Post by Kelsey Spencer on Sept 12, 2016 3:25:49 GMT
I had spent years on the Australian indy wrestling scene. My whole career, in fact. I thought I had peeked with winning the DUW Women’s Championship; there were no more worlds left to conquer. Professional wrestling isn’t showcased in Australia the same way it is in other countries, so you’d reach the pinnacle of the industry in your country long before you’d reach your full potential as an athlete or a competitor.
The jump to the United States was imperative, but I lacked the confidence to make it on my own. Lucky for me, there was someone willing to guide me through the change.
“No, Kelsey! You can’t go around doing that!” Rebecca’s swift hand smacked the kitchen counter of the lavish presidential suite we were staying in. It was a lot for a suburban girl like myself to take in - coming from a quiet neighbourhood in southeast Queensland, it was my first time staying in such an extravagant setting. You could fit my childhood home into that one room five times over! Or, at least that’s how it seemed in my mind’s eye.
I met Becky Saint in the summer of 2011, back on the Australian independents, whilst she was FBW Women’s Champion. We had a physical match - albeit a short one - where she dominated and destroyed me. She was incredibly gracious though, shaking my hand after the match and helping me to the back. That’s the Becky Saint people over here never got to see - they just saw the cold and ruthless human being she morphed into after years and years of mistreatment. Where most would see her as a lost cause, I continued to hold onto the hope that my old friend was still in there...somewhere.
On that particular day, she was cross with me for giving an interview to the press regarding our transition from Australia to the United States. Well, they were more interested in her, to be honest - they had no clue who I was. One of Rebecca’s conditions for agreeing to come over here and train me was that I didn't interact with “common folk” - at the time, I didn't exactly know what that meant.
But, as time went on and I learned more about Miss Saint and her social circle, I discovered that she came from a privileged lifestyle. Always accompanying her was the sharply-dressed, strong and silent Thaddeus - Thaddeus Blaine van der Rohe III, if you want to be precise. The Nigerian native always handled Rebecca’s business for her; I guess it goes back to the rule against common folk interaction. Whenever I needed to speak to Rebecca, I’d have to convince Thaddeus to request a moment of Miss Saint’s time for me. Apart from that, I’m not sure what else Thaddeus really did - he’d pick me up, take me to Rebecca, and stand in the corner silently until it was time for me to leave.
“Sorry, I’ll try and remember that in future,” I timidly apologised. I was pretty submissive back then, as you can probably imagine - standing up for myself was definitely not on my list of abilities, and I think Rebecca knew that. I think that’s half the reason she took me under her wing, because she knew she could manipulate me into doing anything she wanted.
“See to it that you do,” she snapped, uninterested in speaking to me anymore than she had to. See, I was under the impression that she was doing me a favour, so I had to be grateful. That’s certainly the way she carried herself, too. “As you know, we make our debut tomorrow night.”
“Yeah! And I can’t wait!” I announced with arms spread wide open. My enthusiasm was met with the ever-so-warm reception of chirping crickets. Rebecca’s expressionless face told the story - she was not impressed. I glanced over to Thaddeus, who was wearing his trademark poker face as usual. My arms suddenly felt the force of gravity as they returned to my sides before I even knew what I was doing.
“It’s that kind of attitude we need to focus on eradicating,” Rebecca informed me as she flipped her hair to fall over just one of her shoulders. In her mind, the way I looked at life was wrong and needed to be adjusted in order for us to be successful as a unit; it was her way or the high way. She folded her arms and approached me. “Remember; when you’re wrestling that match tomorrow night, you’re representing the Socialites! You’re representing the Rebecca Saint brand, you got it?”
“Yup, Becky - I got it,” I said, to yet another cold reception. My answer wasn’t satisfactory.
“Excuse me?” she retorted. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Uhh, I don’t think--”
“You will only refer to me as Miss Saint. Got it?”
I had let that little detail slip my mind. I can only assume she meant it as a sign of me showing my respect and devotion to her cause, but Rebecca had demanded I call her Miss Saint at all times - even when it was just us in a room with no cameras.
“Yes, Miss Saint… Sorry, Miss Saint…”
I was stunned by what came next - a sharp, harsh slap to the face.
“Lose the attitude!” she shouted. “I’m not going to tell you again!”
This probably sounds horrible to you. Why would I willingly go through her torture? I needed help. I had zero confidence in myself at this point, and I needed somebody who could guide me through this. She may not have been the nicest person ever, but she was my friend once upon a time - my first friend - and she was also a darn good wrestler to boot.
I went on to win my US debut match the following night in emphatic fashion, and thus The Bellis Street Socialites were born. While I knew I'd never receive praise for a job well done, inside, I felt fantastic! When you go into a match anticipating the worst and come out with your hand raised, it's a huge confidence booster. Despite Rebecca not caring, I felt tremendous - like I was ready to take on the world - like I was going to be a big deal.
Little did I know, I still had a lot more of Miss Saint's training to overcome.
To be continued...
The jump to the United States was imperative, but I lacked the confidence to make it on my own. Lucky for me, there was someone willing to guide me through the change.
December 13, 2015
“No, Kelsey! You can’t go around doing that!” Rebecca’s swift hand smacked the kitchen counter of the lavish presidential suite we were staying in. It was a lot for a suburban girl like myself to take in - coming from a quiet neighbourhood in southeast Queensland, it was my first time staying in such an extravagant setting. You could fit my childhood home into that one room five times over! Or, at least that’s how it seemed in my mind’s eye.
I met Becky Saint in the summer of 2011, back on the Australian independents, whilst she was FBW Women’s Champion. We had a physical match - albeit a short one - where she dominated and destroyed me. She was incredibly gracious though, shaking my hand after the match and helping me to the back. That’s the Becky Saint people over here never got to see - they just saw the cold and ruthless human being she morphed into after years and years of mistreatment. Where most would see her as a lost cause, I continued to hold onto the hope that my old friend was still in there...somewhere.
On that particular day, she was cross with me for giving an interview to the press regarding our transition from Australia to the United States. Well, they were more interested in her, to be honest - they had no clue who I was. One of Rebecca’s conditions for agreeing to come over here and train me was that I didn't interact with “common folk” - at the time, I didn't exactly know what that meant.
But, as time went on and I learned more about Miss Saint and her social circle, I discovered that she came from a privileged lifestyle. Always accompanying her was the sharply-dressed, strong and silent Thaddeus - Thaddeus Blaine van der Rohe III, if you want to be precise. The Nigerian native always handled Rebecca’s business for her; I guess it goes back to the rule against common folk interaction. Whenever I needed to speak to Rebecca, I’d have to convince Thaddeus to request a moment of Miss Saint’s time for me. Apart from that, I’m not sure what else Thaddeus really did - he’d pick me up, take me to Rebecca, and stand in the corner silently until it was time for me to leave.
“Sorry, I’ll try and remember that in future,” I timidly apologised. I was pretty submissive back then, as you can probably imagine - standing up for myself was definitely not on my list of abilities, and I think Rebecca knew that. I think that’s half the reason she took me under her wing, because she knew she could manipulate me into doing anything she wanted.
“See to it that you do,” she snapped, uninterested in speaking to me anymore than she had to. See, I was under the impression that she was doing me a favour, so I had to be grateful. That’s certainly the way she carried herself, too. “As you know, we make our debut tomorrow night.”
“Yeah! And I can’t wait!” I announced with arms spread wide open. My enthusiasm was met with the ever-so-warm reception of chirping crickets. Rebecca’s expressionless face told the story - she was not impressed. I glanced over to Thaddeus, who was wearing his trademark poker face as usual. My arms suddenly felt the force of gravity as they returned to my sides before I even knew what I was doing.
“It’s that kind of attitude we need to focus on eradicating,” Rebecca informed me as she flipped her hair to fall over just one of her shoulders. In her mind, the way I looked at life was wrong and needed to be adjusted in order for us to be successful as a unit; it was her way or the high way. She folded her arms and approached me. “Remember; when you’re wrestling that match tomorrow night, you’re representing the Socialites! You’re representing the Rebecca Saint brand, you got it?”
“Yup, Becky - I got it,” I said, to yet another cold reception. My answer wasn’t satisfactory.
“Excuse me?” she retorted. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Uhh, I don’t think--”
“You will only refer to me as Miss Saint. Got it?”
I had let that little detail slip my mind. I can only assume she meant it as a sign of me showing my respect and devotion to her cause, but Rebecca had demanded I call her Miss Saint at all times - even when it was just us in a room with no cameras.
“Yes, Miss Saint… Sorry, Miss Saint…”
I was stunned by what came next - a sharp, harsh slap to the face.
“Lose the attitude!” she shouted. “I’m not going to tell you again!”
This probably sounds horrible to you. Why would I willingly go through her torture? I needed help. I had zero confidence in myself at this point, and I needed somebody who could guide me through this. She may not have been the nicest person ever, but she was my friend once upon a time - my first friend - and she was also a darn good wrestler to boot.
I went on to win my US debut match the following night in emphatic fashion, and thus The Bellis Street Socialites were born. While I knew I'd never receive praise for a job well done, inside, I felt fantastic! When you go into a match anticipating the worst and come out with your hand raised, it's a huge confidence booster. Despite Rebecca not caring, I felt tremendous - like I was ready to take on the world - like I was going to be a big deal.
Little did I know, I still had a lot more of Miss Saint's training to overcome.
To be continued...