Make Or Break
That’s all the lip service I’ll pay towards the World Title match. You’ll get no more from me. Because this week, I could not give a flying fuck about whether Czecher wins or not. This week is about me; about MY match. I need to beat Jacobs and to do that I need to be focused. I can’t have my attention taken away by a match that means nothing.
Erin, I’m focused on you, and only you. I listen. I know what you think of me. On one hand you tell everyone how this is the biggest match of your career. That this match will be your ultimate test. Then on the other hand you say ‘the idol’ is a shell of his former self. You say I’m at the end of my career. You’re a smart man, Erin, but I can’t help but feel you’re getting yourself very confused. I think deep down, you’re happy we’ve never met one on one because you’re not as confident as you like to say you are. I think you’re pleased we never met one on one, so you could keep saying for years on end how you’ve never got that match against Dynamite. Well now you have it, and I bet you’re shitting yourself.
I’m actually worried that you’ll not even make it to the match on Sunday. From what I’ve been hearing, you’re such a nervous wreck you’ve been honking on that pipe of yours like there’s no tomorrow. They say you’re so damn nervous you’ll roll up and smoke anything you can find. That’s cool with me, Erin. You keep yourself so damn baked that you’ll never have to face the reality that you’re not as good as me, and that you never have been. When you roll up into the arena on Sunday, with your bloodshot eyes bulging out of your head, you’ll be lucky if you make it down the aisle and to the ring. But the people will be happy to know that under no circumstances will I take it easy on you. You’ve opened that mouth of yours one too many times lately for me to get it over with quickly. You’ll get the beating you deserve and I’ll make sure of it.
What you have to learn by now is that knocking Bill Dynamite before the match gets you nowhere. They’ve been saying the same shit for 4 years; Bill Dynamite is finished. It’s the same thing every match I have. “You’re at the edge, Bill, and I’ll be the one to knock you off it.” But every time I prevail. Every time I show them that I’m by no means finished. Every time I make them look stupid. I thought you would be different, Erin. I thought that you would have something different to offer me in the way of motivation. I thought you’d throw a curveball at me and tell me how scared you are, how you’re not sure if you have what it takes. But instead you went down the same path they all do. Every young pretender to my crown plays that same damn card and I beat them down like the little bitches they are. But you’re different.
Why are you different? Because you’re not a young pretender. You’re no spring chicken anymore, Erin. You’re considered a veteran just like me. There’s no amount of weed you can smoke to knock those years off, you’re stuck with them. Fortunately for you, all that shit you smoke has made you so fucking comatosed you don’t even feel pain anymore. You’re living in a dream world. You think you’re back to your youth and you’re not. You’re just like me, getting on in years and clinging to the only thing you can do. Because you know when wrestling goes, when you can’t do this shit anymore, you may as well be dead because you have nothing. It’s gonna be a real kick in the nuts when you’re lying on the canvas, looking up at the lights knowing the match you wanted so badly has just happened and you screwed it up. You waited five years to face Bill Dynamite, and it’s all over in minutes. That persona you built for yourself, that ideal that you’ve had the world believe will be up in smoke. It will be worthless, as will you.
As normal in wrestling, things are said to build a big match like this that are not always true. 5 years in the making is true if we’re talking about a one on one match. But as you already mentioned, we’ve met before in the ring more than once and you have never come out a winner.
That triple threat for the eWo World Title years ago, YOU were the man pinned by Johnny Legend, not me. I lost my World Title because of you and I never got another chance. I never got my rematch. I had my World Title, that I worked so hard for, taken away from me because YOU dropped the ball. I went through a lot to get that belt, I beat Czecher in the tournament. I beat Dunn in the final, a match YOU refereed. But when it came to the crunch, you screwed it all up. Not just for yourself, but you screwed it up for me by losing my title to Johnny Legend. For that, I will never forgive you.
And then last month at Hell & Back, my brother and me took you and Cody Clark to school in a tag match. You two couldn’t handle us, and it showed. And after we beat you, I decided to give Cody Clark a little something called sweet revenge. What he did to me at WrestleFest, I always told him would come back and bite him on his arse, and that it did. As I was standing there, giving Clark a beating with Rowdy Roddy Pipe, a beating the likes of which he had never experienced, you just stood there watching. A great friend you are. Your buddy is in the ring getting his face caved in, so much so that he had to hand over the reigns of eWo to Danny Allen, and you just stood their shitting your pants. You knew that if you got back in that ring to try and make the save, you’d look even more ridiculous than you already did. Because I would have beaten the hell out of you too and you know it. That’s what you stayed away. I can’t believe Cody has let that slide. Maybe I fucked him up so badly that he hasn’t realised but I’ll tell him when I next see him. I’ll say, “Cody, while I was fucking your shit up, your so called buddy just stood there watching because he pussied out and dropped a load in his panties.”
You can try and pretend I don’t have it anymore all you like, but reality bites and it’ll take a chunk out of you this Sunday. Talk is cheap, Erin. Telling me I’m past my best isn’t gonna help your cause in the slightest. It’s all I need, I’ll tell you that. Every time some two-bit challenger comes knocking on my door they use that same old shit and I use it to my advantage without fail. It sells pay-per-views, that’s for sure. The people buy just to see if I still have it, they want to see someone topple Dynamite on the big stage. Well as much as I respect you Erin, I feel I must do you a massive favour and smack that false confidence out of you. It will do you good in the long run to know that after all this time you couldn’t beat me. You’ve been spouting the same crap for years, and you sound like a broken record in eWo. It’s your time now. It’s only a matter of time. What happens when it’s clear that it isn’t your time? What will you do then? I’d start thinking about that if I were you because your time has been and gone and on Sunday I will prove it to you and the rest of the world once and for all.
What more do I need to do, really? Every year I have to “prove” myself. Every time I come back, I get the same doubters, the same old shit, the same people saying I’ve lost it. I get the new guys coming through giving me a hard time, wanting to take me out and make themselves famous. After eWo, it’s always about Dynamite being fat, Dynamite being old, Dynamite being past it. Yeah I’ve messed up a lot of times in my life, but every time I come back to the ring I show everyone I’m still the man. But yet they still doubt me. Dynamite WAS the man, but now he’s not quite up there with the best. Well I’ve beaten the best, so isn’t about time I became THE man now? Is this the match I need to win to finally show people that Dynamite is still the man? I’ve beaten Legend, I’ve beaten Czecher, I’ve beaten Jarvis. This Sunday, I’ll beat Jacobs, I’ll win the BodyCount Rumble, and I’ll go to Supremacy as the challenger, and I WILL be crowned eWo World Champion for the second time.
I’m getting sick of this shit. But I’ll do it one more time, just for you. Enjoy it.
“Kevin, look at this…” I throw this month’s edition of World Wrestling Magazine on the coffee table in front of him. He gives me a short stare and puts his sandwich down before giving the article a read.
Dyna-Shite - By Bob Blair
15 years ago I wrestled Bill Dynamite in sports hall in Bethnal Green, East London in front of no more than 200 people. He had a body like a Greek God, his bright blonde hair glowed even in the badly lit arena. When he flexed his biceps, his muscles had muscles, and he’d finish matches without breaking a sweat. The man was perfection. Half the audience was made up of middle aged women who came to see Dynamite’s body. When he left the arena, he would be mobbed by the purple rinse brigade to the point where he’d be rubbing antiseptic cream in his scratches the next day. I knew he would make it big. And boy did he do that.
But seeing Bill in the condition he’s in now makes me wish he had retired years ago. The drink and drug abuse has taken it’s toll on his body. His gut has been known to hang well below his tight red shorts. His biceps do not bulge like they used to, instead his bingo wings hang like sleeve of wizard. The bleached hair look worked when he was 25, but now he’s 41 it resembles more of a cry for help. The orange tan has never looked natural on an Englishman and the beard would look better on George Michael.
When I see him strut to the ring, his joints looks stiff. I’ve heard stories that he has to spend most of his day laying on his back at home in a bathrobe because he only has a certain amount of physical activity left before his body simply falls apart. But yet when the landlord calls last orders he’s up to that bar like a rat up a drainpipe.
This week, Dynamite steps into the ring against Erin Jacobs. A man considered a veteran but yet does not possess half the ailments Dynamite does. Jacobs’ physique is as toned as always, he looks fit and half the age of Dynamite. I sit here writing my column wondering just why Dynamite does it to himself year in year out, making that last bust for a world title. I feel sorry for him. He really must have nothing else. This Sunday, Dynamite will have to be at his very best to handle Jacobs, but I see nothing but defeat for the idol.
“Hmmm…” Ponders Kevin. “He hasn’t seen you for 15 years but he’s got you spot on.”
“Kiss my arse, Kevin.” I snatch the sandwich away and start munching it in his face. “This is the same thing they said when I fought Gabe Reno last year and I beat his little wannabe arse. What happened to the days when they said I was too good?”
“They’re long gone, Dad. You know this. You’re 41, they’re not gonna say you’re the best no matter what you do. It’s all about The Legend and AJ Donovan nowadays.”
“Neither of those could hold my jock, and they know it. To think Legend is going for the World Title again… Makes me sick.”
“Forget Legend. If he wins the title, you need to make sure it’s you who goes to Supremacy. To do that, you need to win the BodyCount Rumble. Coming in at #1, at your age and in your condition, isn’t an option, so you need to beat Jacobs.”
“Fuck Jacobs. I’m sick of all the hype around that guy. Really, he’s shown in the past that when it comes to the big occasion, he chokes. He’s all mouth, saying he needs his shot. Then like against British Brawler, he choked. Against Johnny Legend and I, he choked. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again.”
“What if… IF… you don’t beat Jacobs. You’ll enter the rumble at #1. Come on, Dad… You can’t handle 29 entrants. You’ll pass out in a corner by #10. You need that #30. It’s made for you.”
“Kevin, once again your stupidity has gotten ahead of you.” I explain. “Let me take you back to BWF’s Gauntlet Run 2005, I entered #1 in that rumble as a challenge to Tim Murphy, and I went all the way to the final four. I was the MVP of that rumble. I can last all the way if I need to. And anyway, I have a plan. This plan is foolproof; this plan is in line for a Nobel Prize it’s so good. Even if by some freak accident I lose to Jacobs and enter the rumble at number one, my plan will get me all the way to the end, where I will see Jacobs again, and I WILL eliminate him, and I WILL be going to Supremacy.”
“You gonna tell me this plan or what?” Ask Kevin.
“Let’s just say that EgoMania is branching out.”
