Post by doc on Jun 21, 2011 13:46:51 GMT -6
I remember signing my first professional deal.
I was just a laid back teenager then, wise-cracking and easy-going. I'd still grown up around poverty and crime, but you know what? I didn't give a rat's ass about any of that. I was a professional wrestler.
Living the dream.
And I wish that was my dream. I wish I could have woke up every morning, singing on my way to work because I was doing something I loved and getting paid for it. But my ambition wasn't to become a wrestler. It was to be the best. And it wasn't until I got close to that, and saw first-hand how this business chews you up and spits you out, that suddenly I didn't feel cracking any more stupid f*cking jokes. Look at me. An angry depressive. A man who can't look back at the place he grew up without a certain bitterness.
I can't even think about grabbing the spotlight in this company without reminding myself, how before I got here, I endured the daily promo schedules, backstage politics and a bad case of boss from hell in that other place ..
But it was here that I would finally break.
It was here.
And I think we all know about the troubled times I went through. It was all there, on nCw camera.
Much like the Falcon of today, I was trying to tell the younger guys that being in the spotlight, it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Winning stops feeling like winning.
Losing starts feeling like cancer.
Once upon a time, I used to be the man guys in the back would look up to for his toughness of mind. I would take the critcism and shrug it off. I would get put in impossible situations, but whenever the chips were down, I always raised my game.
But they say if water drips on a rock long enough, it'll crack - right?
Imagine it never stopped raining.
The drugs and the accomplishments create a hazy image. But cameras can't capture what happens inside. No book can ever explain the competitive desire that engineers greatness. No movie can ever depict the self torture of a lonely perfectionist for whom there is no end game, no point of satisfaction.
And the only thing that makes you that bit better than the rest, it's the same thing slowly eating away at your soul.. killing you from the inside out, dragging you in to a world of fame a million miles away from the champagne parties and luxury yachts.
Those anti depressants couldn't help me. Because no doctor has ever been able to tell me exactly how much sacrifice is enough to beat a man like Falcon. No sports coach could tell me how many miles to run to roll my shoulder off the mat following an Aerial Spike.
So you can never tell me to stop.
You can't tell me to settle down with a wife and kids and cut out those late night bench workouts. You can't accuse me of rushing my body back to action because I choose to shake off a little ring rust by wrestling twice in one night.
Because the last time I met Falcon in that ring..
I gave him everything I had, and it wasn't enough to beat him.
So the only thing I know for sure, is that however much I allowed myself to become obsessed, however many late night gym sessions I had that week..
It wasn't enough.
And I don't make the same mistakes twice.
I was just a laid back teenager then, wise-cracking and easy-going. I'd still grown up around poverty and crime, but you know what? I didn't give a rat's ass about any of that. I was a professional wrestler.
Living the dream.
And I wish that was my dream. I wish I could have woke up every morning, singing on my way to work because I was doing something I loved and getting paid for it. But my ambition wasn't to become a wrestler. It was to be the best. And it wasn't until I got close to that, and saw first-hand how this business chews you up and spits you out, that suddenly I didn't feel cracking any more stupid f*cking jokes. Look at me. An angry depressive. A man who can't look back at the place he grew up without a certain bitterness.
I can't even think about grabbing the spotlight in this company without reminding myself, how before I got here, I endured the daily promo schedules, backstage politics and a bad case of boss from hell in that other place ..
But it was here that I would finally break.
It was here.
And I think we all know about the troubled times I went through. It was all there, on nCw camera.
Much like the Falcon of today, I was trying to tell the younger guys that being in the spotlight, it isn't all it's cracked up to be. Winning stops feeling like winning.
Losing starts feeling like cancer.
Once upon a time, I used to be the man guys in the back would look up to for his toughness of mind. I would take the critcism and shrug it off. I would get put in impossible situations, but whenever the chips were down, I always raised my game.
But they say if water drips on a rock long enough, it'll crack - right?
Imagine it never stopped raining.
The drugs and the accomplishments create a hazy image. But cameras can't capture what happens inside. No book can ever explain the competitive desire that engineers greatness. No movie can ever depict the self torture of a lonely perfectionist for whom there is no end game, no point of satisfaction.
And the only thing that makes you that bit better than the rest, it's the same thing slowly eating away at your soul.. killing you from the inside out, dragging you in to a world of fame a million miles away from the champagne parties and luxury yachts.
Those anti depressants couldn't help me. Because no doctor has ever been able to tell me exactly how much sacrifice is enough to beat a man like Falcon. No sports coach could tell me how many miles to run to roll my shoulder off the mat following an Aerial Spike.
So you can never tell me to stop.
You can't tell me to settle down with a wife and kids and cut out those late night bench workouts. You can't accuse me of rushing my body back to action because I choose to shake off a little ring rust by wrestling twice in one night.
Because the last time I met Falcon in that ring..
I gave him everything I had, and it wasn't enough to beat him.
So the only thing I know for sure, is that however much I allowed myself to become obsessed, however many late night gym sessions I had that week..
It wasn't enough.
And I don't make the same mistakes twice.
You're a phony.
A fake. A fraud. A fugaise.
I said it the first time I faced you. I saw through your little act as Mr Company Man the moment I laid eyes on you.
And what did you say to me Falcon? That I was a liar? That I didn't know a damn thing about you?
All I had was assumptions?
Well, the last part was right.
Pretty good assumptions too, as it turned out.
Luckily I usually have hindsight to fall back on.
What about you Falcon?
I thought you were supposed to be the man who championed virtue?
The lighthouse for new recruits?
Didn't seem that way when all the phony reasons you wallpapered around for joining the fight against the Young Guns finally peeled back to reveal your true colors.
Did it now?
You're just a jealous, bitter old man, who said nobody cared about us, who said we weren't that good, who said that none of us would amount to anything in nCw.
You said this was your company. You said the reason you still roamed these halls applying your hair loss treatment and cutting the same promo every single week was because none of the new guys had been good enough to move you over.
Well, considering half the roster may as well just lay down and let you pin them because of how scared they are at the mention of name 'Falcon', I can see what you mean. I used to be in your position too, that guy who was so respected in a company that I could look across the ring and see an opponent who, for all the tough talk and oiled biceps, had that weakness in their eye that let me know that somewhere inside, they didn't believe they could win. And that's what you love, isn't it Falcon? When all these young, bleary-eyed superstars see their name beside yours on the card and start cutting promos, talking about how they respect you and your accomplishments. Yeah, that's perfect, isn't it? Means you can keep up that whole gimmick where you get to be the Jedi Master, patronizing ninety percent of the roster like they don't know a hip toss from a hip flask, in between b*tching and moaning at everything going in nCw that you don't happen to agree with. It's clever Falcon, I admit. Not only do you get to look like our shiny new superhero every week, you get to promo in a way that brainwashes these rookies in to thinking you're some kind of 'messiah of knowledge'.
And that's funny in itself. Falcon.. the man who claims to teach people the "how and why of reality". Really? I think you seem to be getting two seperate concepts a little confused here. There's a difference between being emo enough to reflect, both introspectively and on what's happening around you, and being someone who actually knows a thing or two about the harshness of reality on these cold streets. So do me a favor. Stick to your f*cking video games and keep your mouth shut about your the "how any why of reality".
Maybe if you stopped looking for your next 'Triforcechick' and took a drive from this week's venue in London up to the UK's most notorious city- Glasgow - you would learn enough about reality within a couple of days to run home thanking god you had your sheltered little upbringing. And I don't have to know anything about you, your background, or where you grew up to say all of this Falcon. Because I know the real world, I had to learn it as a twelve year old kid when my mum told me I would have to put my own food on the table from now on - and it's not hard to tell which guys in the back definitely wouldn't have had the cajones to make it here following my path.
(Psst. That's you, Kyle.)
But I know we've all been through our own, different struggles, so save me the stupid speach. The point here is, nobody else in the back pretends to be someone they're not.
Just you.
But don't worry, I get the logic. I mean all I had to do was go back in time a few months and watch you cutting those lame, forced heel promos to see why you decided quickly putting the Mr nCw "I'm here to help guys" mask back on was probably a good idea.
But hold on, aren't you the guy who lectured an opponent on - what did you call it? - "Heel 101" ?
I can't decide whether your really that much of a self absorbed asshole, or just a little ignorant to your own flaws.
But anyway Falcon, it's alright to be a one trick pony.
'Cause as long as you have your fake little image to uphold, you da man - right?
I mean how did we even cross paths in the first place? Weren't you shouting your mouth off about how pathetic the Young Guns were for threatening a nineteen year old girl? That little nice-guy act of yours?
Oh yeah, but it's totally cool for the great Falcon to punch that same nineteen your old girl in the sternum and then cut a promo making out it was the right thing to do.
But didn't you rubbish Charlie Velez for winning matches by interference? Didn't you get on your f*cking phony little high horse and wag your finger at us about the concept of fairness?
Oh yeah, but it's totally logical for Falcon to brag about being one of the few guys to have had two world title reigns, 'cause it completely and utterly didn't look like Alex Jones was just about to win that match.
And tell me something Falcon, oh great master of all that happens in nCw. How come whenever I check the Hall of Records, my tag title win is still ruined by that stupid statement reminding us all that Will Washington had to lay out his tag partner to allow two sub-par athletes like Venom and I to beat the iconic iWash, something I'm sure we would never have been able to do under normal circumstances.
Not that I really care. Everyone already knows Will Washington is a truely charismatic and unstoppable force who could kick my ass with one hand tied behind his back. But then, what it does say beside your second world title win Falcon?
Nothing.
So you tell me what the f*ck's fair around here.
But I'm sure concept of fairness seemed a lot less important when Charlie Velez started picking off the roster like flies, and you realized that you had to do everything you could - including hiding behind an authority figure - to keep yourself at the top around here, right?
Funny how your little act returned soon as Charlie left.
But what are you going do when I come for your spot Falcon? What are you going to do when I'm the man knocking you off that smug little pedestal you sit on? Drive me away from my wife?
Your as pathetic as Jack is.
See Falcon. I don't have a wife. I don't have any kids. I don't have any soft spots in my private life that you can target to distract me when the going gets tough. What you did to my best friend.. what you tried to do to his family.. doesn't just make me sick every time I hear your voice.
It makes me laugh. Because where's your wife? Where's the little gamer princess you swooped down to rescue from the arms of the Young Guns?
Sure made of a great job of that, didn't you?
So tell me Falcon.
Tell me I left this company with my tail between my legs when things didn't go my way. Tell me I have no right to waltz back in to your yard and disrespect you. Tell me the fact that I don't give you the cock sucking you seem to think you deserve means I have an attitude problem, and tell me how its never going to get me anywhere in nCw.
Tell me how your going to humble me, one more time.
Tell me whatever you want Falcon. Put on your fake, phony little image and act like I'm scum and your righteous.
But you better get used to it.
Because whatever happens this Sunday.. sooner or later, I'm taking your place at the top this company - for good. And I'm not asking you to pass the torch.
I light my own flame.
And when I knock you off that pedestal you so often like to patronize from, I'm not going to sit around and wage war against every cluster of new recruits that show the potential to eclipse me.
'Cause that's the work of bitter old men.
So tell me Falcon.
Who's afraid of Big Bad Kyle Braddock?
'Cause I'm not.
A fake. A fraud. A fugaise.
I said it the first time I faced you. I saw through your little act as Mr Company Man the moment I laid eyes on you.
And what did you say to me Falcon? That I was a liar? That I didn't know a damn thing about you?
All I had was assumptions?
Well, the last part was right.
Pretty good assumptions too, as it turned out.
Luckily I usually have hindsight to fall back on.
What about you Falcon?
I thought you were supposed to be the man who championed virtue?
The lighthouse for new recruits?
Didn't seem that way when all the phony reasons you wallpapered around for joining the fight against the Young Guns finally peeled back to reveal your true colors.
Did it now?
You're just a jealous, bitter old man, who said nobody cared about us, who said we weren't that good, who said that none of us would amount to anything in nCw.
You said this was your company. You said the reason you still roamed these halls applying your hair loss treatment and cutting the same promo every single week was because none of the new guys had been good enough to move you over.
Well, considering half the roster may as well just lay down and let you pin them because of how scared they are at the mention of name 'Falcon', I can see what you mean. I used to be in your position too, that guy who was so respected in a company that I could look across the ring and see an opponent who, for all the tough talk and oiled biceps, had that weakness in their eye that let me know that somewhere inside, they didn't believe they could win. And that's what you love, isn't it Falcon? When all these young, bleary-eyed superstars see their name beside yours on the card and start cutting promos, talking about how they respect you and your accomplishments. Yeah, that's perfect, isn't it? Means you can keep up that whole gimmick where you get to be the Jedi Master, patronizing ninety percent of the roster like they don't know a hip toss from a hip flask, in between b*tching and moaning at everything going in nCw that you don't happen to agree with. It's clever Falcon, I admit. Not only do you get to look like our shiny new superhero every week, you get to promo in a way that brainwashes these rookies in to thinking you're some kind of 'messiah of knowledge'.
And that's funny in itself. Falcon.. the man who claims to teach people the "how and why of reality". Really? I think you seem to be getting two seperate concepts a little confused here. There's a difference between being emo enough to reflect, both introspectively and on what's happening around you, and being someone who actually knows a thing or two about the harshness of reality on these cold streets. So do me a favor. Stick to your f*cking video games and keep your mouth shut about your the "how any why of reality".
Maybe if you stopped looking for your next 'Triforcechick' and took a drive from this week's venue in London up to the UK's most notorious city- Glasgow - you would learn enough about reality within a couple of days to run home thanking god you had your sheltered little upbringing. And I don't have to know anything about you, your background, or where you grew up to say all of this Falcon. Because I know the real world, I had to learn it as a twelve year old kid when my mum told me I would have to put my own food on the table from now on - and it's not hard to tell which guys in the back definitely wouldn't have had the cajones to make it here following my path.
(Psst. That's you, Kyle.)
But I know we've all been through our own, different struggles, so save me the stupid speach. The point here is, nobody else in the back pretends to be someone they're not.
Just you.
But don't worry, I get the logic. I mean all I had to do was go back in time a few months and watch you cutting those lame, forced heel promos to see why you decided quickly putting the Mr nCw "I'm here to help guys" mask back on was probably a good idea.
But hold on, aren't you the guy who lectured an opponent on - what did you call it? - "Heel 101" ?
I can't decide whether your really that much of a self absorbed asshole, or just a little ignorant to your own flaws.
But anyway Falcon, it's alright to be a one trick pony.
'Cause as long as you have your fake little image to uphold, you da man - right?
I mean how did we even cross paths in the first place? Weren't you shouting your mouth off about how pathetic the Young Guns were for threatening a nineteen year old girl? That little nice-guy act of yours?
Oh yeah, but it's totally cool for the great Falcon to punch that same nineteen your old girl in the sternum and then cut a promo making out it was the right thing to do.
But didn't you rubbish Charlie Velez for winning matches by interference? Didn't you get on your f*cking phony little high horse and wag your finger at us about the concept of fairness?
Oh yeah, but it's totally logical for Falcon to brag about being one of the few guys to have had two world title reigns, 'cause it completely and utterly didn't look like Alex Jones was just about to win that match.
And tell me something Falcon, oh great master of all that happens in nCw. How come whenever I check the Hall of Records, my tag title win is still ruined by that stupid statement reminding us all that Will Washington had to lay out his tag partner to allow two sub-par athletes like Venom and I to beat the iconic iWash, something I'm sure we would never have been able to do under normal circumstances.
Not that I really care. Everyone already knows Will Washington is a truely charismatic and unstoppable force who could kick my ass with one hand tied behind his back. But then, what it does say beside your second world title win Falcon?
Nothing.
So you tell me what the f*ck's fair around here.
But I'm sure concept of fairness seemed a lot less important when Charlie Velez started picking off the roster like flies, and you realized that you had to do everything you could - including hiding behind an authority figure - to keep yourself at the top around here, right?
Funny how your little act returned soon as Charlie left.
But what are you going do when I come for your spot Falcon? What are you going to do when I'm the man knocking you off that smug little pedestal you sit on? Drive me away from my wife?
Your as pathetic as Jack is.
See Falcon. I don't have a wife. I don't have any kids. I don't have any soft spots in my private life that you can target to distract me when the going gets tough. What you did to my best friend.. what you tried to do to his family.. doesn't just make me sick every time I hear your voice.
It makes me laugh. Because where's your wife? Where's the little gamer princess you swooped down to rescue from the arms of the Young Guns?
Sure made of a great job of that, didn't you?
So tell me Falcon.
Tell me I left this company with my tail between my legs when things didn't go my way. Tell me I have no right to waltz back in to your yard and disrespect you. Tell me the fact that I don't give you the cock sucking you seem to think you deserve means I have an attitude problem, and tell me how its never going to get me anywhere in nCw.
Tell me how your going to humble me, one more time.
Tell me whatever you want Falcon. Put on your fake, phony little image and act like I'm scum and your righteous.
But you better get used to it.
Because whatever happens this Sunday.. sooner or later, I'm taking your place at the top this company - for good. And I'm not asking you to pass the torch.
I light my own flame.
And when I knock you off that pedestal you so often like to patronize from, I'm not going to sit around and wage war against every cluster of new recruits that show the potential to eclipse me.
'Cause that's the work of bitter old men.
So tell me Falcon.
Who's afraid of Big Bad Kyle Braddock?
'Cause I'm not.