Scott Reed vs. Waylon Creek

[Konrad Raab]

SCW Television Championship

2 RP Limit for singles

3500 Word Limit Per RP

Deadline: 11:59:59 pm ET Tuesday, November 19, 2024

Show takes place November 20, 2024

[Matt Hodges]

There are two futures awaiting.

There is one that hides behind twenty years of glory, and there is a new, bold future — the wholesale promise of change. Those tiny mechanical changes that bring to life where a previous incarnation may have failed to meet a previously established standard.

When you think of Supreme Championship Wrestling, you think of that very word. Standard. After all, this is the central hub of this business. Where the best do it and where new heights can be achieved. So many flags planted like moon landings all around us in the form of these precious storied moments where wrestlers stitch moments and triumphs into the fabric of this company.

But there are two futures awaiting. One desirous of a departure from the evils of stagnation. One is not.

That’s the important thing to remember about Supreme Championship Wrestling. There is no other standard. The gift that has been left to us by others, past and present, is the great unclearable bar. That’s what happens over time. It’s a responsibility. And therefore you don’t just hold yourself to a business standard, you are the business standard.

In capacity sell-outs, merchandise sales, pay per view buys, concessions, and in those great shining neon moments replayed over and over in clicks and views — what is success when you’re that very standard? Is it simply maintaining the standard? Or is it continuing to push that very bar, already set so high, a few levels up?

There are two futures. One is led by a visionary. The other is led by the same people that don’t understand that to continue being the standard, you’ve got to have the constitution required to embrace the necessity of change. Empires that don’t adapt lose their foothold in a world desperate for something new. Empires that do, thrive. And so it becomes a choice. Flounder or thrive. But somebody’s got to make it for them. And in a vacuum where you’ve got two distinct paths, it’s easy enough to see where the responsibility rightly falls.

At first glance, it seems like the onus falls on the wrestler to elevate the previous marker, but on second glance you’ll find that the waters are murkier than one might think. Sometimes, ‘deserves’ has very little to do with it, and sometimes, fear rules the day.

It’s that very fear that endows the suits, shot callers, and industry insiders with the responsibility of setting the standard for millions of fans at home and company full of neck ties. And to spare their own hides, they’ll push what you’ve already seen down your throat a hundred times before they dare to try something else. The ill effects of money. They’ll milk the same cows in the same pastures into national syndication and stagnation before they ever have time to take note of the raging bull that escaped the pen. Go figure. The illusion of being in touch with current events. Inside a board room, the number of cumulative collegiate degrees would make your eyes water, and yet the collective brain cells of corporate halfwits has an absolute converse relationship to whatever tawdry dollar amount they can produce.

But now, if I told you a professional wrestling legend who bridged multiple generations and saw the natural evolution of the sport finding himself in the position of general manager was these suits, what would you call him? You’d call him a natural, right? After all, he’s seen and done everything. He’s primed to identity what is happening before his eyes and what will come to pass. But you’ve got to watch it unfold rather than make assumptions. I’d call him a victim of that very same fear, rot, delusion, and lack of sense I’m describing from the bottom floor up.

Mr. Heaven speaks, and Alex Desoubrais does not listen. A look into two futures. When William says I’m the future, I need you to understand that doesn’t mean what you think it means. And when Alex ignores, it means exactly what you think it means. Two futures. Two doors. One opens by showing wisdom, understanding, and common sense. One opens without permission and with maximum damage.

He says future, but what Mr. Heaven says has nothing to do with the future and everything to do with an impending reality. Something imminent. Something new. And something great, if you just let it be what it is organically. But you’ve got to understand not everybody has the stomach for that. No, no, no, not everyone will just accept it. It isn’t that easy.

And so he may hear words, but continues to fail to decode the message. In order to lead, in order to understand the concept of a radical vision and a massive shift, courage is required. Something called guts. I can’t speak to his guts historically, but Mr. Heaven tends to believe any courage he had in his prime left him along with his character the moment he opted to venture into the extramarital area with some colleagues.

And so out of two futures that await, the more days die off the calendar, the more only one of them seems to be feasible.

Consider it a threat or an exploding timeline. The fact that it even needs to be put forth at all is a symptom of a greater, more insidious illness waiting in the wings. An infection of opportunity. The very failure of SCW to meet its own standard is an empocketing of sick. It is a syndrome that must be remedied. And for that to happen, there must be the threat of treatment for the abscess to understand it will be brought to heel.

And so there are futures for two fighters in the balance. One champion, one fighter full of heart. Only this fight isn’t for the Television Championship. Not really.

It has been 180 days since I won this strap. I’ve been carrying it proudly, fighting week in, week out, summarily dispatching every challenger in my path. And week in, week out, I have proven equal, if not more so, to that task. And yet, our beloved general manager manages to seem profoundly annoyed every time William Heaven wants to have a word and the name Waylon Creek comes up. There’s nothing left to do now but show him.

Understand, Scott Reed, that this isn’t personal. It also isn’t a wrestling match. It’s a message that doesn’t need to be unnecessarily picked apart. Through you, Scott, I will get Alex’s attention. Understand that it has to be you. You, who returned in the very spirit of putting down the old guard and resident legend Selena Frost. You, who week after week, show up to fight like hell for the purposes of advancing your career. You, who every time you suffer a setback, rise up and buck the tide to proffer a new path for yourself. You, who has the right ideas but wields the wrong tools.

If only you had even a shred of the follow through, Scott, you might be standing where I am. You might have the ideas I’ve got to fuel that frustration that so obviously holds you hostage. You might have something to fight for greater than yourself. But then again, maybe that’s the problem.

William describes you as a soldier, Scott. That’s high praise from a man who neither owes you nor wants to extend to you kindness, but that’s the truth. You’re a soldier. Just like me, Scott. We’re probably more alike than anyone even realizes. And while I may have fought in the great war of our time, you and I were battling tormentors long before either one of us ever dreamt of putting on masks.

The reason you’re perfect for my message, Scott, is just that. Not only do you remind me of a much less developed version of myself, but you embody the very hope that people arrive here for in the first place. Whether or not you want to be or intended to be, you’ve become its heartbeat in a way. You came as you were, you’ve fought valiantly, and you have a reputation as a tough out. That’s an important part of the game, Scott, changing perception. Because while we know the organization as supreme, we should take the time to acknowledge that you were given a very finite and limited opportunity to step outside of your five o’clock shadow and change. That’s an important part of the equation, here, Scott, because while I make these salient points about stagnation and complacency, here you are to back it all up with aplomb, and somehow find yourself rewarded for mediocrity in the face of your own failures.

What must it be like for you, Scott, to fight and fail, only to have dearest Alex show out for you to make sure you get another big opportunity? How do you feel knowing that time after time, you are rewarded for your myriad of shortcomings? How does it feel to be his cute little pet project? From Peach Fuzz to road agent to Selena’s sworn enemy, and all you’ve got to show for it is a few piddling days with the title belt you’re about to challenge for in a day’s time. Was all that effort worth it to be shoved back into the same box they want you in? Was biting at that carrot dangling ever so close to your desperate open maw what you expected it to be?

I want you to listen to me, Scott, because while you’ve been failing at every turn to find sure footing while you catfish leap for a desperate nibble, I actually caught their carrot, held onto it, and have summarily dragged around the hand holding the string to the tune of $300,000 in bonuses. That’s six months of paid dominance, Scott. And would you like to know something? I haven’t even noticed. Turns out, there isn’t a dollar I want to spend, but there’s no price I’m not willing to pay, no stack I’m not willing to burn for the sake of giving the world a glimpse of what the future of this company looks like should Alex not heed the warnings of Mr. Heaven.

Alex, if you’re listening to me, I want you to know that I do not, in fact, have a staring problem. I just felt you should have a proper measure of how sincerely I believe in William Heaven’s plan — not just for me, but for you. The reshaping of an industry standard. The cessation of a weak pump to instill a new, strong, and thriving pulse in this company. In San Francisco, I will bring the heartbeat to a standstill, and then I will reincarnate it with the bounding chambers required to ascend.

There are two futures awaiting, and the choice does not lie with Scott Reed.

It lies with you.

Choose, or I will choose for you.

And you’ll have no choice but to live with what you’ve wrought.