Post by Awesome Stick Labor on May 8, 2017 4:57:50 GMT
JOHNNY GILLMEN'S LOG
May 6, 2017 - Written outside Wrigley Field in Chicago, IL
Andrew Jacobsen...
Here I am--Wrigley Field...the home of the Cubbies, the reignin' World champs of baseball.
Here I am, standin' in front of its facade, speakin' to you...from the heart.
Ready for Open Fight Night.
As a kid, life in this nation, this land of opportunity and freedom for all, was really simple. We had a President in Ronald Wilson Reagan, who uttered more zingers and lowered more taxes than the next five Presidents after him. We had schools that were pure havens which nobody could ever defile with bullets or knives, where teachers truly cared about me and my classmates' success--givin' them a hug for doin' right and a scoldin' for bein' wrong. It was a happier time, filled with lots of trips to McDonalds, Blockbuster Video, and other places that would make "family nights" worth sharin' again and again.
But then...I got older.
Somethin' changed.
Now this country is littered with somethin' called "political correctness," defined as the act of not usin' a certain word or phrase out of fear that it will hurt someone's feelin's. We now live in a society where people are shot dead just 'cuz of the color of their skin, where our schools have become riddled with blood, bullets, drugs, and gangs like MS-13, and where illegal immigrants are somehow entitled to Constitutional protections while livin' in these so-called "sanctuary cities" like Chicago. We have to deal with a society that now believes marriage to be equal--now a dude and marry a fella dude, a gal can marry a gal, and nothin' can be done about it.
That ain't the good ol' U.S.-of-A. that I once knew and grew up with, Jaco.
It's especially worse whenever someone utters one term or phrase that perceives them as bein' racist and, consequently, blackballs them from doin' their jobs, from puttin' food on the table for their families, for plyin' their own crafts in whatever fields they choose. In the IWF, where I had the misfortune of usin' a certain term that rhymes with "kick" when callin' this city's favorite son out on a judgement call that I will STILL stand by, even to this day.
Andrew...I never liked your friend 'Hawk to begin with. He always struck me as bein' an ice-cold, remorseless man in this sport of honor and glory.
That don't make me no racist.
Here's the deal, and I mean this with all sincerety. I thought that the idea of me bein' in wrestlin' was metaphorical to me bein' an American--that I had the right to express myself freely without fear of bein' shouted down or told I couldn't do somethin'. Yet as I speak to ya...I understand that change.org had a petition on there callin' for MY HEAD on a silver platter. And for what?! 'Cuz I got all miffed at Tristan?! On the other side of the coin, there weren't any petitions to fire Spike Kane after he tried to KILL ME on an Open Fight Night after New Year's! I mean, shoot...the dude tried to murder me on television, steppin' out of the bounds of decency, yet NOBODY lifted a finger--'cuz he was a Hall of Famer.
But ya know what Andrew...as I now realize, America ain't perfect.
Metaphorically speakin'...I ain't no saint. You ain't either...NOBODY is.
How can ya POSSIBLY say that you've taken my side on a lot of thihgs, mainly regardin' to what Spike did to me this last January?! Seriously dude...how can you make such a RIDICULOUS claim whenever you yourself didn't rush out to that ring and help Jake Conway, Rob Diamond, Bob Pooler, Alex Jones, and Falcon stop that massacre of a match from happenin'?!
And here ya are, talkin' all this talk about honor yet ya did NOTHIN' to help out a fella warrior in need...
...PFFFFFT!!! Yeah, right. Part of me wants to tear ya to shreds in an act of vengeance...
...but that would be just as dishonorable as what Spike did to me.
Therein lies the problem...you care so much about your own in-ring game, about this warrior's code ya so espouse, that you've made NO ROOM in your mind for anything else except yourself. You care so much of bein' a traffic cop in the Imperial world that you've reduced yourself to tellin' someone like Fiona what she can and can't say on her own darn journals, thus you're tryin' to silence those who dare to speak freely about their own careers and lives, about the people around them.
That ain't right, Jaco.
In fact, that ain't just un-American...it's also un-human.
Think about it...there's this perception that I'm "untrained," that I know nothin' of the tech-savviness that you do, the martial science, holds and submissions, etc. Lemme tell ya somethin'...that didn't stop me from wantin' to be a part of the same gig as you. Yet since nobody wanted to train me, I had to train myself. I had to build myself from the ground-up, usin' my workout buddies as sparrin' partners 'cuz I couldn't get into a real gym and work with the pros.
But that never meant I wasn't willing to LEARN from them. You've read my columns, my interviews, and my book. I was fortunate enough to get to talk to the best this business had to offer, even if I NEVER liked them from the start. I wrote notes, bought countless DVDs, and pattered my style after the best--and yes, that included you.
'Cuz deep down...I have a load of respect for you. Always have, always will.
I applaud ya for winnin' the Roulette, bud. I really, really do. I want you to succeed at Night of the Immortals, to become Imperial champ. I ain't sayin' these things just for drama's sake. I'm sayin' 'em 'cuz someday, I want to become a champion. I WANT to be the best darn worker in this business today. I want to BELIEVE that I can march out to that ring and show ya what it's like to follow the one code that has defined my life ever since I was little...
...livin' in the moment...
...and darin' to dream...
...even if I'm flawed.
Well howdy there pardner.