arwink

OCTOBER 31st, 2015 Nova addressed the locker room a few hours ahead of the Halloween Horror Show broadcast, letting them know there were changes coming on the booking front. He didn’t mention Tommy coming in, nothing to buttress how and why things were changing, and the reaction to Pit Bull stepping down was…mixed. “This is a load of tosh,” Kevin Jones said, the first man to react. He’d been pushed strong by Pit Bull, a solid mechanic who connected with the crowd, and at the age of 40 knew his time on top was going to be inherently limited. DJ Reason nodded his agreement, even if he was smart enough to keep his lip buttoned, and a murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled locker room as folks realised Nova wasn’t going to censure their feelings. Pit Bull stepped up to the plate to calm things down a little. “Listen, fellas, it’s been a ride,” he said, “but trust me, this is for the best. The new shot debuts in January—that’s another hour of TV to write every week, and the missus already makes a point of how little we see each other. There’s…other changes coming. Big changes. Exciting stuff. If you hold off until the end of the night—” “Ah, can it.” Danny Patterson this time. “Just tell us, guv. Don’t pussyfoot.” I cleared my throat, breaking the tension. “It’s not his call, Danny.” “Yeah? It yours, then?” “No, it’s mine.” Nova glared at Danny Patterson. The boss was one of the few blokes in the locker room tall enough to meet Danny’s eyes without looking up. “I don’t want this one going out on the twitters, and I don’t want anyone tipping the press off. If you want to argue it isn’t worth it, come and see me after the show and we’ll talk about it then.” Danny grit his teeth, but knew enough to keep his lip shut instead of arguing with the boss. “It’s going to be a slow transition,” I said. “Formally, I’m in charge from January first, but Harry’s got television scripted out all the way to World War, and we’ll be sticking with that vision. Friday night showcase is new territory, so I’ll be putting my focus there for the first few months and—” I raised both hands to forestall the questions “—it’s not going to be big for anyone already working the main show. I’ll be working primarily with the younger guys for a few months, setting things up for the debut in January. If you don’t trust that I can do the job by the time March rolls around, well--” I broke out knowing grin and let the idea hang “—I hear the Scotsman is looking for warm bodies, and we all know you’ll be in his main event inside of a month.” That sent a ripple of laughter through the gathered locker room. There weren’t many guys who’d prefer to be working for SNP instead of us. For one thing, we had TV. For another, our catering rocked, and for all his faults Jeff Nova wasn’t human scum. “In any case, we’ve got a shot tonight,” I said. “We’re starting the countdown to a new era. Lets go make it count.” We brought Tommy into the locker room ten minutes before the main event, and Colin Clarke gave a couple of younger guys permission to leak the news on their socials. We’d hand-picked Sebastian Koller, Wade Orson, and Joe Simpson for the job—names we wanted getting a little more recognitions once the retweets started rolling in, and had the following to make it worthwhile. It had been ten years since Tommy and I were backstage at a show together, not since my last night as an agent with TCW all those years ago. His habits hadn’t changed any—he warmed up and bounced on his feet a little, limber and ready to go. All smiles and jokes with the boys, right up until he needed to perform. That’s when the trademark sneer would show up, and he’s snap into the character of Rough Justice like you’d slip on a pair of skivvies. I met him at the curtain, a few minutes before he was going on. He shook my hand. “Alright, Jack? It’s been a while.” “It has,” I said. “You ready for this?” Cornell grinned, and for a moment he looked like the kid in his twenties he’d been when we first met, eager to get the opportunity to go out there and perform. “I got the easy bit, mate,” he said. “You’re the one I dropped in the s—t, eh?” “Remind me to thank you for that,” I said. “How many times would you like to carry Doomsday through a match, once I’ve got the book?” Tommy rolled his shoulders, getting lose ahead of his debut. “It’s no worse than trying make Peter Valentine look good, eh?” I winced. The six months I spent working Sam Strong’s best friend on house shows weren’t my favourite memory of my time as an in-ring worker. “You never did tell me how you set that one up,” I said. “Who says I set it up?” “You did. Repeatedly. Every time you critiqued our matches in the car after a show.” Tommy Cornell grinned wolfishly. “Yeah, well. They were pretty f—kin’ atrocious matches.” Colin Chalke gave us the signal, the countdown on for Tommy’s debut. I clapped his shoulder and pointed him to the curtain. “Time to go make history, mate.” Adam Matravers had succeeded Joss Thompson as World Champion when Thompson signed with USPW. At Halloween Horror Show, he lost the belt to Tommy’s cousin, Edward Cornell, courtesy of Tommy interfering and assault Matravers with a chair. The pop for Tommy’s debut was huge, and there were almost as many marks for his appearance among the boys as they were in the stalls. Even the doubters walked out of the locker room that night buzzing with the potential of it, wondering what it could mean when the best wrestler in the world walked into the company. The boys headed off to a nearby pup to celebrate the evening. Nova had booked out a back room for a private party, a chance to welcome Tommy to the company and show him off to some of our sponsors. Pit Bull was one of the last to leave, hanging around until everything was squared away and the medical team had cleared everyone who took heavy bumps through the night. I lingered behind, hoping to catch up with him, and fell in beside him as he left. “Well,” he said. “Tommy f—kin Cornell.” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s something.” We stepped out into the cold, London air of the loading docks, heading for the car set aside to take us to the venue. Pit Bull had clammed up, hands shoved into his pockets. “Listen, Harry—" “Jack,” he said, “just don’t.” “I just wanted to say you’d done a hell of a job,” I said. “Hard act to follow, all that tosh. I mean, it’s a thing people say, but mate, it needs saying. Nova gave you the book and you built this place into a powerhouse. That’s a hell of an achievement.” Pit Bull Brown managed a weak smile. “Cheers,” he said. “Appreciate it.” “And it is going to be a hard act to follow,” I said. This time, Pit Bull actually laughed. We climbed into the SUV, assured the driver we were the last two and he could be on our way. Once the car pulled onto the street, Pit Bull Brown exhaled and relaxed, almost melting into the seat. “Thing is,” he said, “it’s not exactly a lie, me wanting to leave it behind. Working with Jeff is…challenging.” That piqued my interest. “Challenging how?” “Mate, trust me, you’ll know soon enough.” Pit Bull scratched at a massive slab of chin, watching the road ahead of us. “And he was bad enough before Tommy got into his ear. Ask me, I’m getting out of things just in time…”

OCTOBER 2015 There are two things that are surprisingly easy to forget about Jeff Nova, when you’re used to seeing him on screen. The first is his Scottish heritage, and the second is just how big the man is compared to the general public. The first is because he tones down the accent on-screen, a practice borne of years as a media personality long before he ever bought a wrestling company. His size goes unnoticed by virtue of spending so much time around strong men and professional wrestlers, where his height and sculpted physique aren’t exactly out of the ordinary. Compared to some of the folks on his roster, Nova is practically diminutive…but out in the real world, among the folks in suits and the commuters heading for the tube, you start to notice the size of his massive hands and the muscles that bulk like cantaloupes beneath the skin of his arms and shoulder. He arrived ten minutes late for our meeting, easing through the small Monmouth café with the practiced ease of a man who knows nobody really wants to get in his way. We shook hands and he sat, ordered a black coffee in a cup barely large enough to be a thimble. I was already on my second latte of the morning—good coffee is hard to find in London, when you’re used to Australian baristas. Finally, when his drink arrived, we got down to brass tacks. “Tommy recommended we have a chat. He seems to think you can help us out…” He didn't mention Cornell's last name. He didn't need too. I'd ridden with Tommy back in the day, when we were young guys working the Hollyweird undercard. He'd let me know he was coming to 21CW long before anyone else heard about it, trusted me to keep it under my hat and out of the dirt sheets. And here's the thing about Tommy Cornell--he believes in being a provocateur and questioning how things are done. When he took over TCW, he wanted the wrestlers who worked there to be inspired, to push boundaries and wrestle on the cutting edge of what could be done. That willingness to push boundaries had gotten him fired by the Eisens in '97, and it made him one of the hottest young rookies Hollyweird had in '98. And 21CW wasn't a company known for pushing anything. It owned the British Isles from a wrestling point of view, classic angles played out on the only stage in town. Her booker, Pit Bull Brown, never sought to push boundaries because it wasn't necessary. One thing leads to another in wrestling. Hell, it’s the foundation of our business: a heel takes a short-cut in a match to get the pinfall, a babyface fires up and goes looking for payback. A champion defeats his greatest rival, and a new challenger emerges like clockwork to become a greater threat. When dastardly heels gang together to beat down a beloved babyface, a tag-team who needs the rub comes charging out to make the save. Eventually, that tag-team rises up the card and one of them takes the beloved babyface role. Things change, and people move on. That’s the way it’s meant to work. The one thing you want to avoid, above all else, is putting your legacy stars up there to rub against the other legacy stars. If you’re not building for the future, you risk getting stale…and the fans will eventually voice their frustration in no uncertain terms. One thing leads to another. A head booker runs out of steam, and a new one steps up to the role to refresh the produce and build anew. “We’re adding another hour of TV every week,” Nova said. “Pit Bull was already feeling the strain, so he’s asked to tap out of the role." "Ahuh" Nova caught the doubt in my voice, but forged on like he hadn't. "I know we only brought you aboard as an agent and mentor at the school, but Tommy swears you’ve got a knack for TV—” “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. Nova grinned and took a sip of coffee. “How far would you go?” “I spent a few months working for Vibert when he first took over DAVE. Worked production for Hollyweird, long before they became TCW. I didn’t have the book, but I was part of the team they set up to bolster Strong.” It was my turn to hide behind my coffee, give myself something to do while I pondered how I really want to play it. “All of that was a long time ago, Jeff. I’m not saying I can’t do the job, but it’s possible Tommy’s overstating what I bring to the table, you know?” “You’ve got more experience than Pit Bull did, when he first took the book, and the old boy would still be around if you need some back-up or advice.” I murmured into my coffee so Nova wouldn’t see my real reaction to that idea—I’ve got some pretty firm opinions about the way wrestling should be booked, and one of those involves the cardinal rule that your booker shouldn’t be on-air talent. Even if you’ve got the best intentions, it’s hard to avoid the temptation to protect your own spot at all costs. Pit Bull did okay with it, but there were a handful of awkward choices—how many times did the Defence Force needs to make the save when Faust or the Cornell’s started a beat down? How many of our younger guys could benefit from rubbing up against the top tier like that? “You’re thinking about it,” Nova said. “I can see the gears turning, back there.” “I’m assuming it comes with a pay rise,” I said. “And an office, if you want it.” Nova broke out a broad, cheerful grin. “Do you want it, Jack?” One thing leads to another. Always has, always does. “Sure.” I reached across the table to shake Nova’s hand. “I can handle things until I can’t, or until you find somebody better.” One thing leads to another. Tommy gets an idea in his head, and talks somebody into implementing it. It’s how we always end up in trouble.

It's been a while since I've written up a game—and much longer since I did anything outside of a '97 dynasty—but I've been toying with this as a means of spending some time with the 2016 database ahead of the 2020 version coming out... 21CW: RULE BRITANNIA OCTOBER 2015 There are two things that are surprisingly easy to forget about Jeff Nova, when you’re used to seeing him on screen. The first is his Scottish heritage, and the second is just how big the man is compared to the general public. The first is because he tones down the accent on-screen, a practice borne of years as a media personality long before he ever bought a wrestling company. His size goes unnoticed by virtue of spending so much time around strong men and professional wrestlers, where his height and sculpted physique aren’t exactly out of the ordinary. Compared to some of the folks on his roster, Nova is practically diminutive…but out in the real world, among the folks in suits and the commuters heading for the tube, you start to notice the size of his massive hands and the muscles that bulk like cantaloupes beneath the skin of his arms and shoulder. He arrived ten minutes late for our meeting, easing through the small Monmouth café with the practiced ease of a man who knows nobody really wants to get in his way. We shook hands and he sat, ordered a black coffee in a cup barely large enough to be a thimble. I was already on my second latte of the morning—good coffee is hard to find in London, when you’re used to Australian baristas. Finally, when his drink arrived, we got down to brass tacks. “Tommy recommended we have a chat. He seems to think you can help us out…” # One thing leads to another in wrestling. Hell, it’s the foundation of our business: a heel takes a short-cut in a match to get the pinfall, a babyface fires up and goes looking for payback. A champion defeats his greatest rival, and a new challenger emerges like clockwork to become a greater threat. When dastardly heels gang together to beat down a beloved babyface, a tag-team who needs the rub comes charging out to make the save. Eventually, that tag-team rises up the card and one of them takes the beloved babyface role. Things change, and people move on. That’s the way it’s meant to work. The one thing you want to avoid, above all else, is putting your legacy stars up there to rub against the other legacy stars. If you’re not building for the future, you risk getting stale…and the fans will eventually voice their frustration in no uncertain terms. # One thing leads to another. A head booker runs out of steam, and a new one steps up to the role to refresh the produce and build anew. “We’re adding another hour of TV every week,” Nova said. “Pit Bull was already feeling the strain, so he’s asked to tape out of the role. I know we only brought you aboard as an agent and mentor at the school, but Tommy swears you’ve got a knack for TV—” “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. Nova grinned and took a sip of coffee. “How far would you go?” “I spent a few months working for Vibert when he first took over DAVE. Worked production for Hollyweird, long before they became TCW. I didn’t have the book, but I was part of the team they set up to bolster Strong.” It was my turn to hide behind my coffee, give myself something to do while I pondered how I really want to play it. “All of that was a long time ago, Jeff. I’m not saying I can’t do the job, but it’s possible Tommy’s overstating what I bring to the table, you know?” “You’ve got more experience than Pit Bull did, when he first took the book, and the old boy would still be around if you need some back-up or advice.” I murmured into my coffee so Nova wouldn’t see my real reaction to that idea—I’ve got some pretty firm opinions about the way wrestling should be booked, and one of those involves the cardinal rule that your booker shouldn’t be on-air talent. Even if you’ve got the best intentions, it’s hard to avoid the temptation to protect your own spot at all costs. Pit Bull did okay with it, but there were a handful of awkward choices—how many times did the Defence Force needs to make the save when Faust or the Cornell’s started a beat down? How many of our younger guys could benefit from rubbing up against the top tier like that? “You’re thinking about it,” Nova said. “I can see the gears turning, back there.” “I’m assuming it comes with a pay rise,” I said. “And an office, if you want it.” Nova broke out a broad, cheerful grin. “Do you want it, Jack?” One thing leads to another. Always has, always does. “Sure.” I reached across the table to shake Nova’s hand. “I can handle things until I can’t, or until you find somebody better.” One thing leads to another. It’s how we always end up in trouble. There are two things that are surprisingly easy to forget about Jeff Nova, when you’re used to seeing him on screen. The first is his Scottish heritage, and the second is just how big the man is compared to the general public. The first is because he tones down the accent on-screen, a practice borne of years as a media personality long before he ever bought a wrestling company. His size goes unnoticed by virtue of spending so much time around strong men and professional wrestlers, where his height and sculpted physique aren’t exactly out of the ordinary. Compared to some of the folks on his roster, Nova is practically diminutive…but out in the real world, among the folks in suits and the commuters heading for the tube, you start to notice the size of his massive hands and the muscles that bulk like cantaloupes beneath the skin of his arms and shoulder. He arrived ten minutes late for our meeting, easing through the small Monmouth café with the practiced ease of a man who knows nobody really wants to get in his way. We shook hands and he sat, ordered a black coffee in a cup barely large enough to be a thimble. I was already on my second latte of the morning—good coffee is hard to find in London, when you’re used to Australian baristas. Finally, when his drink arrived, we got down to brass tacks. “Tommy recommended we have a chat. He seems to think you can help us out…” # One thing leads to another in wrestling. Hell, it’s the foundation of our business: a heel takes a short-cut in a match to get the pinfall, a babyface fires up and goes looking for payback. A champion defeats his greatest rival, and a new challenger emerges like clockwork to become a greater threat. When dastardly heels gang together to beat down a beloved babyface, a tag-team who needs the rub comes charging out to make the save. Eventually, that tag-team rises up the card and one of them takes the beloved babyface role. Things change, and people move on. That’s the way it’s meant to work. The one thing you want to avoid, above all else, is putting your legacy stars up there to rub against the other legacy stars. If you’re not building for the future, you risk getting stale…and the fans will eventually voice their frustration in no uncertain terms. # One thing leads to another. A head booker runs out of steam, and a new one steps up to the role to refresh the produce and build anew. “We’re adding another hour of TV every week,” Nova said. “Pit Bull was already feeling the strain, so he’s asked to tape out of the role. I know we only brought you aboard as an agent and mentor at the school, but Tommy swears you’ve got a knack for TV—” “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said. Nova grinned and took a sip of coffee. “How far would you go?” “I spent a few months working for Vibert when he first took over DAVE. Worked production for Hollyweird, long before they became TCW. I didn’t have the book, but I was part of the team they set up to bolster Strong.” It was my turn to hide behind my coffee, give myself something to do while I pondered how I really want to play it. “All of that was a long time ago, Jeff. I’m not saying I can’t do the job, but it’s possible Tommy’s overstating what I bring to the table, you know?” “You’ve got more experience than Pit Bull did, when he first took the book, and the old boy would still be around if you need some back-up or advice.” I murmured into my coffee so Nova wouldn’t see my real reaction to that idea—I’ve got some pretty firm opinions about the way wrestling should be booked, and one of those involves the cardinal rule that your booker shouldn’t be on-air talent. Even if you’ve got the best intentions, it’s hard to avoid the temptation to protect your own spot at all costs. Pit Bull did okay with it, but there were a handful of awkward choices—how many times did the Defence Force needs to make the save when Faust or the Cornell’s started a beat down? How many of our younger guys could benefit from rubbing up against the top tier like that? “You’re thinking about it,” Nova said. “I can see the gears turning, back there.” “I’m assuming it comes with a pay rise,” I said. “And an office, if you want it.” Nova broke out a broad, cheerful grin. “Do you want it, Jack?” One thing leads to another. Always has, always does. “Sure.” I reached across the table to shake Nova’s hand. “I can handle things until I can’t, or until you find somebody better.” One thing leads to another. It’s how we always end up in trouble.

I've always been a fan of this mod, but I've gotta admit, I'm really digging this iteration. HGC starts out as a much bigger challenge with the gulf between established stars and new blood, and the East Coast war is way more interesting to watch. Kudos, Derek B, on a phenomenal job.

Planning on a continuation of my Rise and Fall of Hollyweird dynasty now that the C-Verse 1997 mod is out. I'll be picking up from the one-year anniversary of Hollyweird being in TV once I get the database advanced by a year... http://i182.photobucket.com/albums/x15/arwink/HollyweirdEraBanner1998_zpsec47f591.jpg http://i182.photobucket.com/albums/x15/arwink/MarkSmart.jpg Mark Smart stands outside Stallings Arena in the UK, neatly dressed in a dark suit and a t-shirt emblazoned with the old Hollyweird logo. "In 1997 an upstart company funded by a teenage millionaire emerged as the first real challenger to the Supreme Wrestling Federation's dominance of the American industry. With a host of house-hold names on its roster, state of the art production, and the kind of bankroll most start-up businesses can only dream of, it seemed inconceivable that Hollyweird Grappling could fail. "Yet the first year of Hollyweird was marked with turmoil: Creative differences emerged between the head booker and the company's teenage owner; talent grew restless as the promotions rise proved less than meteoric; television deals which originally favoured the fledgling promotion were renegotiated, forcing the company to rely heavily on its cash reserves in order to stay afloat. "The company fans had hoped would grow to rival Richard Eisen's juggernaut seemed to have stalled, alternately a pale reflection of Supreme's in-ring style or a promotion hearkening back to the more traditional promotions Eisen had already driven out of business in the early eighties. While the competition in the East Coast Wars drove the companies involved to new creative heights, it seemed there was no chance of such competition occurring on the national level. "Then, seemingly overnight, things started to change. "These days the period between 1998 and the turn of the millennium are acknowledged as part of Hollyweird's creative peak, a boom period that would plant the seeds for the company that eventually became Total Championship Wrestling. "For years fans have wondered why things took off and when they finally went wrong, setting off the chain of events that led to the death of JK Stallings' company and the growth of Tommy Cornell's. "Today, we take another trip down memory lane and revisit Hollyweird boom period with the men and women who were there, telling the story week-by-week through the memories of those involved. Once again, Fans who want to relive the action alongside the memories can find many of these episodes in the online TCW Legacy archive, and we encourage you to seek the episodes out to get the full experience as we follow HGC through its hottest period. “Ladies and gentlemen, Welcome to Hollyweird...”