Aug 23

The C-Bomb by Adam Curtis

*DISCLAIMER* The below thoughts are those solely of Adam Curtis and do not represent the thoughts or opinions of BritWres Blog, BritWre Chat or any other member of the team.  We chose to give Adam a platform to talk about what he wanted, this is what we got.

You know, for the first time in my Professional Wrestling “career”, I feel almost at a loss for words.  Pretty astounding for an attention seeking gobshite commentator.

Those who know me well enough (all three of you), know that I used to love this sport, something that in one way or another has been a tremendously large part of my life for well over 23 years.  Amazed and captivated at the sight of Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Warrior locking horns in the Toronto Skydome.  An experience shared with a close group of friends, a ritual of PPV watching that we all continued long into this decade.

Now, I sit here, with little more than forty Marlboro red and a mobile phone that never rings for company.  Really, having yourself as your own best friend isn’t the most ideal of situations.  Hell, I don’t even get on with myself. It gives you too much time to think and too many hours to reflect, usually on the bad times.  And the time spent pondering always leads me to the same line of questioning, why did it all go wrong?

In 2012, on the almost ironically iconic day of April 1st, I made my eagerly awaited (ha) return to the business that bankruptted me both financially and emotionally almost one year earlier, following the implosion of the infamous 1PW.  As I stood behind the curtain, a wave of nervous excitement rushed through my body because even a month before that, I was 100% sure that I never wanted to return.

I only came back as a favour to Dale Mills, who called me out of the blue, talking about the good times we spent as a commentary duo and wanting to bring those times back.  Even though he admitted to me that everyone Ben had brought it, trialed and groomed to be his own home grown superannouncer was in actuality, a big pile of shite, I was convinced the answer was no.  I was still bitter about being unintentially blackballed from the industry that I gave everything to.  The exile that I’d claimed I’d put myself in was actually a lie, nobody wanted to help me, nobody wanted me.  Nobody wanted to know.

Eventually, the reflection on better times and the fun I had in the partnership in Mills consumed me.  I called him back and the deal was done.  A deal with a devil.

In the remaining weeks leading up to the show, I didn’t hear once from Ben Auld, the man behind the vanity project of Southside Wrestling.  A company that only exists so that he can have ROH wrestlers sleep in his house and so that his son Harry can play with giant, real-life, wrestling figures.  In fact, when I turned up to the show on the afternoon of April 1st, I didn’t even get a handshake.  Ben was more interested in setting up his merchandise tables, stopping briefly to scrawl a show format on a napkin.

As the months went by and the polite applause I was given by the “fans” in the crowd turned into more and more into silence, my commentary became more and more outrageous.  When my phone rang and I heard Ben on the other end, I almost fainted and knew my fate was instantly sealed, I was going to be fired.  Nope.  In fact, the exact opposite.

Ben though I was hilarious.  He encouraged me to push the envelope as far as I could.  Was this a trap?  Maybe.  He accused me of ‘alienating’ fans, the same morons who proudly fly the flag for BritWres and are nowhere to be seen unless a show contains no less than 72 American wrestlers.  Yeah, we managed to patch things up a little and I came back.  But then again, he hasn’t heard the commentary from last weekend yet.  Sorry in advance.

Fact is, I’m still pissed off at being ‘suspended’ (how you can be suspended from a company WITH NO CONTRACTS is beyond me) and left off a show for doing what I was told to do.

You know, I’m not entirely alone.  Sat in the locker room, are one or two likeminded individuals (who shall remain nameless) who, from actually giving me the time of day, have realised that my mind for this business is an asset.  That given an actual chance, could run a promotion that would make sense and likely MAKE MONEY.  These people have also identified the complete lack of sense in wrestling companies run by willy wavers playing Vince and know I could do a better job.  Assuming that is, that one day that a promoter actually understand the difference between being a promoter and being a booker.  Note to you all:  most of your promotions suck because you have NO IDEA how wrestling works.  A businessman does not a great promoter make.

When people say that I’m playing or portraying “a bad guy”, I’m not.  What you see is what you get.  The guy you saw in the ring was not an amped up reflection of my personality, it was the bitter and twisted insides of me spilling out.  A person turned bitter and twisted because YOU all made him that way.  Fans, promoters and wrestlers alike, take a long hard look in the mirror.  It was your attitude and ignorance that shaped this monster.

So, with that said, if I don’t find a way to get fired and blackballed (again) from every company I work for in the UK by December 31st, I quit.  Thanks everybody.

British Wrestling is an anagram of Thin Gerbil Wrists.  Wait, that’s not serious.  Because of course, I am.