The truth is that I’m a little nervous about doing this interview. I’ve been a journalist for 8 years now and during that time I’ve been lucky enough to be sat in some rooms with some very important and powerful people. I’ve sat with business leaders and heads of state in my time, not to mention Hollywood a-listers. So really, I should be used to the pressure that comes with dealing with the difficult interview.
However, this guy isn’t really like interviewing any one of those categories I mentioned above - he’s more like a nightmarish amalgam of all three. I’ve interviewed him once before, but that was in a media scrum where I had four colleagues with me all shooting questions. This time its just me and him. I don’t have anyone to deflect questioning to, or to cover when my mind goes blank. I have to rely on my mouth not drying up when he locks those ice blue eyes on me and stares a hole in the back of my head.
Its Tuesday 8rd March and I’m at a surprisingly small boutique hotel in London’s Mayfair. I might have expected somewhere like the Dorchester or the Savoy, or even the newly opened W on Leicester Square. After all, the man can afford it. However, he’s also known for not being obvious, and the fact that I had never heard of this place before I came here today leads me to believe its the sort of place that doesn’t need to shout about either its prices, its luxury, or its clientele. Sure enough, as I walk through the front door and into a lobby which appears straight out of a stately home in the 19th century, I feel seriously underdressed in an off-the-peg suit.
I walk past the antique sofas and deeply rich wooden tables toward the reception desk, but before I get there, I am intercepted by a concierge with the most impeccable manners and bearing of anyone I’ve ever met. His immaculate suit, perfect hair, and warm voice have the air of quality which the aforementioned Savoy and Dorchester, not to mention the W, would kill for.
“Mr Beam?” he asks with a slightly raised eyebrow. I nod and go to pull my press card for him, but he’s already taking my elbow and moving me toward a corridor to the left of reception.
“Welcome sir, your meeting will take place in the library, if you’d like to come this way”
I am swept down a small corridor past oak panelling which must have been here since Victoria was on the throne, past paintings which look - even to my untrained eye - like they are worth more than my house, and toward a set of large doors. The concierge opens the door and leads me into a truly impressive looking library. Its the sort of feature you’d love all these old hotels to have. Floor to ceiling bookcases on all sides stacked up with old volumes, a large table in the middle sporting the day’s newspapers and key periodicals, and an, at the moment dormant, open fireplace on the far wall. Wingback chairs and chesterfield sofas are scattered around the place, and if I could ever afford a weekend in this place, I could very well sink into a chair in here and never leave. Its glorious.
I’m directed to a table at the back of the room where a coffee pot is sitting along with a jug of orange juice and a place of muffins. My host asks if he can get me anything else, but I say I’m fine and pour myself a coffee. He says my interview will be along in a moment. Personally, he can take all day for all I care. I’m happy here. My nerves have even maybe disappeared a little as I lose myself in the books. I love old books; there is something quite comforting about them, and as I browse I begin to lose myself a little. On the shelves I come across a series of books on travels to Europe, written in the middle 1850s, and open the one on France. As I start to read, I don’t notice the door to the library open, or the figure that steps inside.
“Fascinating, aren’t they?”
The voice jolts me out of the past and back spinning to the present, physically jogging me so much that coffee slops from the cup I’m holding into the saucer. I shove the book back onto the shelf and spin around, to be confronted with the man I’m here to interview.
David Shand
Shand is standing by the fireplace regarding me with a look which tells me that although he’s agreed to this interview, its not something he really wants to be doing. In the second or so it takes me to regain my mental footing, I detect that’s already sized me up and got the exact measure of where I am as an opponent. He’s dressed casually in a pair of black trousers and a black sweater which stretches over his enormous frame. However, even like that he seems more formally turned out that I am. Perhaps its his bearing. Shand never seems casual or informal. One colleague of mine described it well when he said David Shand was never relaxed - he was like a volcano and just temporarily dormant. At any time the lava could start spitting again.
“Er, Hello Mr Shand. Yes, its a wonderful collection and....”
“Thank you, we’re quite proud of it”
“We? Do you?....”
“I bought this hotel a couple of years ago. Its convenient having a London base, and I didn’t want it to be bought by some awful corporate chain.” He indicates two wingback chairs over to the side of the room “Now, why don’t we sit down and get started?”
I nod and make for the chairs, digging into my bag to produce a digital recorder, together with my notes for the interview, and a laptop. I note David is holding an iPad as he sits down, resting the machine on the small table to his left. He doesn’t object when I ask about the recording equipment, but I notice he does watch carefully what I’m doing. Now I am this close to him, it is intimidating. Obviously his physical presence looms over me - he really is an incredible size - but its more than that. I’m not one of this psychic rubbish, but he does give off a sort of aura about him. You can feel him.
OK, enough of that, I need to get down to business, so I shoot out the first question.
“David, I realise that this might be a difficult question, but I want to ask you about the end of the last press conference you did with My-ron Novaar. That ended rather abruptly and with you and My-ron nose to nose. After the cameras cut off, you stormed off stage. I was wondering if you’d talked to Novaar since and how your friendship is doing at this stage - do you regret that things got to that stage?”
TBH, I know I’ve taken a risk diving straight in with this. He might very well clam up and refuse to answer, or I might get his back up by mentioning the situation. But I may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Surprisingly though, he doesn’t seem in the least bit ruffled. He simply considers my question for a second.
“Yes” he offers at last “ I have spoken to My-ron since that incident, and we’ve talked through a couple of things. Anyone that understands the nature of our friendship knows that it has a tempestuous nature to it and that from time to time there will be issues on which we don’t agree and where that disagreement is strong. It will always be that way when you have two forceful personalities such as My-ron and myself. On that occasion there was an issue where I felt that he didn’t understand my perspective and where I felt it would be better if he didn’t speak until we’d discussed it further. I perhaps took the wrong approach in a public forum to communicating that. The situation is different now. But before you ask, I’m not going to comment further on the situation itself. Suffice to say that my friend and I have resolved our differences.”
Clearly that was a warning as much as anything, and I am not about to push my luck too far and push for answers on the situation with Fireball. Instead, I opt for more recent happenings.
“David, if I can ask, have you seen the press conference which took place yesterday between Chio Reto and Rob Arnold”
Shand’s lip curls in a disagreeable fashion as though he has a bad smell under his nose. “Yes” he replies “ I saw it - both sides of it”
“Can I get your thoughts on the comments made?”
“I’ll do you one better than that Mr Beam, I’ll give you two sets of comments because I have two very different views on the two individuals concerned, and I would veery much not wish my comments on one to be mistaken by the other as commentary on them.”
I’m not totally sure I follow him, but I nod along
“Firstly, I want to address the comments made by my opponent, Chio Reto. I want to put on record that I thank Chris for the compliments he has passed my way. Chris is an honourable and decent individual, and I will readily admit that a part of me is flattered by the position he appears to put me in. I don’t expect, and I don’t want, for the wrestling world to be fawning over me. I am no god-like figure to be placed on a pedestal. However, what I do strongly believe in is respect for this business and the people in it. And in Chio Reto I see someone who has that respect - who understands what it means to take on a challenge in this business and what it will demand of him; a man who appreciates an opponent.”
I’m quite surprised at Shand’s candour “But David, didn’t you openly criticise Chio Reto during your own press conference? Seems a bit of a turnaround to now be praising him?”
“Not at all. I didn’t criticise Reto. Read my comments again. I actually said Chris was an excellent performer with a good understanding of the business, but was a man who never fully achieved all that I knew, and he knew, he was capable of. The only criticism I had of Chio Reto was that never did the things he could have done. I was actually saying he could well have been better than people knew him to be. Now listen to Chris’ own words of yesterday. He says exactly the same thing I said. He admits himself that I’m right.”
“He also says he thinks he can beat you”
Shand nods and smiles “As indeed he should. I’d expect nothing else”
I’m even more confused at this, and I stop writing to make sure I’ve heard him right “So you’re not angry that Chio Reto thinks he can beat you?”
“Why would you ever assume I’d be angry? If Chio didn’t believe that he could win our match there would be absolutely no point in it ever taking place. He’d have lost before he even set foot in the ring. Chris needs to believe that he can win and then he needs to fight with every ounce of his being to make that a reality. I want Chris to believe he can beat me. I want him to know he has a chance of beating me. Then the real Chio Reto will emerge, the one who could have been great all these years, and then you see a match worth seeing”
“But do you think he’s right. Can Chio beat you?”
“Mr Beam, if you had been listening to what I said, you’d know that just as Chio must believe he can beat me, I must believe I can beat him. So, with the greatest respect to a fine and worthy opponent, no, Chio Reto cannot beat me. He will not beat me. And I’m afraid the realisation of that fact will be painful for him”
“You sound like you want to hurt him”
The smile on Shand’s face is colder than Alaska in December “I want to win. What I have to do to achieve that really doesn’t matter to me”
I think David has made his point clearly enough, so I move the conversation on. “So what about Rob Arnold then? I’m guessing your other set of thoughts concern him?”
Now there is no smile on David’s face
“Indeed they do, and this is where I want to make the distinction. Every ounce of respect and personal and professional courtesy I would want to extend to Chio Reto, the absolute reverse applies to Robert Arnold. I have no respect for him, I wish to extend him no professional courtesy, because as far as I am concerned, Robert Arnold has chosen to demonstrate that he is no professional.”
“Is that not a little harsh?”
“Not at all. I listened to the words coming out of that boy’s mouth - and yes, I call him a boy because that is what he is, a petulant adolescent playing at being a man in this business, and it makes me angry. But just to be clear before the idiot fool child attempts to gloat about it, it doesn’t make me angry in any ‘touched a nerve, getting to him’ sort of way. His comments make me angry in the same way seeing graffiti on a wall makes you angry - you just feel the person responsible is a sad and pathetic individual you doesn’t deserve the oxygen. I feel that way when I hear a Robert Arnold promo.
“You see, there is a fine line between being assertive and being delusional. A fine line between being confident and being a cocky brat. A fine line between creatively jousting with an opponent and just trying to get yourself over and coming off looking like a moron. Chio Reto comes down on the right side of that line, Robert lands on the wrong side each and every time. I’m actually quite saddened that Chris chooses to align himself with someone who is quite so pathetic. I thought Chris was a better judge of character than to bother with such a self-grandising cretin.
“Rob has no respect for this business. He talks in his promo about how My-ron Novaar never had the wrestling business in his heart, unlike Rob Arnold. Well Rob seems to confuse heart with ego, because that’s the only place the business ever was for him. Its the only place its ever been for him. Rob only wanted this business when it benefitted him. He only wanted to work and put the effort in when it benefitted him. He only wanted to work with people when there was some rub on it for him. Its all about Rob, and it always has been. His attitude toward this reunion show is a perfect example of the “me-me-me” attitude he’s always had. Rob wonders why he never got his match with me, well the truth is that’s the reason. I strung Rob along and then sidestepped him the way I sidestepped Joanie Lee, Ian Poole, and all the other delusional wannabes who were only in the business for themselves, and never really understood it.
“What I find most disturbing about Robert is his revisionist approach to history. My-ron has already mentioned how Rob blatantly lied about the origins of their match in order to get himself over, and I need not comment on that because it really shows Robert up for the delusional loser he is. The mere fact that he thought he could get away with it would almost be comic were it not so tragic.
“However, while my friend also touched on the CWA title situation, I feel I’d like to just add my two-penneth. You see, I was on the CWA board at the time and fully aware of the backstage politics that were happening when the ivory towers were crumbling and the CWA was in its dying days. I was aware of what was being said and the favours that were being done, and unlike Rob I haven’t forgotten that by that time most of the talent at the CWA had either left altogether, had - like My-ron and myself - lost interest in the company and were only making sporadic appearances to keep it going, or else had simply stopped trying and couldn’t have cared less where the belts went. Yes, Rob was made the CWA champion, but what he fails to come to terms with was that he was given the opportunity to win the belt only because by that time it wasn’t an award - it was an albatross hanging around the neck of the poor sod who had to hold it. It was pass-the-parcel except no-one wanted to be the one left with the prize once the music stopped. We were relieved to have Rob win the title because it meant we weren’t lumbered with it. Rob’s title win was worthless because the company and the title were both so devalued by that point that no-one else wanted it.
“Let me put it like this. When the NWA title was being contested in the 1970s and 1980s between the likes of Flair, Harley Race, Terry Funk, and others, it meant something. Just like the CWA title meant something when I won it from J-Dub. By the time Rob came along and won the belt it was the equivalent of the NWA belt today - most people couldn’t even tell you who the champion was, and no-one really cares.
“What makes it even sadder is that even then Rob couldn’t get his title shot because he actually deserved it. The fact was his opportunity was a sympathy vote - a reward for loyalty in the same way that you might throw a puppy the scraps from the table. He won it simply because he was a body around at the death. The belt was worth less than the WCW title under David Arquette.
“The saddest sight in the world is a fish swimming in a fish pond, because he truly doesn’t know how tiny his pond is in comparison to the ocean. That’s exactly like the whole of Rob’s career. The big fish in a series of tiny little ponds. Yes he went on and yes he won gold in other federations around the place, but it was after the real names in the business had already gone, or it was in companies no-one cared about in the first place.
“And yet, still the boy has this incredible ego. He accuses My-ron and I of having an ego in bringing our title belts to the press conference - of course he neglects to take into account that the show is a CWA and TXA reunion and therefore they want to highlight former CWA and TXA champions - and says he doesn’t need to run down his accomplishments...before going on to run down his accomplishments to ensure everyone knows how great he is. Its just like I said, he’s a petulant child who, for all his claims to superstardom, still doesn’t fully understand how this business works.”
I’m a little shocked at the character assassination Shand has just put on Arnold, and I’m struggling for a follow-up “Errmmm, you sound angry at what Rob had to say about Novaar”
“My-ron doesn’t need me to defend his reputation or his character, and I’m not so much angry about the specific comments as I am angry about the attitude Arnold has displayed in making them. I think he’s a classless and ignorant fool. He’s shown himself to have a complete lack of any character, creativeness, or genuine ability for this business. His lack of respect frankly disgusts me. I am disappointed that someone I once regarded as a genuine prospect feels he needs to act in such a discourteous manner towards a fellow professional in order to get himself over. My-ron is entirely right when he describes Arnold as lazy and as a coward - the comments he made were just that, lazy and cowardly; the actions of a man who lacks both the courage and the intellect to raise his game out of the gutter. Its shameful and its sad.
“I can’t believe Rob genuinely believes the comments he has been making. Not even a child like him is so stupidly ignorant that he actually believes his own words. In a way it would be better if he did - you can forgive genuine stupidity - but its clear he is simply saying them for effect, and that is much much worse. He’s like the three year old desperate for attention and willing to do whatever he has to to get it. I feel sorry for his wife having to deal with two screaming babies in the same house.
“Like I said, Arnold is only a big fish when he’s swimming in a small pond. For all his ego and all his boasts, he never really made it as the star he was so desperate to be. You need only look at where he is now to see that. While others went on to fame and fortune, while My-ron made millions in the music business and while I continue to chair Shand Holdings, Rob has a grey-suited middle management position for a sportswear company. Not exactly Alan Sugar is he? What’s sad is that he actually seems quite proud of it. Small ponds indeed.
“So in closing, I appeal to Chio Reto. Think carefully about your associations, Chris. A man is judged by the company he keeps, and currently its not reflecting well on you. As for Robert, I suggest the children keep quiet in future and let the adults do the talking, lest they make themselves appear even more foolish than they already have.”
To my surprise, Shand stands and extends his hand.
“Thank you Mr Beam, this interview is over”
With that, David Shand sweeps out of the library. Leaving me with a book full of notes, and an explosive story to write.
Subject: Nervous about the interview 
Tue Mar 08, 2011 11:27 am
