Name: peter
Experience: Nothing in the past seven years or so. Before that, I handled in various feds…CEW, NWC, NWCal, The CAL and, for a few months, in WfWA. Also did match writing.
Wrestler Name: Erik Stalin
Wrestling Style: Power Striker (w/strongstyle and amateur wrestling experience)
Face/Heel: Face
Height: 6'5"
Weight: 280lbs
Hometown: Stoughton, Wisconsin
Stalin in one sentence: Fourth wall breaking, powerfully stiff wrestler who wants to bring believability back to wrestling for the sake of the fans.
Stalin’s overview: Erik Stalin has returned to North America, after years of working and training others in Japan, as a man on a mission. His mission is to push the wrestling industry to earn back the trust of wrestling fans. He intends to do that by leading by example.
Stalin is absolutely convinced that the biggest problem, in this age of sports entertainment, is that the public no longer believes in wrestling or wrestlers.
“How can they care if they don’t believe?” he’s asked anyone willing to listen. “Well, they’ll believe in me. They’ll believe in what I do in the ring. They’ll believe in what I say. Because what I do…because what I say…because I am…is 100% REAL.”
His reputation, earned in Japan, is that of a legitimately strong, large man (especially in his upper body) with excellent striking skills who works very stiff. While he has some mat and chain wrestling skills, the taped evidence of his in-ring work has shown that he generally tries to avoid ground work, preferring to remain on his feet. No footage has been found of Stalin tapping out of a submission move…and there is, on YouTube, a montage of clips where Stalin (usually masked, under the wrestling name of “Jaianto Robo”) is seen powering out of various submission attempts.
The locker room talk, coming from wrestlers who have worked in Japan and talked to wrestlers there that knew him, is that Stalin, privately, has made it clear that he wants to purge the world of wrestling of the ludicrous, the silly and the fake. That might not be a popular position to take while he’s looking for a job in the North American wrestling industry, so, even if that is his actual long term goal, Stalin is keeping his more extreme goals quiet in order to get the chance to get a toehold somewhere in a North American based organization and start to make an impact with fans.
Stalin’s history: College wrestler at University of Wisconsin, went to Japan and worked as both a wrestler (often in mask as Jaianto Robo) and trainer—working for Pro Wrestling NOAH, Pro Wrestling Zero 1, HUSTLE and BattlARTS. He has moved back to his hometown—taking ownership of what had been his family home, growing up.
Look of wrestler: He looks almost exactly like a larger Lance Storm—his upper body is decidedly more Lesnar-sized. Stalin’s look is pretty severe--no tattoos, no body hair, no facial hair, close cut haircut. When he wrestles, he is typically shirtless, he wears bright red elbow sleeves, bright red neoprene pants with bright red knee pads over the top, and bright red boots with black soles. When cutting promos, Stalin tends to wear a white or black t-shirt with one of his many catchphrase/mottos in simple text on it…and he does so standing in front of a full red background with the word “STALIN” in full capitals, black text.
Sample RP:
(Flash!)
“Oh, I like that. The intensity in your eyes…good, good.”
(Flash!)
“Right. Take another deep breath. Really expand that chest now…THERE!”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
“Turn towards me. Turn towards me. Nice.”
(Flash!)
“Can you flex your right arm…just a little bit more…make it pop. WHOA! YES!”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
On this day, if Erik Stalin had a silent mantra running through his head to encourage him to behave in the manner he knew that he should…rather than the way he wanted to…the word that he would be repeating throughout the process of getting new publicity photos taken for his hoped for entry into the North American wrestling market would be…professionalism.
(Flash!)
“All right. Let’s re-position you a bit here… That’s good.”
(Flash! Flash!)
This was part of the business, Stalin reminded himself. Wrestling companies hired performers as much on their looks as on their skills in the ring and he knew that. If he wanted to attract any interest from any of the major companies, it wouldn’t be enough to be big and strong. It wouldn’t be enough to have strong recommendations from the companies he worked for in Japan. It wouldn’t be enough to have a DVD full of his decent Japanese match work as proof that he knows what he’s doing inside a wrestling ring.
He’d have to look the part.
“Let’s get some more oil on that chest. And we’ll take some low angle stuff so it really accentuates your size…”
He nodded…while inside, he was hating every minute of this photo shoot. But, as he told himself earlier in the day, “Sometimes, you need to dance with the devil to get an invitation to the ball.”
And he wanted that invitation to the ball. He felt he was ready. He felt that now was the time that he could truly make an impact on this industry. Given the chance, he was certain that he could influence things from the inside. He could lead by example. He could make it more about what he could do than simply what he might look like.
Which is exactly what you have to think when someone you don’t know is rubbing oil on your bare chest as, at the same time, a man with a very expensive camera is lying on the floor in front of you, smiling encouragingly because you’ve paid him to do just that.
“I think we’re getting some really good shots here, Erik,” the photographer said, as one assistant applied oil to Stalin’s chest and another assistant lowered one of the light stands behind Stalin to get a strong backlighting effect.
“Good,” was Stalin’s succinct and entirely honest reply.
The light stand began to fight back against the assistant’s efforts to put it into the proper position, so the photographer’s instincts were to engage his subject in some small talk to keep his focus through the delay and the distraction. Had the photographer known Erik Stalin a bit better, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so concerned. As it was, the photographer’s sense of professionalism lead him into the following conversation.
“So, Erik…are we staying above the waist entirely today? Most bodybuilders I’ve done sessions with have at least wanted some full body sho--”
“I’m not a bodybuilder. I’m a fighter.”
“Oh, of course… Are you looking forward to getting into the octagon?”
“I don’t plan on it.”
“Well, you’re obviously not a boxer…just based on what you’re wearing, Erik. I just assumed that you were into that whole mixed martial arts thing…”
“No,” Stalin said with some firmness. “I’m a wrestler.”
This answer shouldn’t have taken the photographer aback. This was, after all, Stoughton, Wisconsin. Stoughton is a traditional high school wrestling powerhouse and this photographer must take hundreds of photographs of young wrestlers every year. And, Stoughton is close to Madison, which traditionally has one of the better college wrestling programs in the country. Wrestling is deep in the blood of the people who live here. Wrestling is part of the fabric of everyone’s lives, it feeds and defines the culture here.
And yet, the photographer was, indeed, taken aback…because Erik Stalin was clearly an adult and adults, surely, don’t wrestle.
And Stalin could see the puzzled look on the photographer’s face--a look that, as a professional, the photographer was trying to hide. Stalin could see it, because he’s seen it before.
“I’m a professional wrestler,” Stalin said.
The photographer couldn’t quite entirely stifle the chuckle upon hearing this. It was reflexive. The thought of professional wrestling conjured up so many ludicrous images in his head.
“You mean…with good guys and bad guys and feather boas?”
Stalin held his composure. Holding his composure was something he was good at. He’s had a great deal of practice.
“Not exactly that…”
“—because I don’t really see you in a feather boa, Erik,” the photographer said, intending that to be a compliment. “You look like you could really hurt someone…and not just pretend to hurt someone.”
“Well, then this photo session IS going very well.”
(Flash!)
“Good. Got one with you smiling there, Erik. Just in case you’re hoping to be a good guy at some point.”
Stalin sighed. He had intended on just gritting his teeth through this photo session, but this conversation was turning, as all of his conversations have had a tendency of doing, right into the path of the runaway train that was always racing through his mind—a train that Stalin couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to.
“It’s really not so much about ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’.” Stalin explained, patiently. “It’s about those who the fans will cheer for…and those who they react negatively towards.”
(Flash!)
“And what are you?”
The runaway train in Erik Stalin’s mind thought that this was the best question the photographer could have possibly asked.
“I’m someone that the fans will definitely cheer for…”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
“…because I’m something they’ve probably never seen in a professional wrestling ring.”
(Flash! Flash!)
“And what’s that, Erik?”
Erik Stalin looked in the camera lens as if he was not only answering the photographer, but as if he was looking deep into the souls of every fan or former fan of professional wrestling ever.
“I’m 100% real.”
(Flash! Flash! Flash! Flash!)
“What do you mean ‘real’? How can you be a professional wrestler and talk about being ‘real’?”
(Flash!)
As Stalin repeated his mantra in his head, the photographer continued a conversation that Stalin’s been hearing from everyone, everywhere.
“Isn’t wrestling fake?”
(Flash! Flash!)
“Isn’t it basically just a living cartoon?”
(Flash! Flash!)
“Isn’t it just soap opera for teenage boys?”
(Flash! Flash!)
“If you were REALLY interested in fighting…why wouldn’t you be pursuing a career in MMA? Isn’t that the hottest thing right now? And isn’t it supposed to be real?”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
Stalin took a deep breath before answering.
“Wrestling is supposed to be real,” he said, in a tone that sounded measured and restrained. “You’re supposed to be able to believe what you see in the ring. And you’re right, I think we’ve lost that.”
(Flash! Flash!)
“But I believe that I can make you believe again.”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
“I believe that when you see me in the ring…you’re going to believe that I’m trying to pin my opponent’s shoulders to the mat for three seconds…or that I’m trying to make him surrender the fight by making him submit…or that I’ve knocked him unconscious trying to do either of those things.”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
“It’s my job to make you believe that’s what I’m doing. And, if you believe that…then all of the other stuff…the showbiz stuff…the storylines…the crazy characters…that’s just the icing on the cake…which is was all that it was meant to be!”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
“For too long now, that stuff hasn’t been the icing…it’s been the cake. That’s NOT cake. You’ve got to have cake before you have any of that other stuff.”
(Flash! Flash!)
The photographer took this all in before asking the obvious question—the question that Erik has spent nearly a decade trying to find the perfect answer.
“So, Erik Stalin, let me ask you this…how are you going to make me believe that?”
“I’ve always found that the best way to make someone believe that you’re going to punch someone right in the face…” Stalin answers, balling his right hand into a fist, “…is to punch someone right in the face.”
(Flash! Flash! Flash!)
- - - - -
The miracle of digital photography means that you don’t have to wait around for weeks to get your prints back in order to see if whether the photographs you took turned out the way you hoped they would—you can see exactly what you have when you take it and you can walk out of a photography studio with your prints in hand.
So, after Erik Stalin’s session was over, he and the photographer went right to the photographer’s computer to review which shots would best work for Stalin’s purposes and should be printed out.
“I think these shots right here…when you were talking about being real…they came out the best.”
Stalin nodded.
“Not only does the angle make you look like huge…the light is just perfect… And look at your face!!! Look at that incredible face! That’s somebody I wouldn’t want to argue with…somebody I wouldn’t want to have to fight…”
“But…is it somebody you’d want to see somebody else fight?” Stalin asked, cutting, as ever, to the most important question.
The photographer looked over his shoulder and smiled.
“Oh yeah.”
And that’s when Erik Stalin smiled. He was going to get what he’d come there for.
The photographer mouse-clicked the appropriate on-screen buttons and the photo printer sprung to life.
“So, let me ask you something, Erik…”
And just that quickly, the smile on Stalin’s face was gone and the photographs couldn’t print fast enough.
“What about MMA? I mean, anybody who actually knows how to fight is fighting in the octagon now.”
“Well, half of them know how to lay on their backs and hold on, that’s for sure,” Erik replied, knowing full well that he couldn’t really express his feelings about MMA to someone who was, at best, a casual fan of the sport. “But I’m a wrestler…and I don’t need eight sides or a fence for people to think that what I do is real…”
“You can be as real as you want, Erik,” the photographer said, pulling the first completed print from the printer tray and handing it over to Stalin, “But everybody else in wrestling…is a bunch of actors in tights.”
This was another topic that Stalin’s been hashing about in his mind for years now. Is it enough for Erik Stalin to be seen as believable in the wrestling ring? Is that enough to bring the fans back to wrestling? Is one man really capable of changing an entire industry?
Stalin’s answer to the photographer was the same as the answer to the questions in his own head, “Well, when it comes to that…let’s just say that I’ve got a Five Year Plan…”
The photographer raised his eyebrows and watched as Erik Stalin pulled a manila envelope out of his bag. Stalin opened the envelope, which already had his resume, a collection of written recommendations and a DVD inside it. Stalin slid the newly printed photograph into it, closed it and sealed it.
The newly sealed manila envelope was addressed to the offices of the World Wrestling Alliance. If Stalin had a plan to change the world of wrestling in five years, it made sense to start at the top.
“So, you’re a man named Stalin with a Five Year Plan…” The photographer cracked a wry smile, shook his head and exhaled, deeply, with a heavy breath. “That certainly sounds dangerous.”
If the photographer was making a joke, the cold steel stare that Erik Stalin gave him in return showed that it wasn’t something that the wrestler felt was worth the smallest giggle. Instead, his reply was serious, cold blooded and, most importantly, real.
“You’re damn right, I’m dangerous.”
--end of sample rp--
STALIN MOVESET
Finishing Moves:
PINNING FINISHER: InstaFlowsion: Deadweight Emerald Flowsion with no delay before drop.
SUBMISSION FINISHER: The Red Dragon: Dragon Clutch
HIGH IMPACT FINISHER ON SAME SIZE OR SMALLER WRESTLER: Crash Thunder Buster
SURPRISE FINISHER: The Great Purge: Armlock Leg Sweep Facebuster
HUMILIATION FINISHER/POST-MATCH EXCLAMATION POINT: Expunge: Surfboard Curb Stomp
Typical Striking Moves:
Stiff Punches
Forearm & Elbow clubs and smashes
Knees and Kicks (fast front and quick side kicks)
Drops: Elbow, Fist, Forearm, Knee
Up Thrust Head Butt
Typical Holds:
Hammerlock
Dragon Sleeper
Typical Attacks:
Spear
Lariat
Clothesline (including short-arm and flying)
Bulldog
Crossbody Slam
Capture Suplex
Powerbomb
Body Slam
Dead Weight German Suplex
Typical Special Moves:
Bokator Double Elbow Slash
Savate Back Leg Sweep with additional Neck Chop
Silat Half Python
Silat Sinking Python
---
Strengths of Erik Stalin:
He is large, powerful and strong...with a high pain tolerance.
He is experienced and skilled as a wrestler/fighter.
He is confident in expressing himself clearly.
Weaknesses of Erik Stalin:
He is not an undefeatable monster and acknowledges that he can be out wrestled.
He isn't active socially, doesn't make friends easily...has to watch his own back.
He is limited by not liking working on the mat or going to the ropes.
His stiff style means that many wrestlers may not want to work with him.
