Six months ago.

Black ropes and a white canvas.

You certainly gain an interesting perspective in the wrestling business when you’re sitting in the back of a Traverse City, Michigan gymnasium. James Boyd was in Traverse City because he was scouting talent, because there really was no other reason why he would be shifting in a hard black steel chair trying to soften the spot to no avail, if not for this kid that he was watching wrestle in the ring.

Nibi Augustine had spiked up on Boyd’s radar after a Youtube video of the kid’s talent was e-mailed his way. Boyd couldn’t quite remember who sent the video, but it was a welcome gift none the less… the kid had something. He reminded James of Jimmy Gonz, in those earlier days of All-Star Championship Wrestling almost twenty years ago.

They hadn’t even signed Christopher Sheffield or Vince Jacobs yet, and yet, with a roster full of hungry talent… there was something special in the air. Gonz, ACW’s first home grown talent, a kid that Boyd and Charles Dunn had brought up from smaller grassroots feds, had really taken off in his own right. He was put in a program with Henry Irwenson, Ironsides, who had had a great run with the CWL but had left thanks to the backstage politics of Angus MacGregor… a hulking presence in pro wrestling at the time.

And even if there paths to that point couldn’t be more different, Ironsides and Gonz had made Dunn and Boyd more then proud. The storyline between the two, up to this point, was emotional, it was riveting, full of respect. Somehow both men had grown as great faces to the crowd. The comic element of RIP Wilson helped with that.

And the blow-off fight that night, between the two, for the newly minted Spirit of ACW… it had blown the crowd away. Jimmy Gonz had won, and Ironsides would continue to chase him. The crowd was so enthralled that the World Championship match later that night got barely half the reaction.

“They’re all going to remember this one day, those fans.” James Boyd grinned to himself as he whispered this again, in the school gym. Remembering that night in The Pyramid in Memphis. How he almost screamed it at Charlie, the both of them smiling there asses off. He was young then, he thought, and prone to hyperbole.

He flinched, thinking of what would happen to the many involved in the special moment of that night… but it, it didn’t matter not at the moment. That was the moment that his own wrestling dream had crystallized and the years from there held so much damn excitement and potential. James Boyd wanted to be lost in the good times today.

“You’re going to miss seeing what this guy can do, if you don’t pay attention. He's going... something.” Someone said to Boyd, jolting him out of his nostalgia. He turned to see a thirty something fellow, dressed up enough while still looking like he rolled out of bed, at least Boyd thought. The man nodded at Boyd, and then turned back to watch the action in the ring. Something caught James, and he tilted his head at the man.

“You. You’re Russel… David? Right?”

The man let out a bit of a laugh, and then turned back to Boyd. “Yeah. That I am, Mr. Boyd. I’m impressed, I’m not exactly known by my face.”

“Well after ACW won all those Mark Awards in 2005, I made it a point to remember who you where. So I could shake your hand when I finally met ya in person. Plus, hey, I know stuff. It's my job.” Boyd put out his hand, for David to shake, then pulled it back for a moment. “And either James or Boyd, but never Mister.”

“Fair enough.” Russel David nodded, then shook the hand of James Boyd. The moment they let go of it, David just up and went for it with a certain glint in his eye. “What do you think about starting another fed?”

James Boyd sat there for a moment and blinked. He couldn’t even get away from the wrestling press in Traverse City. Thinking about that for a moment though it didn’t make sense. The wrestling press wasn’t that good. So he answered the question with the quiet but strongly stated opinion that he had always been known for. “Well let’s see, the CWL had to go overseas, ACW is a growing indy fed as opposed to the national fed it used to be, the FWO is dead in the water after what happened with the scandal, the Squared Circle fell off television… a few years ago now…”

“Who ever said wrestling needed to be televised?” Russel David pointed out. It was only something that was left for the real money businesses out there, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a thousand indies either. Plus, David had always been a print man, anyway.

“You heard the rumblings with ACW, right? European television rights. Maybe. If you want to compete with a proven company like that. Plus PRIME. Of course you know the buyrates that Colossus brought in. Culture Shock too? I don‘t know if I can shepard another grass root league… I don't know if I have the... drive.” Boyd pointed out, right back. There was something in this guys heart, Boyd would give him that. He was looking for something more then an interview or a scoop. Something much more.

“That’s just the thing. They're something. They're impressive. But they’re federations. Painkiller fueled corporate empires built on backbreaking touring schedules.” Russel David had really gotten spirited now as he replied to Boyd, and it had grabbed the attention of a few people sitting around himself and Boyd. Including a mean trucker looking fellow in the row in front of them.

“What about Just?” Russel David continued, but quieter, so as not to bring the ire of the trucker in front of them, as the fellow went back to drinking his drink and cheering on the man wrestling against the Augustine kid. Boyd hadn‘t replied to David, he just couldn‘t peg a fed like Just. “My point exactly. It’s the strangest of products out there, for it’s own entirely different reasons.”

“So what do you have in mind?” Boyd said to Russel, still not entirely sure what neither was getting out of this conversation. Boyd suspected it was big however.

“Legion.” was all Russel said, as he turned back to the action in the ring again, and waited for it to sink in with Boyd. Which he could only hope it would.

It was music to the ears of the wrestling savant. Butterflies actually hit Boyd's stomach. “You ever hear that line that Brian Eno always said?”

“Tell me.” Was Russel David’s quiet reply, right now he was the student.

“While only a few thousand people bought the first Velvet Underground record upon its release, every single one of them was inspired to start a band. Well, I swear to god that almost every single person that was a Legion fan in the 70’s, went and became a wrestler or promoter. Myself included.” Those memories where all rushing back to Boyd, watching "Flyboy" Brian Sheffield and “the Paladin” William Sun fight, the legend of "Fabulous" Freddy Cassidy. The Legion Cup captured his imagination… and then… it had just...

“So who are you scouting for, anyway? ACW?” Russel David once again broke Boyd’s concentration. Boyd had been hard to find, watching one man wrestle here, and another there. Only 'here' and 'there' being smaller indies on either coast. David had found him in Traverse after hearing about his return from a CWL show in France.

“Nah, just a rainy day…” Nibi jumped off from the turnbuckle closest to Boyd and David, which meant that he was still pretty far away. Still, the grace of that kid was something to behold. The big trucker looking fellow roared with appreciation, and threw his cup into the air. The water in it rained down. Boyd squinted as some of the water speckled off his bald head, and onto his black shirt covered shoulders.

“They’re all going to remember Legion, one day.” Boyd grinned, and then chuckled, catching himself. He must be prone to hyperbole in his old age. Russel elbowed him in the side, before replying with a smile of his own.

“Only one day?”