is that I lost.

I lost in the main event of a Pay Per View.

I lost out on my chance at making history… thanks to Zero McHannon.

I could stomach losing to Cannon. It would’ve been poetic losing to Carmine.

But of all people, it had to be McHannon.

Goddammit.

When you’ve ascended to the heights that I’ve been to, when you’ve made the history that I’ve made, when you’re as great as I am, you don’t experience losses very often. Maybe something gets out of control and you end up DQ’d. Or maybe you’re thrown into a team and one of your teammates drops the ball and eats the pin. But a one on one loss? That’s a rarity nowadays. But despite how rare the occasion is, I’m familiar with its bitter taste.

Especially to that piece of shit.

For the months that I was out, I didn’t just spent that time rehabbing my injuries or helping instruct aspiring wrestlers at the HKW Training Facility. I rewatched the main event of last year’s Final Frontier on a weekly basis. Never had I been so trapped as when he locked on Closed Curtains. Most people would feel humiliated from tapping out, especially in a match of that magnitude. But I was never embarrassed. I never felt shame. It was the feeling of helplessness that gutted me. It was a feeling that I had swore to myself that I would never experience again. At Retribution, I refused to let McHannon close the curtains on me. I avoided and was even able to escape the submission. But I wasn’t able to escape another loss to him.

Goddammit

All of that hard work. The rigorous rehab, from the time when my arm was immobilized… to not being able to hold anything heavier than a teacup… to building my arm back to 100%, it was all for this moment. Going through a hell with Jimmy Page that left me physically, mentally and emotionally spent, it was all for this moment. Qualifying for the Frontier Lions Cup and then making my way through those three grueling matches over the course of one night, it was all for this moment. It was almost storybook in how it came together. I was facing the man that had took the title off of me the previous year. This wasn’t just my chance to get back to the top of FGA for a record third time, but it was my chance to erase the visual of last December. All of it lead up to that very moment.

Yet I lost.

It hurts.

It cuts deep.

I don’t think that wound will ever fully heal until I beat him.

And I will.

I don’t know when, where or how. But he’ll be back. They always come back. Our paths will meet again. It might not be right away. It might be months or even years from now. But when it does?

I will crush that son of a bitch.

---

Five years.

Five years is a long time. A lot can happen during that lengthy period, especially in our sport. As we take a look back over the past five years in the world of professional wrestling, we’ve seen the heavyweights of this industry get knocked out. We’ve seen what used to be looked at as the pillars of our sport crumble before our very eyes. TFWF, APW, VWF and SCW are all gone. Even Phoenix and Code Red were in that group until this recent attempt at a return from the grave. During that timeframe, tucked away in the oversaturated market of Northeast wrestling was a little place called Frontier Grappling Arts.

It didn’t have all the bells and whistles of the more established companies. It didn’t have the high profile names that populated the more prominent promotions. It didn’t even have television. But the same company that used to fit 500 people inside the Inman Sports Club now packs in over 10,000 rabid fans in arenas across this country. The same company that used to be confined to a small region of the US now runs Pay Per Views in Canada and England. The same company that could only be viewed by DVD now has a TV deal that’s available in over 72 million paid television households. But more important than that, the same company that used to be viewed as “less than”, “not good enough”, and “inferior”... is now one of the premiere wrestling promotions in the world.

And this just in: that fact isn’t changing anytime soon. In the era of “here today, gone tomorrow” wrestling promotions, FGA is one of the select few that has any real staying power. It’s established itself as a proven commodity over the past five years and will continue to do so for years to come. You’d be hard pressed to find a roster more talented than the one you see before you today. FGA’s match quality from top to bottom is unparalleled. There’s a reason why some of your favorites never had the balls to walk through those doors and step into the ring. It’s because the competition here is way too stiff for them. They want championships without the challenge. They want triumph without the test. They want glory without the grind. Instead of actually testing themselves against FGA’s best, they’d rather pad their stats in either the latest Fly-By-Night promotion that’ll be dead in three months… or tenured companies that lost their relevance ages ago. And you know who they are. But we’re not even going to acknowledge their existence. We’ll keep letting them think they're something special because they signed an exclusive contract to a company with barely a dozen other people on its roster.

Hustling Backwards.

The fans. What would this company be without them? There are people out there that didn’t becomes fans of this company until this year. There are those of you out there that became fans during the short-lived “Battleground” era. There are those of you who have invested your time into this company since the start. Whether you’ve been here since the very beginning or you’ve been here since last week, thank you.

Then there are the wrestlers. What would a promotion be without them? As the years have gone by, more names have come through those doors. Bigger, more accomplished names have called this company home. But there are a select few that had the fortune of being on that very first show, the first edition of “Wednesday Weekly Combat”. And to see all the success that this company has achieved… to look back and see how much the company has grown from then to now, it warms the heart.

Now I’m not going to paint myself as Mr. Rah Rah, Let’s Go FGA. My relationship with this company hasn’t always been the greatest. I’ve had my spats with management, just like others have had or are currently having. In the past, my relationship with the fans has been acrimonious, to say the least. I’ve even left this company. But I can take a step back, put past issues aside and can say that I’m proud of the strides that FGA has made.

When I take a look back at the past five years, I think of all the colorful characters that walked through those doors, like Golden Dragon Yashimoto, the SMWB or Ling Ling. I think of people like Michael Tomkins and Chris Q, two men who came into this company with not a single accolade to their names… and ended up making history. I think of some of the wrestlers who have put on amazing feats over the years, people like Fujiko Mine, Johnny Karma, Johnny Cannon, Cordy Stevenson and yes, even that Dom Harter guy. I think of the great champions who have indelibly left their mark on this company, such as myself, Tony Carmine, Izzy Anders, Annie Zellor and even that Can’t Understand Normal Thinking partner of hers, Laurel Anne Hardy. I think of the great rivalries. I think of the great moments: Bob Pooler turning on Pat Gordon Junior and joining The Murder, Fujiko’s gamesmanship, Noelle winning the first Ladder Match, “The Headbutt”, the Frontier Invasion, Cindy Parker finally winning the big one, Chris Q’s streak, or a certain someone crushing Jimmy Page’s face with steel steps. That one’s a personal favorite.

When the I think of FGA, I recall good times, great memories and some of the best wrestling I’ve ever witnessed.

What I don’t think of… is Chris Strike.

The fact that I’m being put in the ring with this man is whatever.

Fine.

I get it.

I get bringing him in. He’s a big name on a well-publicized retirement tour. So why not try and get in on that? Why not try and make some money off of him? Why not try and bring some of those Brazilians over towards the product and try to tap into that market? From a business perspective, I get it 100%. But the fact that it’s happening on, of all places, the Five Year Anniversary Show? Especially after all the slick shit that has come out of his mouth in regards to this company? That isn’t just an insult to me. But it’s a slap in the face of every wrestler on this roster.

Chris, let me just get something out of the way real quick. I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you. As shocking as this may sound, hating Chris Strike isn’t high on my priorities list. As a matter of fact, it’s not on the list at all. Why? Because for me to dislike you, that would require me to put time and energy towards you that you’re simply just not worth. Don’t get it confused though, Chris. I might not hate you. But don’t think for a second that your little jabs went unnoticed. Oh no. I remember everything.

Let’s take last summer for example, when you and that other fuckboy Kerry Windsor had yourselves a nice big laugh over my claim of being Wrestler of the Year in 2015. The thought was absolutely absurd to the two of you. “Chandler Scott” and “Wrestler of the Year” in the same sentence? Preposterous! That’s what you two thought. Yet at the end of the year, I went home with a handful of awards and various other accolades to my name. You on the other hand? You came away with not one single piece of hardware from either EXODUS or SVW while Kerry sunk money into the Michigan Sabers, a team that went belly up along with the rest of the High Risk Football League.

Nice job.

But that wasn’t the end of your pettiness, was it? Of course not. You took a couple more shots my way. Once again, those shots may have gone unanswered, but they never went unnoticed. But the one that I personally enjoyed the most was this cute little line. Play the footage:

I'd just wipe the floor with Chandler and send him back with his tail between his legs to FGA where I'm sure he can get his ego stroked further by just about half of the people who couldn't make it here and the other half that aren't even good enough to be here.

My, aren’t we cocky. What was that line again? “I’d just wipe the floor with Chandler and send him back with his tail between his legs to FGA.” You know what? 12 months later and that line is still as hilarious as it was back then. Not to mention a complete fantasy. But here’s my issue. It’s one thing to sit on a computer and type tough. It’s one thing to put on an act for the camera. But if you were sooooo sure of yourself, why didn’t you ever do anything about it? I mean come on, you’re Mr. God of Thunder, after all! You’re Mr. War Machine! Mr. Magdalena Lasiewicz! If you’re going to make a claim like that, I would expect you to throw hands. Hell, we both live in the same damn city! All you had to do was have your people call my people. Or we could’ve met up and shot the fair one. But I guess you’d rather talk shit instead of getting hit. I guess it was much easier for you to run your mouth behind a keyboard instead of stepping to my face. I guess it was much easier for you to puff out your chest while you were wrestling thousands of miles away on the opposite side of the country.

You had no problems keeping my name in your mouth all this time. Yet your refusal to escalate the situation was a perfect example of bitchmade behavior. And when I think of bitchmade behavior over the past year, I’m quickly reminded of the man that’s still masquerading as the FGA World Champion. And knowing you as well as I know you, I know that comparing you in any way, shape or form to him would be akin to spitting on your family’s name. But what can I say? It turns out that you two have way more in common besides being eskimo bros.

Hi Heather, how are the children.

I will say this. At some point over the past year, something changed. Your balls finally dropped and now you’re ready to get in the ring. After aaaaaall this time, now you’re ready to finally step into the ring with me and try to do something. And on this company’s Anniversary, no less. So congratulations! I’ll give you credit, even if it took you 12 months to grow a spine.

Now it’s no secret that I’ve drawn the ire of many opponents throughout the years. Maybe it’s my natural disposition. Or maybe it’s the punchable face. I don’t know. But I definitely have a way of getting under the skin of many men. With others, I get it. I get why Jimmy Page did what he did earlier this year. I wouldn’t give him the attention that he craved. So he did the one thing that he knew would get my undivided attention. Unfortunately for him, that decision proved costly. And it’s a decision he’s still paying for to this day. I understand why Sean Sands went to PWF with the attention of wiping away every one of my records. On more than one occasion, I stepped over the line by rubbing his divorce and the loss of custody of his son in his face. So he tried to take away something that I held near and dear to me. Unfortunately for him, he failed miserably. I understand why the former FGA World Champion spent the past year with my name in his mouth. No matter what he achieved in this ring, he would never feel accomplished until he beat a “healthy” Chandler Scott. But even when he did, even when he finally vindicated himself, even he knew that he would never be out of my shadow. So he stormed out of this company with the title and left. He had deluded himself into thinking that his walking away would be the death knell of this company. Unfortunately for him, his plan blew up in his face like a Samsung Note, the company no longer acknowledges him and is moving on without his overly emotional ass.

With those three individuals, I can get why they’d feel some type of way towards me. But you? I don’t get it. I don’t understand where this dislike comes from. At one time, we were fighting the “good fight” in ExPro. We even fought on the same team at one point. Our paths have never crossed. I never tried to screw you over. I definitely didn’t go around your back and try to get with Mad Mags because, let’s be honest, I wouldn’t touch that old, tired bird with a ten foot pole. I don’t know what issue you have with me and to be honest? I don’t care. You came out the side of your mouth and have been talking slick about both me and this company ever since. That’s more than enough reason for me to rearrange your jaw.

See, I’m not like Cordy Stevenson. This won’t be all smiles and hugs with some cute banter mixed in here and there. She can roll out the red carpet for you. You won’t get a warm welcome from me. For someone like her? Being in the ring with you is a dream match. For her, it’s this huge honor to share the ring with the great Chris Strike. In my opinion? A guy like you has no place in this company, let alone on it’s Anniversary Show. I’ll make Asherman and the rest of the higher ups realize how much they fucked up when I fuck you up. You think that you can wipe the floor with me? I’ll tell you what, big man. After you step through those ropes, I want you to walk over to me. I want you to look me in the eyes… if you even have the guts to look me in the eyes, and say that slick shit to my face. Tell me to my face that you’re going to wipe the floor with me… and see how long you stay standing. Tell me you’re gonna wipe the floor with me… and see how quickly you go from looking at my face to looking up at the lights. Hell, I’ll do you one better. Once we meet face to face in that ring, I’ll put my hands behind my back. I’ll give the old, retiring legend a free shot. First one’s on me. After that? You will have to scratch and claw for every inch in that ring. Trust me. I’ll make you work for every punch, every slam and every suplex. I’ll push you harder than you’ve been pushed in a long, long time. And after it’s all said and done, when you’re hunched over with your hands on your knees… when the sweat is pouring down your face… when you’re tongue is hanging down by your shins… when you’re heart is feeling like it’s about to burst right out of that bird chest of yours, you’re going to say to yourself “goddamn, I just got my ass kicked by Chandler Scott. Why did I delude myself into thinking that I could wipe the floor with him?”

Strike, I’ve been watching the tapes. I’ve seen the performances you’ve been putting in on this Retirement Tour. You’ve faced many names. Some acquainted, some new. Some young, some old. On this Tour, you’ve been able to turn back the clock and show glimpses of the young and spry Strike. Despite the vast array of new styles you’ve been thrown in there with, you’ve been able to hold your own. In some cases, you’ve even won and have won big. On this current tour of yours, you’ve shown the world that you can indeed teach an old dog new tricks. Well this Saturday, Strike, I’m going to teach you a new trick and that’s how to be my bitch. Because from the moment that bell sounds until the moment that I decide the match is over, that’s all you’ll ever be when you’re in the ring against me.

When that final bell rings, save the pageantry. Save me the phony routine. Don’t shake my hand. Don’t raise my arm. Don’t hop in front of a camera and go “well osh kosh b'gosh you guys, I was totes wrong! That Chandler Scott sure can go!” Nah, fuck your pleasantries and most of all? Fuck you. And after I grab you by the neck and chuck you out the front door Uncle Phil style? Every head will bow and every tongue will confess that

Chandler. Reigns. Supreme.