The Scoop #1: On the Real...
June 25, 2009

Ok, listen, here's the scoop...

It was late last year, I was out of a job and sitting alone in my apartment in Queens when it hit me. The phone vibrated off the shelf and landed on my head. The caller I.D. read: Ben Black. I flipped open my shouldn't-be-that-expensive-but-is Sprint cellular telephone.

"Blackula, who you sucking off these days?" I answered.

"Well, soon it will be you," he replied and I set my recently lit cigarette in the ash tray and leaned forward in my chair. I brushed the bottle of Jack Daniels to the side and my interest was peaked.

"It's not often Benjamin Black calls Ellison in need," I said. "What's real?" My question was answered quickly. But, before I give away the story allow me to splinter into another. It will be quick and painless, I assure you.

I had been a professional wrestling analyst for years. I worked for the best companies in the business. I had the greatest network of contacts this industry had to offer. Yet, in the dawn of on-screen politics there lies on the other side of the curtain an evil politic that is rarely seen. I won't mention names and I don't snitch. For my brothers still kicking it on the streets then you know my reputation. I keep it on the real. That's the scoop, baby.

Yet, big wigs across the nation loathed my work with a specific sinister passion. They'd do anything and everything to backwash my stories into segments on television. They'd advise their wrestlers to debunk the already plausible myths I described in my columns. I was and still am a muckraker. A yellow journalist. But, unlike Mr. Kane I know my boundaries. Some days you have to take rosebud and wait. That's all I had to do.

I wrote a story about an up-and-coming talent in a promotion that still exists but shouldn't. I knew he'd be big. His future was expanding and so were the contracts. They lined outside his home ready to persuade and hand over a pen with enough ink to scribble his autograph after the X. I followed him twenty four hours a day, and nearly seven days a week. I literally wrote my stories from his living room. One day, in early June of 2005 that young man turned to me and said...

"Listen, man, you're tainting our image," and he looked away out into an empty gym recently purchased by a local wrestling promotion as a gift, an incredible early bird bonus for signing.

"I'm tainting OUR image?" I questioned. "Who's OUR?"

"My team," he said. "Your stories are getting me nowhere." I stared around his humanly empty gym filled with a million bones worth of muscle crunching material.

"Oh, I see," and I looked back at him. I adjusted my glasses. "I'm pretty sure I see a hefty salary coming from one of the greatest promotions around. This gym is yours, and worth quite a wad of cash. I've done nothing but play you up as the greatest neo-wrestler on the circuit. Yet, I'm tainting your, their, this team's image?" And he walked over to a weight bench and laid down. He grabbed the bars and lifted the weight out of its holder.

"Yeah," he grunted. "I can't be..." and he brought the weight to his chest and then pushed up about two hundred plus pounds of steel with ease. "I can't be seen with a journalist," and he continued to bench.

"Wait, what?" I said. I was flabbergasted; dumbfounded to say the least.

"You're hated around the industry," and he placed the weight back in its holder and sat up quickly. "You did your job, for me, but you can't keep tagging along. You'll find out soon, about me, but right now...you gotta go."

I walked away without saying a word. I couldn't believe it. Nonetheless, I continued to follow him. He stopped taking my advice. I witnessed it on the first show when he allowed them to give him the microphone. He buried himself with his own voice across the world. It was humiliating. I continued my job. The next story that reached the internet press arrived early the next morning. I destroyed him in under 15 words. It took one paragraph to announce my displeasure and then I moved on to reviewing the rest of the show. Good night, and good luck, kid. That's why you're no longer in the business. Yet, I tainted the imagery?

Somehow, amongst the mix of getting unintentionally even I found myself fired, terminated by my editor who told me I was tainting their website. I later found out it was because he was trying to befriend a millionaire tyrant who wanted me off staff.

"I want you on my staff," Black said. I knew Benjamin Black as a wrestler, but not a tyrant. I've always said that about the owner of a wrestling promotion. Yet, Black was a different man. He always had this soft spot when he wrestled. He was a fan-friendly face his entire career.

"Where do I sign?" I asked. Now, it's history. I work for Controversial Underground Wrestling, and I'm proud of it, too.

Here's what's on the real, my friends. New entrepreneur Benjamin Black has high aspirations. He's a motivated man with a real talent for making things work. His creative genius put him on the map as a performer and will expand the globe as a promoter. He can tangle with the best of them. I have faith in this new promotion which I find to be a real gem in the wrestling world. If you love wrestling like I do, then you'll love CUW. Think of it as a dream. Think of it as a blossomed dream. One man's dream. Think of it as your opportunity to make it in the business. Think of it as the best damn place you ever worked for.

That's the scoop, baby. And if you don't like that then you might want to smack your momma...

Scoop Baby E...outtie like a belly button.