Local-To-Global '85 - NWA Metro Pro Wrestling

[OGpistolpete]

This diary will serve as a local-to-global journey of “the newest NWA territory” starting in January 1985 using the Risky Business mod (thank you Matt Shannon and Jaysin.) The company I will be running will be a cheeky roleplaying account of the resurrection of the Detroit-territory within the NWA. Historically, the Detroit office stopped promoting shows around 1980 and the territory was essentially stagnant ever since. I will attempt to revive the Detroit-territory (to what it never was, lol) and book it as my own NWA territory.

 

High-Level Goals:

• Attempt to survive financially on a very limited budget. If money is lost, that’s game over!
  
  
• Naturally grow a company in the 1980’s territory days from nothing.
  
  
• Play realistically in a roleplaying aspect.
  
  

What I am starting with:

• $15,000 in the Great Lakes region.
  
  
• Zero popularity, zero prestige, zero roster, zero titles.
  
  
• Membership in the NWA.
  
  

 

Paying Up

 

“$10,000!?” I yelled, clenching my fist. “You’re telling me membership is $10,000?”

 

“That’s not including yearly dues, kid.” The smoke billowed from his mouth. I watched as the cigar smoke whimsically trailed its way from his abhorrent gob, undercutting my nose. The cigar was rich, scented with zero remorse.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve barely got enough to get this thing off the ground and you want me to drop $10,000 just like that as ‘initiation’ into the alliance? I told you I wanted to get in the business to make money, not throw it away!” Turning bright-red, I realized I was about to lose my cool and resorted to an old technique my grandfather had taught me… Five deep breaths…

 

“Listen, I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them. And that’s a discount kid, trust me. Nobody wants to book Detroit now, nobody’s booked Detroit in five years, and nobody really booked it well in the past 40… I’m not sure why you’re so interested in it, but the Board thinks it’s worth a shot in the dark. Now, like I said, your initiation fee is $10,000. Write the check to me and I will handle the rest. Then, you can slap those three letters at the top of that sheet on whatever you want. Your posters, your tee-shirts... hell, you can tattoo that puppy on your ass for all I give a damn, but you ain’t doin’ anything with that N-Dubya-Eh until you cough up the dough. So what’s it gonna be? You gonna run this thing with no experience, no contacts, no network, and think you’re gonna last three days out here? Or are you gonna make the right choice and leverage everything we can bring?” He said firmly. I could tell he had been through this before.

 

“I give you $10,000, you know what that leaves me with!?” I exclaimed.

 

“No, and I don’t really care. You fail, you’re dust in the wind, daddy. Nobody will even blink an eye.”, followed by a cough from the cigar.

 

“You don’t understand, this throws off all my planning! I calculated twenty-five thousand is what I could come in with and have a go at it, you want me to kick this thing off now with only fifteen-thousand? Are you out of your mind?” I yelled, he was making me hot.

 

He took another puff before remarking, “sign the damn check and quit wasting my time.”

 

I opened my checkbook slowly, thinking of all the hard-earned sweat and tears I had put myself through just to get to this moment. Countless hours worked, saved, treasured… one signature away from jumping into the deep-end of an experiment that’s going to land me in deep-shit if it’s not a success.

 

“Forget a pen?” He laughed.

 

I must not have realized just how long I was staring at the blank check, but I blinked twice and came back to reality just before reaching into my pocket and pulling out the pen. I stalled again once it hit the paper, but a sense of carpe diem overcame my hand and proceeded to cut the check. Ripping it out of the booklet, I placed it in his hand. He looked it over, grunted, and put his cigar out on my kitchen table.

 

“Nice doin’ business with you, kid.” He fooled around with his worn and faded brown suit jacket, classic touch on top of his shanty black pants. Coming to his front breast pocket, a business card slithered out towards my way. “This number’s all you need now. Don't call too late, or things might get a little freaky, catch my drift? This check bounces, I’m coming back and bouncing your ass on the curb, got it?” He smirked, proud of his boast, buttoning up his jacket and heading out the door. As it shut, the house stood silent.

 

“What the hell did I just get myself into?”

[Larrikn]

hell yeah, love me a diary with world building.

[OGpistolpete]

Newt

 

I waited a day to call the card. I couldn’t bring myself to it at first, wondering what was waiting on the other side. Sleepless all night, worried I just got scammed. I don’t even think I took the guy’s number down before he left, how would I ever get back in contact again if I needed? What if this was all a joke? The next morning, I would find out. I picked up the card and rolled the numbers on my telephone. A couple rings later, it picked up on the other line…

 

“Hello?” I said nervously.

 

A robotic voice answered on the other side. I was taken aback.

 

“Hello- and- welcome...to, National Wrestling Alliance Tele-Station. Your number one source for all NWA business matters. You can call me Newt, for short. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

 

“Um, Newt? Hi, my name is Tommy. I just purchased the-” I was cut off.

 

“Hello! I am Newt! To what do I owe this pleasure?” it repeated.

 

“Newt?”

 

“Hello, I am Newt! To what do I-”

 

“Newt! Hello? Are you a real person!?” Was my temper boiling again?

 

“Calculating… Hello, unfortunately I am unable to determine if I am a real person or not. I do not believe it is a part of my programming. Would you like additional information?”

 

“Additional informa- Yes! Additional information!” I piped up.

 

“Calculating… Hello, additional information proceeding… I am the National Wrestling Alliance Tele-Station, your number one source for all NWA business matters. You can call me Newt, for short. My purpose is to provide all NWA offices with resources and assistance in all of their business matters. This includes but is not limited to: booking talent, booking shows, rolodex information, financial assistance, news from around the Alliance, and more. Please listen to the following prompts for which area you would like assistance with. Dial 1, for booking shows. Dial 2, for booking talent. Dial 3, for-” the message stopped as soon as I let the phone roll back from having dialed 1. The system took a couple seconds before picking back up.

 

“You have selected- option 1. Booking shows. It is your responsibility as owner of an NWA office to book shows for your territory. To book a show, you will need to locate a venue to propose hosting your live event in. You will need to provide payment for using the venue. You will need to determine a date and time the show will proceed, as well as how long it is expected to last. You will need to determine ticket price. You will need to-” I was furiously writing down these notes. Much of this I already had in mind since day one, obviously, but I didn’t want to miss a step. I still couldn’t believe this system even existed. I had heard of automatic answering machines, but this was something more...

 

By the end of the messages, I had run through all of the options. Newt, as I began to call it, was covering nearly everything I needed. Unfortunately, I had come to the serious realization that this thing was not going to get the jumpstart I was hoping for. With my $15,000 budget in mind, it was clear I was not going to be able to bring in the sort of talent I had envisioned in my dreams. I knew the likes of Ric Flair was far out of reach, but others I had marked high on my list, they were clearly too expensive at this point. I needed to be a smart financially as possible, everything was riding on this being a success. After jotting down a list of at least twenty-five workers, I waited until the afternoon to begin making cold calls.

 

“Detroit?” the voice over the other end laughed back. “Detroit is back? And you’re running it? Oh geez, oh wow… I mean, wow, that’s great, great to hear!” The forced answer was obvious, clearly not looking to offend me.

 

“I want to bring you in as my top draw. From what I’ve seen, you’re everything I need to kick this thing off right.” Nearly gritting my teeth. I could tell he was lying about his belief in my abilities to make something last in Detroit. I was hoping he could tell I wasn’t lying about my genuine interest in booking him.

 

“Hmm… yeah, give me a date and time and I can probably be there.”

 

I wasn’t surprised.

 

“Great, talk to you soon, Bobo.” I hung up the phone and circled his name in the middle of my list. Next to it, I placed a star.

 

“Bobo Brazil, Junior. Bobo. Brazil. Junior. Bobo…” I kept repeating it. Like I couldn’t believe it. Based on what Newt was telling me, Bobo was the biggest, cheapest draw I could find in the Great Lakes area. Son of the legendary Bobo Brazil, he was a few years into his professional wrestling career, and worked over in the Indianapolis-area with World Wrestling Association, an AWA-affiliated territory. “Calypso Jim!” I suddenly remembered what he said he went by. He didn’t want to use the Bobo Brazil name to make his way through the business and had come up with his own moniker he had been using since his debut in the sport.

 

But I couldn’t be concerned with what I wanted to book, who I wanted to work with, what my vision was from the very start. Things were different and my wallet was much tighter than I had planned for. So if Calypso Jim wanted a few bucks to main event my show and didn’t even need me to cover travel, then I was okay with that. In fact, this was my approach with the entire roster. It took me a couple days to play phone tag, get in contact with the right people, and work my way down my list of interests (only to end up with a list of disinterests). My main concerns were signing the most popular workers available to me at the lowest budget, with at least some decent skill set, and all based in the Great Lakes region so I could avoid paying anyone’s travel. By the end of the weekend, I had my roster laid out. I categorized them by “perception” of where I thought they likely stood.

 

Major Stars

Calypso Jim -

Face

- Old School Face - The secret son of Bobo Brazil

Stormy Granzig -

Heel

- Old School Heel - Former bodybuilder, mainly works in the South

The Great Wojo -

Heel

- Wrestling Machine - Fantastic former amateur wrestler

Sam DeCero -

Heel

- Apocalyptic Soldier - Mad Max wannabe

Moose Cholak -

Face

- Moose Man - Literally wears real moose antlers in the ring

 

Stars

Buzz Tyler -

Face

- Lumberjack - Big, burly guy from British Columbia

Rick Steiner -

Face

- Athlete - Local former amateur wrestler

Mike Jackson -

Face

- Old School Face - Competent babyface enhancement talent

Jason Knight -

Heel

- Cocky - Good looking young kid with charisma

Al Burke -

Heel

- Obnoxious - Has one of the those super-punchable faces

Baby Bull -

Face

- Bad Ass - Super heavy guy, but apparently moves good for a guy his size

 

And that was that. Major stars and stars... that should be good, right? My first roster. And boy did I hate it. Nonetheless, I felt I had no option but to proceed with this group of misfits. Some are newer to the business, others only expanding their reach to the Great Lakes area. All at the cheapest possible price for the most bang-for-my-buck in terms of drawing power.

 

I knew that was my number one objective at this point.

Bring in the highest drawing power I could, at the cheapest price, so I could put my new promotion on the map as soon as possible.

Once I could draw a consistent crowd and start breaking even, then I could start reaching out to better talent and build from there. I wasn’t worried about presenting a commendable card, having the hottest talent, or bringing in big names from other territories. I knew tag teams and other multi-man matches were out of the question. I had to pull off a simple card with minimal talent.

[Levinux]

Ah yeah! Bring on the Cobo Hall matches!

[Dalton]

Lovin it! Push Baby Bull!

[Hitman74]

Excited for this one.

[OGpistolpete]

Who Screwed Who?

 

“Who’s calling!?” the man screamed over the line. I pulled the phone back a bit from my ear for a second, surprised by the hostility in the response.

 

“Tommy John, sir. I’d like to talk to you about a job.”

 

“A job? Yeah? You think that’s funny? Having Billy have ‘ya call me to tell me if I’m lookin’ for a job. You know what you no good, rotten, piece-of-!” I didn’t get to the rest before cutting him off.

 

“Woah, woah, sir, sir, no. I’m not calling for any Billy. Sir I’m calling about a job in Detroit!”

 

“A job in Detroit? Ha! Trying to say I’m going to the grave? Well let me tell you somethin’ if you wanna talk about ridding me off here! You think you can kick me outta Indy, well boy I got-” He was fuming over the line. Like a mad man on a rampage, he was ready to verbally assault anyone who put an ear to listen.

 

“Sir, sir, sir, please, no! I’m not talking about Billy or Indy, I don’t know anything about what you’re mentioning. Now if you would please hear me out, I’d like to offer you a job with the NWA in Detroit. My name is Tommy John and I’m opening business back up for the NWA up here in Michigan. I’ve already got quite the roster assembled and I need some help backstage. I need someone who can manage these guys, someone with the experience like you sir. Now from what I understand, I know you’re down there in Indy with the WWA, but-”

 

“No I’m not! Ha! Not any longer! That rotten sumabitch Billy sure lived up to his name! Dick! Ha! He ran me out of town! Stole my business right out from under my nose! Dick the Bruiser? You ever heard of ‘em? Of course you haven’t! Because all he’s ever done is bruise his damn reputation in my town! I bought Indy! It’s my town! He doesn’t own it! My lawyer is all-” at this point I was worried if I didn’t cut him off he’d be out of breath permanently.

 

“Woah, woah, ran you out of town? What do you mean? Like he screwed you?”

 

A bit of heavy breathing trickled in. “Boy, you think I got screwed?”

 

“Uh…” maybe that wasn’t the right thing to ask.

 

“You think Dick the Bruiser screwed me? Wilbur Snyder? Do you know who I am boy? I’d stretch Dick from Indy to Japan and back! That bastard wouldn’t last one minute in the ring with me! Ha! He told me once he’d hook me so hard I’d be crying for my mama! Next thing you know I’ve got him on the ground with what I’d call an Alaskan fishhook, it was like milking tears from his eyes! He knows who he’s messing with, but that’s not why he got rid of me! No, he’s just a greedy bastard, just like the lot of ‘ya! All you promoters! Thieves I say! Just out here lookin’ for a-”

 

“Can- can I cut you off there Wilb-”

 

“No you can’t cut me off! I ain’t done speakin’ to you yet!” He voiced angrily.

 

“Sir, I’m not trying to-”

 

“Trying to what? Screw me?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Well I know you ain’t kid, your name ain’t Dick!”

 

…

 

After an awkward silence, we both laughed. I got him to calm down and I seemed to take on a liking with him. Wilbur was supposedly one of the best technicians in the ring during his heyday, inventor of the abdominal stretch, so I wasn’t rolling my eyes when he said he could hook Dick to next Tuesday. I was informed he was co-running the office in WWA, and was taking a serious shot in the dark considering I didn’t know the guy and that the WWA was working with the AWA and not the NWA after a falling out. I warmed him up and bit and was soon back to my pitch. Suddenly looking for work, I expected him to charge an exorbitant fee. I guess he forgot to mention the large sum of money he was bought out for by Dick the Bruiser until the end! Either way, he agreed to work dates for me up in Detroit for a very modest fee. I appreciated him greatly by the end of the call, and said I’d give him a ring soon to see how he was doing before the weekend of the first show.

 

Next on my list… Tommy D’Amore? A regular referee of the NWA circuit, I got his phone number from Wilbur just by chance.

 

“Hi, is this Tommy? Tommy D’Amore?” I asked.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hi Tommy, I’d like to see if you’d be interested in running some dates up in Detroit?”

 

“Sure, bud. Be happy to."

 

Well, that was easy...

[DinoKea]

Definitely excited to see where this goes. Local to Global real world definitely isn't something you see very often.

[GooverDan]

Ok, I'm definetly gonna follow this series. This sounds way more interesting than I thought. A Local to Global story sounds really cool.