Cornell University…the crème de le crème of institutions of higher education. The institution where the rich and uber wealthy try to grease hands to get their snob nosed, unqualified kids admitted so they can have a leg up on others in society, as though their fortune wasn’t enough as is. The place where, despite their academic aptitude, kids from lower socioeconomic backgrounds who deserve to get admitted, are left on the outside of the hallowed grounds looking in with envy. Another setback to add to the existing pile that continues to plague their lives.
Arcadia…the crème de le crème of civilization. Or. Is Arcadia all there is? Is there something out there, wherever out there may be, that provides a better quality of life? That provides better opportunities for those that inhabit it’s sphere?
O.S.W…a sliver of Arcadia that allows for those from all corners of Arcadia to live out their wildest imaginations. It is a place that allows grown men to wear masks, paint their faces, wear outlandish costumes, and, well…quite frankly whatever the hell else one’s heart desires. It is a place that welcomes the crazy, insane, decrepit, happy, mad, sad, lonely, and whatever other adjectives you can think of to describe humans.
A place that has just gotten a lot smarter.
Bartholomew Finkle…some would describe as a wunderkind, others as damn near genius, and the rest…lame. No matter how those around him view him and describe him, one thing is for certain. He’s the smartest man in every room he walks in, and the vaunted halls and ring and Old School Wrestling is no damn different. Take one good look at the man and it is easy to wonder if he is lost. The exquisite dress garments, with suspenders and bow tie to top it off, would easily confuse those who would see him in the OSW locker room or in the squared circle.
But rest assured…he belongs.
“Go ahead…ask me,” Finkle stares into the camera. “I know you want to ask me what in the flying squirrel nuts am I doing joining Old School Wrestling.”
He straightens his bowtie before continuing, “It’s simple…well, simple to me. For those in the locker room and the couch potatoes, it might take a while to register.”
“I don’t have to look like Tombstone, Jackson Cade, Nox, or The Yellow Python, to be here or to fit in. The macro economics of Old School Wrestling proves the place is draconian and on the verge of crashing. Now, those are two descriptions that people in my profession don’t like to hear. But I’m not here to talk about financial instruments. Instead, I’m here to tell you that the top few that have ruled can no longer sustain the viability of OSW. It is time for new entrants into the market that is the OSW ring. It’s about the supply meeting the demand of the consumer…the fans.
And I am the supply to meet that demand. The Professor will disrupt the market.”