Bob Casey And The Hundred Dollar Heroes

[D-Lyrium]

Sometimes, destiny makes itself so obvious that even fervent non-believers cannot ignore it. This was the case when Bob Casey began his search for a Head Booker. Normally when going through such a process, one invites friends, relatives or acquaintances one believes will do a good job. However when a man comes to you, complete with birth certificate, and claims that his name is Mr. H. Booker you can’t really refuse him the job, can you? Bob, on a drunken night out in Ontario with some friends after an independent show, received a challenge. A challenge which, by day, would be laughed off. A challenge which, under virtually any other circumstances would only be issued by somebody taking the complete Michael. But a challenge which, under the influence of alcohol, was the equivalent of a medieval duel. Refuse, and you’re a coward, exiled from your lands for eternity, the laughing stock amongst your men. “Hey, Bob”. The conversation was clear enough in his mind even now, although he’d completely forgotten where he was at the time, or even his challenger. “I’ve got a premonition for ya”. After the man had picked himself up from the floor and stood the bar stool back up, he continued. “Where was I? Oh right, the promotionition: open up your own wrestling proposition. Tomorrow. No money, no nothin’. Jus’ you and a ring. Get some guys together and start from scratch. Go and find a random guy off the street to book it for ya. Oh, and go do it in New Yoik. For no apparent reason. It’ll be great fun! What’ve you got to lose? $50 a night, Canadian, maybe twice a month? Pfft.” To an inebriated Bob Casey, it sounded like a great idea. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? It was mine. My name is Mr. H. Booker, and this is my story. -=- After being offered the job as Head Booker of Bob Casey’s new wrestling promotion, I quickly got to work sending out contracts to virtually every wrestler under the sun. And one who apparently *was* the sun. But then the worst case scenario happened. Bob woke up, and his hangover was seeking vengeance. “Right, Bookerman!” he said, cracking his knuckles. “I guess that’s both a nickname and a job title to you, huh? Well let’s get down to business. I’ve entered into this arrangement under very false pretences, but I’m Bob Casey. I’ve spent so long looking at ceilings, I could be a structural engineer by now, and there’s no way this particular ceiling is caving in on me. Got it? There are going to be some ground rules.” Bob Casey’s Hangover was a pretty harsh mistress. I was beginning to regret picking such a lovely, warm, kind gentleman as the victim for my ploy. Maybe once the hangover had died down he’d be back to normal. “NUMBER ONE!” he yelled, for no reason I could gather other than the fact that it’s what he’d seen ruthless, hardnosed businessmen do in the past. “We MUST be more popular in America in two years than we are now!” “Bob?” I chanced, “nobody knows who we are. We came into existence just last night, and even that was accidental. I really don’t think being more popular than 0.00% is going to be difficult. I could go out on to the street and hand someone a flyer right now to achieve that goal.” “THEN MAKE IT SO!” Casey screamed, then grimaced, clutched his throat and took a swig of water. “FINALLY! I’ve built myself a career out of knowing how to wrestle. I don’t want none of these wishy-washy flyboys or immobile lumps of muscle in my promotion! Nobody who’s considered below D- in Basics, Athletic Ability or Stamina on that there website of yours will be tolerated in my promotion! At least not for the first year and a half.” That was reasonable. It would rule out the Dusty Bin mega-push I knew everyone secretly wanted to see, but it still allowed me plenty of crap wrestlers to hire for peanuts. Even better, Bob didn’t say anything at all about making money… “OH, AND ONE MORE THING!” he started, before passing out again. I left him to it, and contacted the seven or so wrestlers whose hopes I’d raised under false pretences and started breaking the bad news. There’d be no Dusty Bin (who broke all three of the talent-related rules) or Fearless Blue (unless he gets some work and brushes up on his basics just a tiny bit) in the promotion for at least 17 months. If the promotion lasted that long. It was half an hour later, whilst designing the earlier-proposed flyer, that I realized we didn’t have a name yet. -=- “Yeah, sure, I think that’s a great name!” said Bob, accompanied by one of those smiles so fake it’s almost gone full-circle and become real again. He hated it. But since the daemon named Hangover was currently dormant inside him, was too nice to say so. “And the wrestlers you’ve hired, they look fantastic, all of them. I don’t know who any of them are - and I’ve wrestled two of them – but as they say, diamonds in the rough... At this point I was beginning to wonder if his smile was actually painted on, and he was really bright red with rage. “And the title belt, a cheap plastic Kevin Kline clothing belt with a paper plate stuck to the front of it, is fantastic. Did you get my whiskey from the store while you were out? Oh, good. I’ll be over here… working.” I left him to it, and headed for the arena to give their people our itinerary for the show and make sure everything was still ok. Our debut show was on Sunday, but other than the recipient of the hastily-made flyer, nobody knew that. I decided some advertising was in order, and the best way to do that, as everyone knows, is to spam as many wrestling-related forums as I could with posts about how awesome this hot new promotion was, and how we’d be holding our first card and everyone had to come. A bit like this: [quote]Lethal Dosage Wrestling presents: To Weston and Beyond Sunday, Week 2, January 2008 Canadian legend Bob Casey, as many of you will no doubt have heard, is opening a new promotion based out of the Tri-States. Lethal Dosage Wrestling will offer an entertaining mix of high-flying, lucha-libre-influenced wrestling with a heavy – some might say ‘lethal - dosage of comedy and fun for all the family. The inaugural event will be held at the Weston Gymnasium, and tickets will be merely $1 to give everyone a chance to experience what is sure to be a unique hour and a half. The card for this exploratory venture will include, but is not limited to: Bob Casey himself taking on an as-yet unannounced contender for the Lethal Dosage Championship. Er… other people will be there too, but you won’t have heard of any of them, so there’s little point telling you. Just come along and find out.[/quote]

[Irish Wolf]

Oh man this is gonna be so cool. I hope this is the fed you have Dusty Bin in. I'd also like to see you push in no particular order: Trauma, "Free Form" Jeremy Jazz, Stretch the Chicken Boy and Weird Waldo Odlaw (aka The Gremlin). Edits: Opps got so excited I posted without finishing reading, no dusty bin :(

[D-Lyrium]

As I walked down the corridor at the Weston Gymnasium, heading for the room we’d commandeered for a locker room, I noticed a problem. There was no noise. At all, no idle chatter, no arguments, no anything. This either meant I’d just missed an entertaining argument, or nobody had showed up. I was slightly more disappointed than one might expect to find it was the former. “Aight, boss?” said a roughshod youngster as I entered. I vaguely recognized him; he was one of the few workers I’d met in person. The Voice Of LDW, Lee Bambino. He was sat with a few other wrestlers who I assumed were the “associates” he’d promised to bring to the event. He was, in fairness, a crap announcer. But he was willing to work for us, which means he was an automatic first choice. “Meet my friends, this here’s Xavier. Goes by the name ‘Xavier Reckless’. Decent brawler by our standards boss, promise. He’ll wanna work as a heel to start with.” I shook the man’s hand. I knew his history, and to be honest I had quite a bit of respect for the guy, even if nobody else did. “This is Steve. Goes by ‘Super Sonic’. Flashy luchadore type, would also be best as a heel to start with.” “Lastly, since your boss rejected the other two guys I brought up with me, here’s Aero. Daredevil Aero.” “That’s his real name?” I enquired. “Nah, but it’s all a bit embarrasin’ really, so we don’t talk about it. He’s probably the best of the bunch, could really work as a plucky underdog face.” “Ok, thanks for the low-down. But why are you so… y’know, isolated?” I had noticed the little XDW group seemed to be keeping to themselves. Nobody else would talk to them, or sit close to them at all. The answer came from an unexpected source. “’CAUSE ‘E IS EH BASTARD!” yelled a masked wrestler, pointing an unwavering gloved finger at Xavier Reckless. It was El Ladrón. ‘The Thief’. “Umm, might I ask why you’ve come to this conclusion?” I said, quite taken aback by the strength of the accusation. “I sorry, boss. But ‘e was dissin’ da mask, an’ tried to take it off me, and all dis crap. Is no good! I here for wrestle, not disrespect an’ all bad things!” Ladrón sounded quite miffed. Fantastic. The first ever time this group of wrestlers gets together in the same room, a fight starts, and now we have two guys that dislike each other and a divide between the XDW crew and the Mexicans. This booking lark is more difficult than it looks. -=- One last visit to Bob was in order before the show started. Just to make sure everything was in order, and that he was in some sort of state to actually wrestle tonight. To my surprise, I found that he hadn’t touched aforementioned bottle of whiskey at all, and was sitting at his desk, in wrestling attire, fiddling with bits of paper. “Bob? Everything good to go?” “Yeah, sure, pal. Everything’s fine. Except, I found this piece of paper. I must’ve written it this morning, when I was… y’know. Anyway, it seems pretty angry and insistent, so I think you’d better read it. “We must NOT fall below #33 in the world rankings. Under no circumstances!” “I… Bob?” I gasped. “Sorry man, I wrote it, so I guess it counts as a goal. That shut me up. Good and proper. True, only thirty three wrestling promotions were recognized by Pro Wrestling Hits at the moment (that all-encompassing wrestling site to which all promoters turn when they want to know how well they’re doing), but all it would take is for one old flunkie anywhere in the world to open a new promotion, and we’d be 34th of 34. I could hear the Revolver… revolving.

[Showtime4Lajf]

Man, there are some really good '08 diaries with cool backstories right of the bat - this is definately one of them, in case you're wondering my opinion on the matter. Hope you take this bunch of misfits to the top.

[mad5226]

I cant wait this sounds beyond awesome

[MaxxHexx]

I saw 'Bob casey' and 'D-Lyrium' and instantly smiles. I could smell LDW 2.0. Even if Bin isn't in the promotion we need someone to have their finisher be 'The Mother F'n Kick To The Mother F'n Head'.

[foolinc]

Heh. I am planning on doing the exact same type of game (though Gil Thomas is my owner). This should be fun.