Back in 2004, Jack Cassidy looked like he was going to be the next big thing, and Jeff Andrews was hiding under a hood as Ultra Raptor and winning the CAL World Title in War Games.  Since that particular War Games had every wrestler in it also booked earlier on the show, Jack dressed up as Raptor himself to make sure that Jeff went into War Games fresh.

Something like right after War Games, the fed they were representing, Calgary Rockies Wrestling, closed due to owner disinterest.  Jeff ended up working for OLW.  Although he’d sworn he’d never work there, it was all that was left.  And Jack ended up leaving the interfed scene and throwing his lot in behind a place called Pro Wrestling Spirit.

To make a long story short, indy wrestling is sleazy as hell, and Jack found that out the hard way. His career never recovered, he even quit wrestling for a couple years and dumped his hot girlfriend because she didn’t want to quit wrestling.

There’s also something in there about Jack thinking Jeff Andrews was a hypocrite and a fraud, because at the age of 22 he was all idealistic and he’d grown up watching Andrews wrestle and thinking he was awesome.

Thing change though, and Jack figured – he got as far as he did by cleaning up his attitude and not sulking about PWS anymore, so he’d forget the grudge against Andrews and go hang out with him.

Jeff Andrews was chillaxing at his home in Maryland.  Actually, he’d fired up the grill.

“Chilidawgs, brah.” He said as Jack parked the rental car and climbed out.

“Fukkin sweet.”  Jack responded appropriately.

Andrews tossed him a dawg, Jack scooped up some bowl o’ red style chili, some chopped raw onions, and two generous handfuls of shredded cheddar cheese.

Then he proceeded to annihilate his chilidawg.

And now your humble narrator is hungry, goddammit.

So he went to nuke himself some refritos, and by the time he got back, the obligatory upcoming match discussion thing was happening.

Jeff:
I don’t really have much of an opinion on Rich Mahogany, he and I’ve never crossed paths before.  I liked Barton back in the day, he and I are in full agreement that barbecue is awesome and if he were here right now he could have chilidawgs with us.  Pete Whealdon, he and I got a whole lot of similarities, actually, but where I adopted surliness, he adopted sleaze, and we both got burnt the fuck out by the Ultratitle.  If he hadn’t done the sleaziness thing I’d hook him up with a bro-fist, but who the hell knows where his fist has been, so I’ll make do with a respectful acknowledgement of acknowledged respectfulness or whatever.

Jack:
I have no comments and nothing to add.  Let’s go to Coldstone.

Jeff:
Hells to the yes.

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