PROLOGUE
April, 2013
Montreal, Quebec, Canada
September Mills is in a hurry.
Folded in between her arms pressed to her chest are a stack of files. What’s inside the files isn’t immediately evident, however the young woman appears to be guarding them with her life. Her hair has been tied back into a loose bun, resulting in strands being strewn about her head. She is dressed for business – a long, black skirt, white button-up shirt with rolled up sleeves, and heels uncomfortably pressing her toes together. She moves with urgency, knowing that every moment on the outside of the meeting could be a moment closer to her own dismissal.
September had felt the pressure lately. With her network’s contract with the Dominion of Canada Wrestling company, a subsidiary of the Next Evolution Wrestling Alliance, ongoing, she was given a hands-on position to ensure the quality of the product and the viability of the ratings. It was something that was foreign to her. Professional wrestling, it seemed, was it’s own beast, and there were days September wondered – aloud, sometimes – why she had been the one given such a daunting task. Was it something she personally demonstrated that made her a fit? Or was she simply the low person on the totem pole… the last available option after everyone above her said no? Whatever it was, she felt the pressure. So much so that, as she pressed into the board room, files in her arms, and spotted the owner of the Network, the broadcasting legend Francois Corbeau, sitting at the head of the large glass table, a rush of blood went to her head and she nearly passed out. Still, she was able to get her feet under her, brace herself, and avoid falling embarrassingly unconscious.
“You’re late,” Corbeau remarked in his thick, unmistakable French-Canadian accent. Flustered, September sets her armful of files onto the table, almost collapsing into the seat across from him.
“I’m sorry, Monsieur,” she responds breathlessly. “I just had a few last-minute errands to run and wanted everything to be absolutely perf-…”
“I…” he cuts her off mid-word, his hand in the air. September, knowing the reputation of Corbeau, does immediately stop talking. She knew she was sitting with one of the titans of the industry, and upsetting him may result in her being blacklisted throughout media markets. “was not asking for your life story. Tell me what you have on the DCW file.”
September nods, frantically opening one of the files in front of her.
“The ratings for DCW have been steady, as we’ve managed to tap into the old CWF market,” September happily reports. She pulls out ratings projections from the file, sliding them across the table to the man. He casually slides them to the side without even a glance, something that does fluster September briefly, but she carries on. “The key demographics are responding to the roster. Having the NEWA World Champion on the roster is proving to be a boon, and…”
“What else can we do?” Francois leans forward on the table, looking at September. “Complacency doesn’t win wars. We always have to look one step ahead. The World Champion today could break his leg and be out of action tomorrow. We need to be on the cutting edge. Who do you have?”
“Um… the product is mostly left to the promoter, and…” September stammers over her words.
“That isn’t good enough, Mills,” Francois lashes out, fists slamming down onto the table. “What else have you got!?”
“There is one guy…” September mentions hesitantly. She’s not entirely sure how to make the pitch… it’s a gamble, for sure. Still, Francois raises an eyebrow.
“I’m listening…”
“He’s currently wrestling out of Florida, but I’ve heard that with enough incentive, he’d be willing to jump ship,” September explained. “It’s just…”
“What is the barrier?” Francois asks.
“Money,” September answers in a matter-of-fact tone. It’s always money. “I know that a talent like this commands top dollar, but with the way NEWA is structured, I don’t believe that DCW is able to offer top dollar at this time.”
“Top dollar… who the heck is asking top dollar?” Francois again asks, this time growing increasingly bewildered.
“It’s Gavin Taylor,” September slides another file across the desk. This one Francois opens and reads as September attempts to rattle off some facts from her head. “Former SWA Strong-Style Champion, United States Champion, arguably the most popular wrestler in Australia, former collegiate wrestler, football player, hockey player… basically had his pick of athletic endeavors until a poorly-timed injury sidelined him…”
“What’s it going to take?” Francois asks again, responding with his own matter-of-fact tone. September didn’t expect the response, but already knew the Hail Mary that was necessary…
“What if the Network supplemented his pay?” September asks. She wasn’t sure if Francois would go with it, but the elder media guru didn’t appear to be dissuaded by the suggestion, so nervously, she keeps talking. “If the Network supplements the DCW salary, we can entice DCW to sign him to a contract while utilizing his services for the Network. It can be the first time we retain someone from one of our programs on staff. There… there’s synergy there… there’s the potential for cross-promotion. We could have Gavin Taylor as a correspondent at the Vanier Cup or the Memorial Cup or…”
“Do it,” Francois instructs, closing the file as he stands up. Moving to the corner, he grabs a bag of golf clubs stood near the far door. “If we can bring him in, we have a chance to score big time. Don’t disappoint me, Mills.”
September sits in her seat dumbfounded as Francois grabs his golf bag and exits the meeting room. Looking over her files, she exhales deeply, wondering exactly what the hell she’s gotten herself into…
EPILOGUE
January, 2021
Tacoma, Washington, United States of America
“Oh sweet freedom.
This journey has bee long and arduous. Since September the 30th, I have been involved in a journey that has shaped a part of SCW folklore. I have been running in this narrative, demonstrating my All-Star greatness for the benefit of the Supreme Championship Wrestling audience… for the business. I have…
I have been saddled with a partner striving to become Tag Team Champion to fulfill her own quest to become a Supreme Champion, but doesn’t appear willing to do the work to get there. And in just a few short hours I am going to be relieved of that burden! Sweet, sweet freedom!
You know… I have been doing what I do, trying to make the best of this situation, because that’s the kind of guy I am. I’m a giver. I’m totally unselfish in every way. But this tag league? You know… it just hasn’t been my cup of tea. Not only has the tag league been something that has saddled me with an albatross, it’s held me back from my true purpose. While there’s no “I” in “Team”, there is one in “Champion”, which if we’re honest is my destiny. And while the awards may have blanked me, while I may have been out of the Championship conversation for too long now, with the end of the tag league comes my freedom. Finally, I’m going to be able to cut loose and do exactly what I was always meant to do. I have the opening to succeed beyond levels that anyone would have expected of me… anyone, that is, except Gavin Taylor.
So I’m going to go out in this last match, and maybe I’ll let my partner figure out how to go through this match, because as soon as the final bell rings, all bets are off. It’s no more Hollywood All-Stars. It’s just me… Gavin Taylor… the best damn WRESTLER that you have EVER SEEN!”
~fin~
"The All-Star" Gavin Taylor 