Post by ocwnewsline on May 27, 2016 11:46:48 GMT -5
The hiring process begins. After sifting through an impossible stack of applications, most of which were pointless, we’ve reached the final stretch.
Eight candidates remain; a final interview for each. One of these applicants will have what it takes to bring OCW into the current era of professional wrestling.
It’s a vision I’m seeking, a vision of something new, something different, something exciting…something marketable. Who will wow me? Who will win me over?
Come Monday I hope to have a clearer answer.
Our angle brings us a view over Jimmy Buffet’s shoulder. He’s seated in a straw chair. In front of him resides a wooden table. Atop is a tarp, held up by four bamboo poles. The entire set up resides on a beach, somewhere tropical. The sand is as white as salt, the ocean as blue as liquid sapphire…if that were, ya know, a thing.
A dark figure approached. Dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, a wife beater, and an unbuttoned, black collared shirt, he seemed familiar. A gold watch was strapped around his right wrist with a few gold chains hanging around his neck. Was it Dean?
Buffet tapped a pencil against his notepad. As the man drew closer, his height disproved this Dean theory. He appeared to be a shade under six feet.
Stepping under the tarp, the sun no longer concealed his facial features. It was Thad Washington, one of the final eight. He looked for a chair. There was only one. It held Buffet’s ass from falling into the sand. He looked at Buffet for a moment. A smile crossed his face. It was a game. He realized he was being tested.
He leaned forward with his palms on the wooden table, taking an aggressive posture.
“I appreciate you coming all this way.”
“Hey,” he smiled, “who wouldn’t want to spend a day at the beach?”
Buffet placed his right leg on top of his left. His right foot bounced around. Was it anxiety? Or, had Thad said something appealing?
“I’ve got lunch at noon, so let’s get down to business. Tell me your vision of OCW.”
Thad stood straight, crossing his arms. “Well, Mr. Buffet, I’d first like to thank you for the opportunity of being one of the final eight candidates considered to take control of OCW. I was in Compton during Hood Rich and saw just how powerful this brand can be, if helmed by the right man.”
Buffet broke in, “I don’t care about any of that. I was in Compton as well and my naked body was hauled off by many of its residents. To be honest, I’m a little annoyed you brought that up.” For the first time, Thad’s confidence appeared to have abandoned him. Buffet continued, “I don’t want your history with the damn company, I want your vision.”
“Alright then.” Thad unlocked his arms and began using them to express his ideas as he spoke, “I see more of a fighting style than before. No more of this mat based, conventional wrestling stuff. That shit is boring, it’s outdated. Fighting is what people want to see, two men, inside a ring tearing each other apart by any means necessary.”
“So, like MMA?”
“Not quite. No gloves, no rules, just fighting. In order to win, your opponent has to either be knocked out or they have to tap out.”
“Basically, brawling, street fighting.”
“Sure, if you wish to call it that.”
“And, what about the workers, how would their contracts be structured?”
“Fight by fight. If they win, automatic renewal, if they lose, well, it depends on whether or not they impressed me.”
“Insurance, wages, what are your views on that?”
“Shit, these guys are fighters. If they wanted some kind of financial package, they should have gone to college and became lawyers, doctors, whatever the fuck.”
“Well, I certainly like hearing that,” Buffet laughed. Thad mimicked his laughter.
Buffet had been scribbling notes down, short hand. “Start up cash, what are we looking at to get your vision off the ground?”
“Couple million, at most. Just enough to secure a location, promote the event, hire a few refs, announcers, and so forth and, of course, make sure the winner’s checks don’t bounce after the event.”
“Would you be looking to go global, national, regional…”
“Regional, mostly…there’s no sense in overreaching. If you provide a good enough product, people will hear about it. If we want to get our shit out nationally, we can do so through cable or satellite or the internet…however that works.”
“Makes sense…” Buffet brought his right leg to the ground. He flipped the pad over, onto the desk, hiding his notes. “Alright, Mr. Washington, this has been a very enlightening conversation. I’ve got seven other candidates to interview. Once I’m finished, I will let you know.”
Thad nodded, pleased over the interview. “Do I just hang around the island or what?”
“It’s up to you, not my island.”
Thad turned and exited the interview…hut? Tent? Buffet flipped his pad over and pulled down a previous page. He crossed out Thad’s name. The tip of his pencil pointed to the next name, Hombre.
One down, seven to go.
Eight candidates remain; a final interview for each. One of these applicants will have what it takes to bring OCW into the current era of professional wrestling.
It’s a vision I’m seeking, a vision of something new, something different, something exciting…something marketable. Who will wow me? Who will win me over?
Come Monday I hope to have a clearer answer.
Our angle brings us a view over Jimmy Buffet’s shoulder. He’s seated in a straw chair. In front of him resides a wooden table. Atop is a tarp, held up by four bamboo poles. The entire set up resides on a beach, somewhere tropical. The sand is as white as salt, the ocean as blue as liquid sapphire…if that were, ya know, a thing.
A dark figure approached. Dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, a wife beater, and an unbuttoned, black collared shirt, he seemed familiar. A gold watch was strapped around his right wrist with a few gold chains hanging around his neck. Was it Dean?
Buffet tapped a pencil against his notepad. As the man drew closer, his height disproved this Dean theory. He appeared to be a shade under six feet.
Stepping under the tarp, the sun no longer concealed his facial features. It was Thad Washington, one of the final eight. He looked for a chair. There was only one. It held Buffet’s ass from falling into the sand. He looked at Buffet for a moment. A smile crossed his face. It was a game. He realized he was being tested.
He leaned forward with his palms on the wooden table, taking an aggressive posture.
“I appreciate you coming all this way.”
“Hey,” he smiled, “who wouldn’t want to spend a day at the beach?”
Buffet placed his right leg on top of his left. His right foot bounced around. Was it anxiety? Or, had Thad said something appealing?
“I’ve got lunch at noon, so let’s get down to business. Tell me your vision of OCW.”
Thad stood straight, crossing his arms. “Well, Mr. Buffet, I’d first like to thank you for the opportunity of being one of the final eight candidates considered to take control of OCW. I was in Compton during Hood Rich and saw just how powerful this brand can be, if helmed by the right man.”
Buffet broke in, “I don’t care about any of that. I was in Compton as well and my naked body was hauled off by many of its residents. To be honest, I’m a little annoyed you brought that up.” For the first time, Thad’s confidence appeared to have abandoned him. Buffet continued, “I don’t want your history with the damn company, I want your vision.”
“Alright then.” Thad unlocked his arms and began using them to express his ideas as he spoke, “I see more of a fighting style than before. No more of this mat based, conventional wrestling stuff. That shit is boring, it’s outdated. Fighting is what people want to see, two men, inside a ring tearing each other apart by any means necessary.”
“So, like MMA?”
“Not quite. No gloves, no rules, just fighting. In order to win, your opponent has to either be knocked out or they have to tap out.”
“Basically, brawling, street fighting.”
“Sure, if you wish to call it that.”
“And, what about the workers, how would their contracts be structured?”
“Fight by fight. If they win, automatic renewal, if they lose, well, it depends on whether or not they impressed me.”
“Insurance, wages, what are your views on that?”
“Shit, these guys are fighters. If they wanted some kind of financial package, they should have gone to college and became lawyers, doctors, whatever the fuck.”
“Well, I certainly like hearing that,” Buffet laughed. Thad mimicked his laughter.
Buffet had been scribbling notes down, short hand. “Start up cash, what are we looking at to get your vision off the ground?”
“Couple million, at most. Just enough to secure a location, promote the event, hire a few refs, announcers, and so forth and, of course, make sure the winner’s checks don’t bounce after the event.”
“Would you be looking to go global, national, regional…”
“Regional, mostly…there’s no sense in overreaching. If you provide a good enough product, people will hear about it. If we want to get our shit out nationally, we can do so through cable or satellite or the internet…however that works.”
“Makes sense…” Buffet brought his right leg to the ground. He flipped the pad over, onto the desk, hiding his notes. “Alright, Mr. Washington, this has been a very enlightening conversation. I’ve got seven other candidates to interview. Once I’m finished, I will let you know.”
Thad nodded, pleased over the interview. “Do I just hang around the island or what?”
“It’s up to you, not my island.”
Thad turned and exited the interview…hut? Tent? Buffet flipped his pad over and pulled down a previous page. He crossed out Thad’s name. The tip of his pencil pointed to the next name, Hombre.
One down, seven to go.