Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Dec 27, 2015 17:54:04 GMT -5
The camera, a tool that fueled the ego of many performers, began to roll. I, sitting in a chair beside the fire, for the first time in a long time, felt at home. This was comfortable to me. Not the setting, but the scenario. The camera and I. I never liked admitting it, but I loved the theatrics of this sport. Not the nonsense that most wrestlers embraced; with their word static infecting the air. No, I saw something far more refined in this part of the sport.
It was a sort of poetry. The way words were used to convey ideas in a landscape where personalities were bigger than life. I had spent my childhood watching this sport, falling in love with it. Spending hours in front of a mirror pretending to shoot on some no name coward. It was where I thought of "God Given Greatness", where I had developed my demeanor, trying to show only what I wanted the audience to see; my confidence, my intelligence, my wit, and my intensity. I had no reason to show them my fears, my insecurities, my down points. In front of the camera, I was myself minus myself. I didn't pick up a gimmick, wearing face paint or masks to be noticed, but I was clearly less myself, and more of a caricature of myself, one I was proud of.
It was easier to be the me from the screen. It felt natural, it was habit, and now, after having been away from it so long. It came back without any sense of effort. I was in my element, I was king of the show, and I felt as if the rest of the world was leaning in just to hear me speak into the ear of heaven, even if all I spoke were lies.
I remember the first time I had ever cut a promo in front of a real camera. I felt the moment, dived into it head first and spat fire like it was what I was born to do. I had all eyes on me, and it was like God flowed from my lips. I couldn't have been happier with myself, owning it the first time through. I walked over to watch the play back, ready to see magic on that screen.
What I saw was a mess. My were words clunky. I stuttered. Over emphasized unimportant statements. My pauses and stretching was obvious. I made no thesis statement. It felt like it was all coming down on my head. It was a kick from the real world into my over inflated ego and it took good effort on my part not to cry. That was me. That idiot on the screen was me. I walked away feeling defeated in a way I had never felt in the ring.
Time passed. Wounds healed, and I moved on. Every time I cut a promo, I watched the play back and made notes. I developed an eye for my mistakes and my strengths and I played with them. Eventually, I got pretty good at thinking on my feet. When the interviewer asked a question, I could jump on it in a heart beat and keep my focus without any problem. I had a plan going into each one and I did my best to nail it every time.
With each promo, I could feel the difference. I was no longer just a man saying the words 'God Given Greatness', I was a man who meant it. I made it mine. There were plenty of talented wrestlers, but a man who could work the mic and the ring was a man companies would fight to get, and over the years, a great number of companies did fight.
Now, here, in this room, it was like walking into an old home. His focus was tight and his mind was sharp. He knew exactly where he was coming from and where he was going. For one instance in his life, everything was in place, and it was like he could hear the universe click when the camera began to roll.
"You know," he began, feeling the excess of the world drift away, leaving only him, the room, and the camera, "its funny. What is? You might be asking. Everything is. But mostly this tragic sense of irony that plagues this existence of ours. Power goes to the ungrateful, the airwaves go to the insane, and those that wrestler, honestly shouldn't. While those that should, are often driven away from it due to the god-awful damage 'real-wrestlers' due to the facade of the industry.
"In a world of Adam Young's, Zombie McMorris', Ultimate Destroyer's, and specifically Vengeance's, it would appear that the imbecilic dominate this sport...or more overpopulate it. They strangle this industry until it is nothing more than a carnival of idiotic personalities that feel that there time would be best spent swinging their dicks around, trying to hit each other.
"Those people are an insult to not only you the fans, but to the industry I love. When people tune in to watch Slam each week, they should be treated to a spectacle of competition, of prestige, a battle of the minds, not just of muscle. Instead, we have drug addicts, molesters, faux-psychopaths, hot-topic goths, men in masks, and southern hicks all swinging fists like monkeys fighting in a shit stained cage.
"They took the shine of wrestling and they smashed it. Scared of it. They destroyed what they could and turned what was left into this twisted nightmare. It became a wasteland of filth and absurdity. I couldn't stand it. I gagged and wheezed as I walked around it, trying not to breathe in the stench they left on its legacy. You cheer them, you pay for their merchandise, and they laugh at you, they laugh at what you love, and you pay for more. You buy those tickets, you let them do this.
"Would you let your neighbor kick your dog? Would you let him kill your cat? Fuck your mother? Behead your brother? Then WHY?! OH WHY!? Do you let THEM do this to something so pure? Don't try and twist this around. As much as it is them doing it all, it is YOU who gives them license to do so. With every ratings pop, with every sign, with every purchase. You are telling this company, 'please, oh please, shit on me! Dumb me down, gie me the crap, the unwanted, give me what wouldn't cut it on even the worst of sitcoms! I don't want quality, I don't want competition, I want poop jokes, I want sex jokes, I want terrorist jokes, absurd stories, and I want to be tricked into thinking this is good!'
"I couldn't take it anymore. It burrowed into the back of my mind. I tried the best I could in that ring to polish whatever turd they gave me and make this sport great again, but it was all in vein, because on the inside, when you are caught in the whirlwind, there is no way to stop it. I felt the futility of my actions and left. I ran as I felt the hand of low-brow entertainment grasp my shoulder. I refused to watch the thing I LOVED get destroyed by YOU!
"After a while, when I no longer sat up in my bed in a cold sweat after yet another nightmare about becoming the next 'Steve Orbit', I began to reform my plan to make this sport great again. If I couldn't do it from the inside, I would do so from the outside. Hesitantly, I came back. I filled a much need position in this company and began my plan to fix WCF.
"Immediately, from all sides I was assailed by questions from every party. 'how are you going to fix this?', 'how are you going to fix that?', and I tried to tell them not to worry, that I had it all figured out, that I wouldn't stop until WCF was restored to is former glory. I worked day and night. Listening to every complaint, making countless decisions at a moments notice. I did what I could to fix what I thought was broken.
"But was my efforts met with praise? Was I thrown on top of shoulders for my work and carried around town with cheer? No. I didn't ask for anything so extravagant! Not even for a thank you, because to see the fruits of my labor was all I ever wanted. However, I didn't even get that. Before I even made two weeks, a new question emerged...
"'When are you going to come back and wrestler?!' It was the only thing anyone wanted to know. Not about my plans, not about what I had done, but whether or not I would risk my health for the entertainment of a bunch of ungrateful assholes. It didn't stop there either. Not only were the fans eager to see me destroy myself and forget my mission, but superstar after superstar taunted me. They all wanted to see me crack, to see my efforts be for not! They wanted to see be sink down to their level.
"I resisted with every fiber of my being. I sunk myself into my work, but then it happened. One of those dirty sons-of-bitches put their hands on me. I was attacked mercilessly! I was led to believe I would be safe as a staff-member, but promises don't mean anything when anarchy reigns! Vengeance wanted to see me back in the ring more than anyone else! He needed me to get back in the ring, and he did everything he could to do so!
"And what did you all do? You cheered. You wanted to see me get my comeuppance. And for what?! Wanting to help? Wanting to do good? You would cheer a fiend and a bastard over a man who was just looking to enlighten you? At the end of the day, all it would take would be a few apes with swords and I'm sure you would be just as entertained!
"That's when I made my first mistake. Through an act of pure emotional reaction, I sunk down to Vengeance's level and became apart of the carnival again. Not to fix it. Not to make it better, but out of a need to hurt some dumb, confused asshole who didn't know any better.
"How can I truly blame Vengeance for his actions? At the time, I was so overcome with anger that I reacted the only way I knew how, and thats when I realized that it was people like Vengeance that destroyed this sport. This sport was dead long before he got here. He is a symptom. The unfortunate waste product of those who came before him. I shouldn't have blamed him, I should have blamed his heroes. His idiot heroes which influenced him to be just as much of an idiot.
"Once I realized that, it all began to make sense. His melodramatic nature, his over-the-top-to-the-point-of-being-ridiculous mannerisms, his mindless want to hurt and destroy. It wasn't him. It was a mimicry. Much like I was pretending, thinking I could be 'Head of Talent-Relations', he was pretending to be a wrestler. He didn't know the proper way to be one, so he just stole like anyone would have. He stole all the parts he could understand to form the mess that he is. He didn't have the eye to pick out technique or strategy. He wasn't smart enough to understand WHY! He just did what he use to see on Television.
"Then I got to thinking. If a stumbling oaf who doesn't know any better had the same influence his idiot heroes had on him, then there were kids out there who looked up to him and were going to know wrestling through an even more distorted lens. Being too stupid to pick out even Vengeance's thought process, they would be the waste product to his waste product. They would take the shallow ends of his actions. Then someday they will get into the sport and be the superstar to an even dumber generation. In a hundred years or so, this sport would barely resemble even the mess that it is today.
"So, I had to make a decision. Do I keep to this path of paper? Trying to bureaucratically eliminate what minor problems I can fix from my desk, or do I dive back into the eye of the storm, try to raise the bar once more?
"It wasn't an easy decision. Both needed sacrifice, and at the end of the day, I would be forever stuck with whatever choice I made. There was no one there to tell me what was the right choice. I had to make it on my own.
"So, when that fateful moment arrives where I stood at the crossroads, I made my choice. Now, I stand on the precipice of a possible new era for WCF, just waiting for that other shoe to drop, for One to come, for the dust to be kicked up and eventually settle.
"As I sit on this edge, waiting to see the other side of the horizon, I've realized I'm not doing this for me, or for you, or for Vengeance. I'm doing this because the world deserves better. I don't see the world getting better now, not while we're all still alive. I don't see anything getting better while the disease still circulates, but hundreds of years from now, when we are all deep underground, maybe, just maybe, we'll be on our way in the right direction. I don't just mean in wrestling either. If we raise the bar today, we'll create a smarter audience. An audience that will learn to discover things for themselves. An audience that will make the right choices in life. To become doctors, scientists, engineers. Maybe I can keep a generation of people from becoming fighters.
"With the focus away from watching men crush each other's skulls, we could cure cancer, aids, retardation, get off this planet, and span across the galaxy. I'm willing to give up my ability to retire with healthy knees for that. I'm willing to ignore what you, the crowd, wants. Even if I die feeling unfulfilled, I can die with the hope that I changed something, that I paved the way so that when you people are no longer around to poison the Earth, something can get done.
"So, my question is to you, Vengeance. Are you going to stop progress? These people look up to you. They will follow you. I know they've already turned their back on me. They decided that a long time ago, but you are a man with influence. You know what its like to be inspired by a face on the television screen. Are you going to stand in the way by using your power to train a generation of sub-par wrestlers? Are you going to abuse their trust by letting them ruin themselves trying to be just like you.
"Do you want to see a bunch of painted up kids running around, swinging weapons at each other, giving each other brain damage? Or do you want to see a world populated by scholars, by thinkers, by TRUE risk takers?
"Now, I know what you are thinking. 'But, Benjamin, I love the notoriety, and the fame, and the glory, and the idea of kids wanting to be just like me!' In return, let me offer a few words to counter that,
"'I wanna be like Mike'.
"There was a point in our country's history where Michael Jordan was one of the most popular athletes in the history of the United States of American, maybe even the world. Kids looked up to him and saw a God who couldn't be touched. Who could blame them for wanting to buy everything he endorsed?
"To this day, they are selling Michael Jordan branded Nikes. Some go for hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. Whats the turn around though? Desperation. Kids want so badly to be like Mike, that if they couldn't buy them, they stole them. Stories on the news of people getting arrested, kids getting shot for their shoes, people obsessing over what isn't much more than fabric and rubber. Why? Because they idolized a man who didn't give two shits about them! He let it happen! He let those shoes go out into the world with those ludicrous prices, knowing full well how much people loved them, and then people died! Lives were ruin!
"Even though being long gone from sports, the effects of his legacy are still around. His face is still appearing in ads. It might be quite sometime before the mania of his existence disappears into the ether, but even then there is no guarantee that the slate will ever be wiped completely clean.
"Would you do that, Vengeance? Even with all your anger, all your hatred, all your tunnel vision. You can't be that blind. Surely you care about your fans, about those whom your word is law and all others become enemies if they oppose. You see what I'm trying to do, do you want to stand in the way of that for notoriety? For that fame you love? For that praise you wait each week for? I guess, what I'm asking is...
"Do you wanna be like Mike?"
I took a moment and smiled into the camera. Not just for dramatics, but because I knew it was all coming together. My words were weaving a tapestry that would choke Vengeance if a single word of it could reach him.
"Its an honest question. Life is a matter of knowing where our place in it is. For a long time I was looking for that place, pretending I didn't know it was in that ring. I have a feeling that I'm not the only one trying to keep away from the truth. As I said earlier, there is a sort of tragic irony when those who wrestle really shouldn't. I wasn't just talking out my ass, I was, of course, talking about you Vengeance.
"Look at it this way. We are both walking into One with an outcome in mind. One of us is going to realize just how delusional we are, and being that I already went through my flight with insanity, I think its time you realize just where in the universe you are.
"You weren't put here to be a champion. Its not in the cards for you to take up your sword and suddenly become a warrior, bent on victory. If your spot is in this sport, its as a step for me. You are an example. I don't mean this with any maliciousness. God knows we have traded enough of that. I mean it with absolute honesty. I want you to fulfill that purpose, because its best for not only the rest of the world, but for you.
"You conjure up a lot of images of darkness, dirt, grime, and violence. So let me implore you to make a change of scenery; see the light. Show that you care about more than crowns, belts, and legacies. I will greet you with open arms. Even if it is to make you tap."
Cut. That's a wrap. The camera, my old friend, ceased to function, his head now filled with memories to be transferred to a computer.
I still had it. A part of me hated that fact, but it was undeniable. I had wasted so much time when my home was here, as a competitor. I had invested so much time thinking of different ways to keep myself occupied, that I didn't notice how all roads ended up back here.
It didn't anymore. I was here and it was here I would stay. Until I died. I didn't care anymore. The universe had its way with me and it was time that I accepted where it threw me. To be a wrestler. Forever more. No choice of my own. I am what I always was, despite my protest, and now I had to make the most of it.
It was a sort of poetry. The way words were used to convey ideas in a landscape where personalities were bigger than life. I had spent my childhood watching this sport, falling in love with it. Spending hours in front of a mirror pretending to shoot on some no name coward. It was where I thought of "God Given Greatness", where I had developed my demeanor, trying to show only what I wanted the audience to see; my confidence, my intelligence, my wit, and my intensity. I had no reason to show them my fears, my insecurities, my down points. In front of the camera, I was myself minus myself. I didn't pick up a gimmick, wearing face paint or masks to be noticed, but I was clearly less myself, and more of a caricature of myself, one I was proud of.
It was easier to be the me from the screen. It felt natural, it was habit, and now, after having been away from it so long. It came back without any sense of effort. I was in my element, I was king of the show, and I felt as if the rest of the world was leaning in just to hear me speak into the ear of heaven, even if all I spoke were lies.
I remember the first time I had ever cut a promo in front of a real camera. I felt the moment, dived into it head first and spat fire like it was what I was born to do. I had all eyes on me, and it was like God flowed from my lips. I couldn't have been happier with myself, owning it the first time through. I walked over to watch the play back, ready to see magic on that screen.
What I saw was a mess. My were words clunky. I stuttered. Over emphasized unimportant statements. My pauses and stretching was obvious. I made no thesis statement. It felt like it was all coming down on my head. It was a kick from the real world into my over inflated ego and it took good effort on my part not to cry. That was me. That idiot on the screen was me. I walked away feeling defeated in a way I had never felt in the ring.
Time passed. Wounds healed, and I moved on. Every time I cut a promo, I watched the play back and made notes. I developed an eye for my mistakes and my strengths and I played with them. Eventually, I got pretty good at thinking on my feet. When the interviewer asked a question, I could jump on it in a heart beat and keep my focus without any problem. I had a plan going into each one and I did my best to nail it every time.
With each promo, I could feel the difference. I was no longer just a man saying the words 'God Given Greatness', I was a man who meant it. I made it mine. There were plenty of talented wrestlers, but a man who could work the mic and the ring was a man companies would fight to get, and over the years, a great number of companies did fight.
Now, here, in this room, it was like walking into an old home. His focus was tight and his mind was sharp. He knew exactly where he was coming from and where he was going. For one instance in his life, everything was in place, and it was like he could hear the universe click when the camera began to roll.
"You know," he began, feeling the excess of the world drift away, leaving only him, the room, and the camera, "its funny. What is? You might be asking. Everything is. But mostly this tragic sense of irony that plagues this existence of ours. Power goes to the ungrateful, the airwaves go to the insane, and those that wrestler, honestly shouldn't. While those that should, are often driven away from it due to the god-awful damage 'real-wrestlers' due to the facade of the industry.
"In a world of Adam Young's, Zombie McMorris', Ultimate Destroyer's, and specifically Vengeance's, it would appear that the imbecilic dominate this sport...or more overpopulate it. They strangle this industry until it is nothing more than a carnival of idiotic personalities that feel that there time would be best spent swinging their dicks around, trying to hit each other.
"Those people are an insult to not only you the fans, but to the industry I love. When people tune in to watch Slam each week, they should be treated to a spectacle of competition, of prestige, a battle of the minds, not just of muscle. Instead, we have drug addicts, molesters, faux-psychopaths, hot-topic goths, men in masks, and southern hicks all swinging fists like monkeys fighting in a shit stained cage.
"They took the shine of wrestling and they smashed it. Scared of it. They destroyed what they could and turned what was left into this twisted nightmare. It became a wasteland of filth and absurdity. I couldn't stand it. I gagged and wheezed as I walked around it, trying not to breathe in the stench they left on its legacy. You cheer them, you pay for their merchandise, and they laugh at you, they laugh at what you love, and you pay for more. You buy those tickets, you let them do this.
"Would you let your neighbor kick your dog? Would you let him kill your cat? Fuck your mother? Behead your brother? Then WHY?! OH WHY!? Do you let THEM do this to something so pure? Don't try and twist this around. As much as it is them doing it all, it is YOU who gives them license to do so. With every ratings pop, with every sign, with every purchase. You are telling this company, 'please, oh please, shit on me! Dumb me down, gie me the crap, the unwanted, give me what wouldn't cut it on even the worst of sitcoms! I don't want quality, I don't want competition, I want poop jokes, I want sex jokes, I want terrorist jokes, absurd stories, and I want to be tricked into thinking this is good!'
"I couldn't take it anymore. It burrowed into the back of my mind. I tried the best I could in that ring to polish whatever turd they gave me and make this sport great again, but it was all in vein, because on the inside, when you are caught in the whirlwind, there is no way to stop it. I felt the futility of my actions and left. I ran as I felt the hand of low-brow entertainment grasp my shoulder. I refused to watch the thing I LOVED get destroyed by YOU!
"After a while, when I no longer sat up in my bed in a cold sweat after yet another nightmare about becoming the next 'Steve Orbit', I began to reform my plan to make this sport great again. If I couldn't do it from the inside, I would do so from the outside. Hesitantly, I came back. I filled a much need position in this company and began my plan to fix WCF.
"Immediately, from all sides I was assailed by questions from every party. 'how are you going to fix this?', 'how are you going to fix that?', and I tried to tell them not to worry, that I had it all figured out, that I wouldn't stop until WCF was restored to is former glory. I worked day and night. Listening to every complaint, making countless decisions at a moments notice. I did what I could to fix what I thought was broken.
"But was my efforts met with praise? Was I thrown on top of shoulders for my work and carried around town with cheer? No. I didn't ask for anything so extravagant! Not even for a thank you, because to see the fruits of my labor was all I ever wanted. However, I didn't even get that. Before I even made two weeks, a new question emerged...
"'When are you going to come back and wrestler?!' It was the only thing anyone wanted to know. Not about my plans, not about what I had done, but whether or not I would risk my health for the entertainment of a bunch of ungrateful assholes. It didn't stop there either. Not only were the fans eager to see me destroy myself and forget my mission, but superstar after superstar taunted me. They all wanted to see me crack, to see my efforts be for not! They wanted to see be sink down to their level.
"I resisted with every fiber of my being. I sunk myself into my work, but then it happened. One of those dirty sons-of-bitches put their hands on me. I was attacked mercilessly! I was led to believe I would be safe as a staff-member, but promises don't mean anything when anarchy reigns! Vengeance wanted to see me back in the ring more than anyone else! He needed me to get back in the ring, and he did everything he could to do so!
"And what did you all do? You cheered. You wanted to see me get my comeuppance. And for what?! Wanting to help? Wanting to do good? You would cheer a fiend and a bastard over a man who was just looking to enlighten you? At the end of the day, all it would take would be a few apes with swords and I'm sure you would be just as entertained!
"That's when I made my first mistake. Through an act of pure emotional reaction, I sunk down to Vengeance's level and became apart of the carnival again. Not to fix it. Not to make it better, but out of a need to hurt some dumb, confused asshole who didn't know any better.
"How can I truly blame Vengeance for his actions? At the time, I was so overcome with anger that I reacted the only way I knew how, and thats when I realized that it was people like Vengeance that destroyed this sport. This sport was dead long before he got here. He is a symptom. The unfortunate waste product of those who came before him. I shouldn't have blamed him, I should have blamed his heroes. His idiot heroes which influenced him to be just as much of an idiot.
"Once I realized that, it all began to make sense. His melodramatic nature, his over-the-top-to-the-point-of-being-ridiculous mannerisms, his mindless want to hurt and destroy. It wasn't him. It was a mimicry. Much like I was pretending, thinking I could be 'Head of Talent-Relations', he was pretending to be a wrestler. He didn't know the proper way to be one, so he just stole like anyone would have. He stole all the parts he could understand to form the mess that he is. He didn't have the eye to pick out technique or strategy. He wasn't smart enough to understand WHY! He just did what he use to see on Television.
"Then I got to thinking. If a stumbling oaf who doesn't know any better had the same influence his idiot heroes had on him, then there were kids out there who looked up to him and were going to know wrestling through an even more distorted lens. Being too stupid to pick out even Vengeance's thought process, they would be the waste product to his waste product. They would take the shallow ends of his actions. Then someday they will get into the sport and be the superstar to an even dumber generation. In a hundred years or so, this sport would barely resemble even the mess that it is today.
"So, I had to make a decision. Do I keep to this path of paper? Trying to bureaucratically eliminate what minor problems I can fix from my desk, or do I dive back into the eye of the storm, try to raise the bar once more?
"It wasn't an easy decision. Both needed sacrifice, and at the end of the day, I would be forever stuck with whatever choice I made. There was no one there to tell me what was the right choice. I had to make it on my own.
"So, when that fateful moment arrives where I stood at the crossroads, I made my choice. Now, I stand on the precipice of a possible new era for WCF, just waiting for that other shoe to drop, for One to come, for the dust to be kicked up and eventually settle.
"As I sit on this edge, waiting to see the other side of the horizon, I've realized I'm not doing this for me, or for you, or for Vengeance. I'm doing this because the world deserves better. I don't see the world getting better now, not while we're all still alive. I don't see anything getting better while the disease still circulates, but hundreds of years from now, when we are all deep underground, maybe, just maybe, we'll be on our way in the right direction. I don't just mean in wrestling either. If we raise the bar today, we'll create a smarter audience. An audience that will learn to discover things for themselves. An audience that will make the right choices in life. To become doctors, scientists, engineers. Maybe I can keep a generation of people from becoming fighters.
"With the focus away from watching men crush each other's skulls, we could cure cancer, aids, retardation, get off this planet, and span across the galaxy. I'm willing to give up my ability to retire with healthy knees for that. I'm willing to ignore what you, the crowd, wants. Even if I die feeling unfulfilled, I can die with the hope that I changed something, that I paved the way so that when you people are no longer around to poison the Earth, something can get done.
"So, my question is to you, Vengeance. Are you going to stop progress? These people look up to you. They will follow you. I know they've already turned their back on me. They decided that a long time ago, but you are a man with influence. You know what its like to be inspired by a face on the television screen. Are you going to stand in the way by using your power to train a generation of sub-par wrestlers? Are you going to abuse their trust by letting them ruin themselves trying to be just like you.
"Do you want to see a bunch of painted up kids running around, swinging weapons at each other, giving each other brain damage? Or do you want to see a world populated by scholars, by thinkers, by TRUE risk takers?
"Now, I know what you are thinking. 'But, Benjamin, I love the notoriety, and the fame, and the glory, and the idea of kids wanting to be just like me!' In return, let me offer a few words to counter that,
"'I wanna be like Mike'.
"There was a point in our country's history where Michael Jordan was one of the most popular athletes in the history of the United States of American, maybe even the world. Kids looked up to him and saw a God who couldn't be touched. Who could blame them for wanting to buy everything he endorsed?
"To this day, they are selling Michael Jordan branded Nikes. Some go for hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. Whats the turn around though? Desperation. Kids want so badly to be like Mike, that if they couldn't buy them, they stole them. Stories on the news of people getting arrested, kids getting shot for their shoes, people obsessing over what isn't much more than fabric and rubber. Why? Because they idolized a man who didn't give two shits about them! He let it happen! He let those shoes go out into the world with those ludicrous prices, knowing full well how much people loved them, and then people died! Lives were ruin!
"Even though being long gone from sports, the effects of his legacy are still around. His face is still appearing in ads. It might be quite sometime before the mania of his existence disappears into the ether, but even then there is no guarantee that the slate will ever be wiped completely clean.
"Would you do that, Vengeance? Even with all your anger, all your hatred, all your tunnel vision. You can't be that blind. Surely you care about your fans, about those whom your word is law and all others become enemies if they oppose. You see what I'm trying to do, do you want to stand in the way of that for notoriety? For that fame you love? For that praise you wait each week for? I guess, what I'm asking is...
"Do you wanna be like Mike?"
I took a moment and smiled into the camera. Not just for dramatics, but because I knew it was all coming together. My words were weaving a tapestry that would choke Vengeance if a single word of it could reach him.
"Its an honest question. Life is a matter of knowing where our place in it is. For a long time I was looking for that place, pretending I didn't know it was in that ring. I have a feeling that I'm not the only one trying to keep away from the truth. As I said earlier, there is a sort of tragic irony when those who wrestle really shouldn't. I wasn't just talking out my ass, I was, of course, talking about you Vengeance.
"Look at it this way. We are both walking into One with an outcome in mind. One of us is going to realize just how delusional we are, and being that I already went through my flight with insanity, I think its time you realize just where in the universe you are.
"You weren't put here to be a champion. Its not in the cards for you to take up your sword and suddenly become a warrior, bent on victory. If your spot is in this sport, its as a step for me. You are an example. I don't mean this with any maliciousness. God knows we have traded enough of that. I mean it with absolute honesty. I want you to fulfill that purpose, because its best for not only the rest of the world, but for you.
"You conjure up a lot of images of darkness, dirt, grime, and violence. So let me implore you to make a change of scenery; see the light. Show that you care about more than crowns, belts, and legacies. I will greet you with open arms. Even if it is to make you tap."
Cut. That's a wrap. The camera, my old friend, ceased to function, his head now filled with memories to be transferred to a computer.
I still had it. A part of me hated that fact, but it was undeniable. I had wasted so much time when my home was here, as a competitor. I had invested so much time thinking of different ways to keep myself occupied, that I didn't notice how all roads ended up back here.
It didn't anymore. I was here and it was here I would stay. Until I died. I didn't care anymore. The universe had its way with me and it was time that I accepted where it threw me. To be a wrestler. Forever more. No choice of my own. I am what I always was, despite my protest, and now I had to make the most of it.
