Post by Deleted on Aug 1, 2016 4:21:07 GMT
July 28, 2016 – 8:00 PM
Inside an old, decrepit building in St. Louis, Missouri...
...we find a ten-lane bowling alley, a two-story arcade on the left-hand side, and a small eatery called "The Islander Bar and Grill" on the right. It is also where we find Johnny Gillmen on this balmy summer's night, sniffing and sneezing out the dust that had entered his nose. His forehead looks slightly red after having to suffer through a 100-degree fever over the past few days, and with his girlfriend Helena back in Corpus Christi prepping herself for her final semester at college, the Islander alum was alone.
This particular fun spot--this decaying, rotting environment--was strangely familiar to him.
He just couldn't remember "how" familiar it truly was.
Slowly stepping up to the restaurant section of the venerable arcade, and with the sounds of Journey's "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" playing from the speakers above, Johnny sat down in one of its many booths, featuring leather seats that had seen better days, often torn down to the stuffings in some places. He sighed to himself, imagining how this tourist trap used to teem with humanity simply wanting to have a good time, before looking down at the grimy, dirty green table with a menu that looks to be grossly outdated. An African-American waitress, around 5'7" and sporing flowing black hair with a faded silver and green uniform, walked up and cleaned the mess up as hard as she could before pulling out her little notepad.
WAITRESS: How're you doing, hun? What can I get you to drink?
JOHNNY GILLMEN: Pepsi please.
The waitress solemnly shook her head.
WAITRESS: Ohhh...darlin' I'm afraid we've only got Coke goodies now, but we do have Dr. Pepper.
JOHNNY: Actually I'll go for some Sprite. Haven't been feelin' too good for a l'il while.
WAITRESS: I can tell sweetie. I'll get that for you in a jiffy.
She lovingly patted Gillmen--the sole customer on this day--and went to the back; the ex-Islander couldn't help but feel saddened, for the establishment he imagined in his head was nowhere near what it was like in the real world. Aside from a few janitors wearing piss-yellow uniforms sweeping, vacuuming, or buffing the floors, there was no life in the arcade, no laughter in the bowling alley.
It was as empty as it could get.
The waitress, never ceasing her wide grin even in the most depressing of working environments, gently placed a large glass of Sprite on the table before pulling her notepad out once more.
JOHNNY: 'Ey ma'am, how long have you been workin' here?
WAITRESS: I got started on January 28, 2016—six months ago.
That date hit Johnny like a ton of bricks.
On that winter's night, the wrestling company he once worked for--called Redemption Wrestling--had closed its doors for good, putting him out of the ring for quite some time. It pained him to know that the fans who used to enjoy the fun, the laughter, and the love left with the old promotion, leading to the state of affairs we are seeing now.
It was this moment in time when he got curious, raising his right brow as he sipped his soda.
JOHNNY: Ain't you that nice gal named Aurelly I hired to tend bar here?
Aurelly nodded her head, blinking both eyes in the process.
AURELLY: That's me...wait a sec, how'd you know my name?!
Johnny sighed to himself, looking around the virtually empty tourist trap with a mix of wonderment and sadness. It had finally dawned on him as to why this venue was so familiar to him.
JOHNNY: I once worked as a wrestler at the Grounds across the street for Redemption, but more importantly, I used to own this joint...Cowabunga Corner.
'Sup dudes and dudettes?!
I gotta make an admission...I haven't exactly been feelin' like myself these past few days. I worked that tag-match with Teddy against Nighthawk and Adam Knite with a low-grade, 100-degree fever, stuffed-up nose, and just an all-around aura of flatness that I can't even bear to describe. Yet regardless of how crummo how I was feelin' at the time, it still doesn't hide the fact that I couldn't give everyone my best on the night in question.
But ya know what...I'll take my fair share of shoddy nights and defeats like a real man.
'Cause after all, cursin' out opponents ain't my cup of tea.
If there was ANYTHING positive I could say about last week, it was...welp, that I was there when any sane person would pack up his gear and head back to the hotel to recoup his strength. Nahh, that ain't me. I might have a bad night or two in the office, but that ain't gonna stop me from doin' somethin' that, quite frankly, wouldn't have been possible without the love and support from those around me.
Me bein' your Heir to the Throne.
So the series continues at Lineage, and the dudes upstairs have me competin' against the longtime veteran Falcon. On this night, I must admit that takin' on those who've been in the gig longer than I have is such an awesome joy--gives me the chance to learn and grow from those who've been to the top and down again. But ya know somethin' dudes and dudettes, my journey in the Heir to the Throne ain't about accolades or other goodies. Sure they mean somethin' to others, but to me...there's only one important thing that I've sought ever since I joined IWF.
And that's respect--the only aspect of this biz that's bigger than winnin' belts or other things.
All Johnny Gillmen ever wanted in life was to earn respect--no matter which venture he chose.
The former owner of the once-fabled Cowabunga Corner, a tourist attraction that used to thrive whenever he wrestled for Redemption across the street at the Grounds, watched with astonishment as the waitress named Aurelly flashed her wide-eyed smile, recognizing the very same man who once hired her to be a bartender. In the back of Gillmen's mind, he recognized the two distinct qualities that made hiring her so easy.
Her lovely voice that a mother could only possess.
Her golden heart that was as big as the Gateway Arch itself--even bigger than that.
Johnny stood up, embracing his former employee gently; Aurelly rubbed her hands through his spikey hairdo, realizing just how much of a joy it was to work for him.
JOHNNY: It's good to see ya. God I missed ya.
AURELLY: You too...it's been far too long. What've you been up to these days?
The two separated. Johnny sat back down at the table and resumed drinking his Sprite.
JOHNNY: Bumpin', bustin', grindin', workin' my butt off. Ya know, the usual suspects...
AURELLY: Still wrestling, I presume?
JOHNNY: Uh-huh.
Gillmen's eyes peered upon the empty arcade and bowling alley once more, wondering what could have happened to such an exciting venture.
JOHNNY: What's happened in here? Why ain't the games goin', the balls rollin', the pins droppin' like flies...? Why ain't nobody here to have a good time no more...?
The waitress, knowing full well that her former boss wanted answers, dejectedly sat down on the seat across from him.
AURELLY: Long story short...when that tax cheat Rochelle and her rotten husband Tony shuttered that old wrestling company across the street, business here took a nosedive. We haven't had bowling leagues do tournaments here in two months, nobody wants to come here to play the arcades no more because they're sittin' there playin' "Pokemon Go."
Aurelly peered at the two red-shirted security guards as they rushed to a disturbance near the back of the building.
AURELLY: And the druggies and illegal immigrants have taken over this part of town. It's just....it just hasn't been the same since you left. The bar and grill is the only thing we've got left, and even that's in danger. Face it, this building will be coming down by Christmas, leaving nothing in its wake except fond memories...
Johnny sighed, mustering a slight facepalm as he couldn't believe how the business he'd helped create within a span of two full years could completely collapse on him in just six months. He cursed himself in his mind, faulting himself for not being there to help save the establishment after Redemption's closure and the loss of its clientele.
JOHNNY: It was my fault. I shoulda stayed instead of movin' back to Corpus, shoulda been here to keep the place thrivin'...
Aurelly shed a tear, sniffling as she gazed her eyes upon the once-bustling arcade before gently placing her hand upon Johnny's right arm.
AURELLY: Don't crucify yourself, it wasn't your fault. You might've not been here in person when this place was bleedin' to death, but you were here...
She points to her heart.
AURELLY: ...in the hearts and minds of those kids who loved playin' Galaga or Pac-Man here, those men and women who loved workin' here at the grill or cleanin' the restrooms. This place was THRIVING, and you were the one who made bein' here so damned fun. You were the heart and soul of Cowabunga Corner, bring pure magic to those who truly deserved it, and that'll never change.
Aurelly developed a slight scowl on her face, as if something had been bothering her for some time.
AURELLY: If only your partner could've seen things differently after that wrestling promotion's closure instead of hittin' the sauce all the time...HE was the ultimate cause behind this establishment's demise.
The TAMUCC grad perked up his left brow in curiousity, knowing that the tone of voice she used when saying the word "partner" wasn't exactly friendly to his ears.
JOHNNY: Ya mean...him, right?
AURELLY: Yeah. Pickin' fights with customers, firing my favorite co-workers in the world on a drunken binge...
Aurelly looked down at her notepad, instantly changing that contemptable expression on her face to a welcoming one and composing herself, trying to erase the bad memories out of her thought process.
AURELLY: Sorry Mr. Gillmen, I'm losin' my mind here. Would you like anything to eat or what?
JOHNNY: Do y'all still have that Buckaroo Burger by any chance?
AURELLY: Double meat, double cheddar, bacon, onion rings, barbecue sauce, and endless fries. Right...?
Johnny couldn't help but eke out a sly grin, remember his favorite menu item. Aurelly nodded her head, writing her notes down before standing up.
AURELLY: I'll get that out for ya right away babe, and don't worry about paying for anything—it's on my tab tonight.
JOHNNY: Awww, you're a sweetheart who knows nothing of hatred. That's why I hired ya.
Aurelly giggled, patting her former boss on the back before heading towards the kitchen to complete the order. For once in Johnny's life, he was very comfortable in knowing that he still had an old friend who was willing to accept him--even after being away for the better part of 2016.
But that brief, yet subtle, moment of elation was shattered when he heard a voice saying something to him from behind.
MAN: This place is a shitbox thanks to you. Ya should just go back to yer cozy l'il villa in Corpus where ya belong.
Johnny gasped, noting the man's familiar Texas twang and his liberal use of profanity.
JOHNNY: Timbo...?!
Indeed, standing over Gillmen was none other than Tim Bowman, who at 6'11", nearly 300 pounds, and sporting a charcoal-gray suit with matching tie, once served as Johnny's business partner in Cowabunga Corner--as well as his former wrestling tag-team partner.
And by the terse look on his face, not to mention the bottle of Kentucky red-eye whiskey he was carrying around, the native of Midlothian, Texas wasn't too thrilled about seeing the proverbial prodigal son fly back to the nest.
TIM BOWMAN: Yeahhh...ya got a lot of gumption comin' back here, callin' me by that name, after the bullshit ya pulled...
As Tim popped open the bottle and took a nice, big swig, Johnny Gillmen couldn't help but frown slightly as he could only think of a singular thing off the top of his mind.
"Oh, I've got a bad feelin' about this..."
Inside an old, decrepit building in St. Louis, Missouri...
...we find a ten-lane bowling alley, a two-story arcade on the left-hand side, and a small eatery called "The Islander Bar and Grill" on the right. It is also where we find Johnny Gillmen on this balmy summer's night, sniffing and sneezing out the dust that had entered his nose. His forehead looks slightly red after having to suffer through a 100-degree fever over the past few days, and with his girlfriend Helena back in Corpus Christi prepping herself for her final semester at college, the Islander alum was alone.
This particular fun spot--this decaying, rotting environment--was strangely familiar to him.
He just couldn't remember "how" familiar it truly was.
Slowly stepping up to the restaurant section of the venerable arcade, and with the sounds of Journey's "Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)" playing from the speakers above, Johnny sat down in one of its many booths, featuring leather seats that had seen better days, often torn down to the stuffings in some places. He sighed to himself, imagining how this tourist trap used to teem with humanity simply wanting to have a good time, before looking down at the grimy, dirty green table with a menu that looks to be grossly outdated. An African-American waitress, around 5'7" and sporing flowing black hair with a faded silver and green uniform, walked up and cleaned the mess up as hard as she could before pulling out her little notepad.
WAITRESS: How're you doing, hun? What can I get you to drink?
JOHNNY GILLMEN: Pepsi please.
The waitress solemnly shook her head.
WAITRESS: Ohhh...darlin' I'm afraid we've only got Coke goodies now, but we do have Dr. Pepper.
JOHNNY: Actually I'll go for some Sprite. Haven't been feelin' too good for a l'il while.
WAITRESS: I can tell sweetie. I'll get that for you in a jiffy.
She lovingly patted Gillmen--the sole customer on this day--and went to the back; the ex-Islander couldn't help but feel saddened, for the establishment he imagined in his head was nowhere near what it was like in the real world. Aside from a few janitors wearing piss-yellow uniforms sweeping, vacuuming, or buffing the floors, there was no life in the arcade, no laughter in the bowling alley.
It was as empty as it could get.
The waitress, never ceasing her wide grin even in the most depressing of working environments, gently placed a large glass of Sprite on the table before pulling her notepad out once more.
JOHNNY: 'Ey ma'am, how long have you been workin' here?
WAITRESS: I got started on January 28, 2016—six months ago.
That date hit Johnny like a ton of bricks.
On that winter's night, the wrestling company he once worked for--called Redemption Wrestling--had closed its doors for good, putting him out of the ring for quite some time. It pained him to know that the fans who used to enjoy the fun, the laughter, and the love left with the old promotion, leading to the state of affairs we are seeing now.
It was this moment in time when he got curious, raising his right brow as he sipped his soda.
JOHNNY: Ain't you that nice gal named Aurelly I hired to tend bar here?
Aurelly nodded her head, blinking both eyes in the process.
AURELLY: That's me...wait a sec, how'd you know my name?!
Johnny sighed to himself, looking around the virtually empty tourist trap with a mix of wonderment and sadness. It had finally dawned on him as to why this venue was so familiar to him.
JOHNNY: I once worked as a wrestler at the Grounds across the street for Redemption, but more importantly, I used to own this joint...Cowabunga Corner.
----------
JOHNNY GILLMEN'S LOG
July 28, 2016
July 28, 2016
'Sup dudes and dudettes?!
I gotta make an admission...I haven't exactly been feelin' like myself these past few days. I worked that tag-match with Teddy against Nighthawk and Adam Knite with a low-grade, 100-degree fever, stuffed-up nose, and just an all-around aura of flatness that I can't even bear to describe. Yet regardless of how crummo how I was feelin' at the time, it still doesn't hide the fact that I couldn't give everyone my best on the night in question.
But ya know what...I'll take my fair share of shoddy nights and defeats like a real man.
'Cause after all, cursin' out opponents ain't my cup of tea.
If there was ANYTHING positive I could say about last week, it was...welp, that I was there when any sane person would pack up his gear and head back to the hotel to recoup his strength. Nahh, that ain't me. I might have a bad night or two in the office, but that ain't gonna stop me from doin' somethin' that, quite frankly, wouldn't have been possible without the love and support from those around me.
Me bein' your Heir to the Throne.
So the series continues at Lineage, and the dudes upstairs have me competin' against the longtime veteran Falcon. On this night, I must admit that takin' on those who've been in the gig longer than I have is such an awesome joy--gives me the chance to learn and grow from those who've been to the top and down again. But ya know somethin' dudes and dudettes, my journey in the Heir to the Throne ain't about accolades or other goodies. Sure they mean somethin' to others, but to me...there's only one important thing that I've sought ever since I joined IWF.
And that's respect--the only aspect of this biz that's bigger than winnin' belts or other things.
----------
All Johnny Gillmen ever wanted in life was to earn respect--no matter which venture he chose.
The former owner of the once-fabled Cowabunga Corner, a tourist attraction that used to thrive whenever he wrestled for Redemption across the street at the Grounds, watched with astonishment as the waitress named Aurelly flashed her wide-eyed smile, recognizing the very same man who once hired her to be a bartender. In the back of Gillmen's mind, he recognized the two distinct qualities that made hiring her so easy.
Her lovely voice that a mother could only possess.
Her golden heart that was as big as the Gateway Arch itself--even bigger than that.
Johnny stood up, embracing his former employee gently; Aurelly rubbed her hands through his spikey hairdo, realizing just how much of a joy it was to work for him.
JOHNNY: It's good to see ya. God I missed ya.
AURELLY: You too...it's been far too long. What've you been up to these days?
The two separated. Johnny sat back down at the table and resumed drinking his Sprite.
JOHNNY: Bumpin', bustin', grindin', workin' my butt off. Ya know, the usual suspects...
AURELLY: Still wrestling, I presume?
JOHNNY: Uh-huh.
Gillmen's eyes peered upon the empty arcade and bowling alley once more, wondering what could have happened to such an exciting venture.
JOHNNY: What's happened in here? Why ain't the games goin', the balls rollin', the pins droppin' like flies...? Why ain't nobody here to have a good time no more...?
The waitress, knowing full well that her former boss wanted answers, dejectedly sat down on the seat across from him.
AURELLY: Long story short...when that tax cheat Rochelle and her rotten husband Tony shuttered that old wrestling company across the street, business here took a nosedive. We haven't had bowling leagues do tournaments here in two months, nobody wants to come here to play the arcades no more because they're sittin' there playin' "Pokemon Go."
Aurelly peered at the two red-shirted security guards as they rushed to a disturbance near the back of the building.
AURELLY: And the druggies and illegal immigrants have taken over this part of town. It's just....it just hasn't been the same since you left. The bar and grill is the only thing we've got left, and even that's in danger. Face it, this building will be coming down by Christmas, leaving nothing in its wake except fond memories...
Johnny sighed, mustering a slight facepalm as he couldn't believe how the business he'd helped create within a span of two full years could completely collapse on him in just six months. He cursed himself in his mind, faulting himself for not being there to help save the establishment after Redemption's closure and the loss of its clientele.
JOHNNY: It was my fault. I shoulda stayed instead of movin' back to Corpus, shoulda been here to keep the place thrivin'...
Aurelly shed a tear, sniffling as she gazed her eyes upon the once-bustling arcade before gently placing her hand upon Johnny's right arm.
AURELLY: Don't crucify yourself, it wasn't your fault. You might've not been here in person when this place was bleedin' to death, but you were here...
She points to her heart.
AURELLY: ...in the hearts and minds of those kids who loved playin' Galaga or Pac-Man here, those men and women who loved workin' here at the grill or cleanin' the restrooms. This place was THRIVING, and you were the one who made bein' here so damned fun. You were the heart and soul of Cowabunga Corner, bring pure magic to those who truly deserved it, and that'll never change.
Aurelly developed a slight scowl on her face, as if something had been bothering her for some time.
AURELLY: If only your partner could've seen things differently after that wrestling promotion's closure instead of hittin' the sauce all the time...HE was the ultimate cause behind this establishment's demise.
The TAMUCC grad perked up his left brow in curiousity, knowing that the tone of voice she used when saying the word "partner" wasn't exactly friendly to his ears.
JOHNNY: Ya mean...him, right?
AURELLY: Yeah. Pickin' fights with customers, firing my favorite co-workers in the world on a drunken binge...
Aurelly looked down at her notepad, instantly changing that contemptable expression on her face to a welcoming one and composing herself, trying to erase the bad memories out of her thought process.
AURELLY: Sorry Mr. Gillmen, I'm losin' my mind here. Would you like anything to eat or what?
JOHNNY: Do y'all still have that Buckaroo Burger by any chance?
AURELLY: Double meat, double cheddar, bacon, onion rings, barbecue sauce, and endless fries. Right...?
Johnny couldn't help but eke out a sly grin, remember his favorite menu item. Aurelly nodded her head, writing her notes down before standing up.
AURELLY: I'll get that out for ya right away babe, and don't worry about paying for anything—it's on my tab tonight.
JOHNNY: Awww, you're a sweetheart who knows nothing of hatred. That's why I hired ya.
Aurelly giggled, patting her former boss on the back before heading towards the kitchen to complete the order. For once in Johnny's life, he was very comfortable in knowing that he still had an old friend who was willing to accept him--even after being away for the better part of 2016.
But that brief, yet subtle, moment of elation was shattered when he heard a voice saying something to him from behind.
MAN: This place is a shitbox thanks to you. Ya should just go back to yer cozy l'il villa in Corpus where ya belong.
Johnny gasped, noting the man's familiar Texas twang and his liberal use of profanity.
JOHNNY: Timbo...?!
Indeed, standing over Gillmen was none other than Tim Bowman, who at 6'11", nearly 300 pounds, and sporting a charcoal-gray suit with matching tie, once served as Johnny's business partner in Cowabunga Corner--as well as his former wrestling tag-team partner.
And by the terse look on his face, not to mention the bottle of Kentucky red-eye whiskey he was carrying around, the native of Midlothian, Texas wasn't too thrilled about seeing the proverbial prodigal son fly back to the nest.
TIM BOWMAN: Yeahhh...ya got a lot of gumption comin' back here, callin' me by that name, after the bullshit ya pulled...
As Tim popped open the bottle and took a nice, big swig, Johnny Gillmen couldn't help but frown slightly as he could only think of a singular thing off the top of his mind.
"Oh, I've got a bad feelin' about this..."
~TO BE CONTINUED~
---------
Falcon,
I feel bad for ya bub, knowin' full-well that Mike Laszlo stung ya when it mattered the most. But let's be real here...NOBODY can beat Mike Laszlo when he's on his best game, even as his own hunny-bear has his back all the time. When it all boils down to it, it's just a simple case of bein' outsized and outmatched at almost every turn, so there really ain't nothin' to be ashamed about in losin' to a former Imperial champ.
Or is there?
First off, I ain't gonna let age be an issue here. I will not exploit, for political or wrestlin' purposes, your relative youth and inexperience...
{blows raspberry}
Did ya see that? I was tryin' to channel the greatest U.S. President of our generation, but even a humble jokester like Ronald Wilson Reagan, when it was time to get to the business at hand, always boiled the issues our country was facin' down to the root of the problem—he figured that the rise in violent crime in the 1980s was caused by the advance of illegal drugs and started the "Just Say No" campaign, the figured that the threat of nuclear war was due to a bunch of Russian Plinkoheads whose brand of Communism was bringin' tyranny, not peace, to the East, prompting him to say "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"...and so on.
But ya didn't see that comin', right?
Well, there's a method to my madness.
Here's the deal...I don't know a heckuva lot about ya, but...I fully understand that you're just about to go into your 20th decade of service to the gig. I only heard gleams from your days in nCw, but ya had the heart and desire to succeed in this game of honor, love, and pure testosterone. Those are good qualities that I've seen in ya so far, BUT here's the catch...the heart of the matter as to why you've been strugglin' these days, not to mention the real reason why ya couldn't beat Mike Laszlo, is as simple as a slice of chocolate cake...
...you've let your spirit be broken.
But ya can't get it back by allowin' yourself to be judged by others just 'cause ya love doin' what you're doin'. Ya can't let yourself be spoken for by that overcliched manager-type dudette that only Zasshu could love when, and this is a given from my heart, the only worse critic that ya can ever have in life...is your own self. Nobody else can sit there and speak for other human bein's when THEY have the power to express themselves in any way, shape, or form they desire.
And you call yourself a “face?”
That ain't exactly how the honorable ones operate, eh?
The world ain't sunshine and rainbows, but it still needs people with enough honor, dignity, and common sense to stand up for themselves—and you ain't one of 'em I'm afraid.
A true “good guy” in this gig ain't afraid to speak his mind. A real “heroic” figure is always capable of usin' his own voice to apply the things that he's learned. A dignified wrestler wouldn't allow himself to bend to the will of another human bein', lettin' that other person do the talkin' for him. Someday, perhaps, you'll learn to rediscover that voice ya DID have when ya got started nearly 20 years ago...
...but unfortunately for you, it'll be too late before you can even think of reactin'.
Look man, I've had to live with a lot of things on my shoulders ever since I started my time in the biz as a columnist—workin' with a guy that hasn't had a ton of success over the years, bein' blind in one eye, seein' members of my family pass away within a six-year span, all that mess. Yet through all this trouble and heartbreak, I haven't lost the one thing that's kept me thrivin', even as things haven't exactly panned out for me in recent times.
I haven't lost MY voice—my God-given ability to tell people like you exactly what I was destined to do.
I was born a wrestlin' fan, watched the shows with my mom on Saturdays, went to live cards on Fridays...yet somehow I was destined to be in that ring and EARN respect, not just for myself but from those around me. I've had people laugh at me and damn me 'cuz I wear the flag of “different,” carry a surfboard 'round an arena, and be as genuinely goofy and humble as I can be, but ya know somethin' bud...I wear that banner on my back with great pride and distiniction. For I am—and always will be—the very embodiment of the Joe Plinkos of the world who dare to dream big, desirin' for more than what the cruel, dold world has given 'em.
I make my own legacy—not of titles or accolades or somebody else's merits, but of respect.
That's all that matters in my eyes.
See ya Sunday dude...and keep on dreamin'.
I feel bad for ya bub, knowin' full-well that Mike Laszlo stung ya when it mattered the most. But let's be real here...NOBODY can beat Mike Laszlo when he's on his best game, even as his own hunny-bear has his back all the time. When it all boils down to it, it's just a simple case of bein' outsized and outmatched at almost every turn, so there really ain't nothin' to be ashamed about in losin' to a former Imperial champ.
Or is there?
First off, I ain't gonna let age be an issue here. I will not exploit, for political or wrestlin' purposes, your relative youth and inexperience...
{blows raspberry}
Did ya see that? I was tryin' to channel the greatest U.S. President of our generation, but even a humble jokester like Ronald Wilson Reagan, when it was time to get to the business at hand, always boiled the issues our country was facin' down to the root of the problem—he figured that the rise in violent crime in the 1980s was caused by the advance of illegal drugs and started the "Just Say No" campaign, the figured that the threat of nuclear war was due to a bunch of Russian Plinkoheads whose brand of Communism was bringin' tyranny, not peace, to the East, prompting him to say "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"...and so on.
But ya didn't see that comin', right?
Well, there's a method to my madness.
Here's the deal...I don't know a heckuva lot about ya, but...I fully understand that you're just about to go into your 20th decade of service to the gig. I only heard gleams from your days in nCw, but ya had the heart and desire to succeed in this game of honor, love, and pure testosterone. Those are good qualities that I've seen in ya so far, BUT here's the catch...the heart of the matter as to why you've been strugglin' these days, not to mention the real reason why ya couldn't beat Mike Laszlo, is as simple as a slice of chocolate cake...
...you've let your spirit be broken.
But ya can't get it back by allowin' yourself to be judged by others just 'cause ya love doin' what you're doin'. Ya can't let yourself be spoken for by that overcliched manager-type dudette that only Zasshu could love when, and this is a given from my heart, the only worse critic that ya can ever have in life...is your own self. Nobody else can sit there and speak for other human bein's when THEY have the power to express themselves in any way, shape, or form they desire.
And you call yourself a “face?”
That ain't exactly how the honorable ones operate, eh?
The world ain't sunshine and rainbows, but it still needs people with enough honor, dignity, and common sense to stand up for themselves—and you ain't one of 'em I'm afraid.
A true “good guy” in this gig ain't afraid to speak his mind. A real “heroic” figure is always capable of usin' his own voice to apply the things that he's learned. A dignified wrestler wouldn't allow himself to bend to the will of another human bein', lettin' that other person do the talkin' for him. Someday, perhaps, you'll learn to rediscover that voice ya DID have when ya got started nearly 20 years ago...
...but unfortunately for you, it'll be too late before you can even think of reactin'.
Look man, I've had to live with a lot of things on my shoulders ever since I started my time in the biz as a columnist—workin' with a guy that hasn't had a ton of success over the years, bein' blind in one eye, seein' members of my family pass away within a six-year span, all that mess. Yet through all this trouble and heartbreak, I haven't lost the one thing that's kept me thrivin', even as things haven't exactly panned out for me in recent times.
I haven't lost MY voice—my God-given ability to tell people like you exactly what I was destined to do.
I was born a wrestlin' fan, watched the shows with my mom on Saturdays, went to live cards on Fridays...yet somehow I was destined to be in that ring and EARN respect, not just for myself but from those around me. I've had people laugh at me and damn me 'cuz I wear the flag of “different,” carry a surfboard 'round an arena, and be as genuinely goofy and humble as I can be, but ya know somethin' bud...I wear that banner on my back with great pride and distiniction. For I am—and always will be—the very embodiment of the Joe Plinkos of the world who dare to dream big, desirin' for more than what the cruel, dold world has given 'em.
I make my own legacy—not of titles or accolades or somebody else's merits, but of respect.
That's all that matters in my eyes.
See ya Sunday dude...and keep on dreamin'.
Well howdy there pardner.