Thursday, 19 October 2006 – Hamilton, New Zealand
I gotta say, even though I know I should be somewhere else tonight, the feeling of not having to lift a God damn finger for anybody is a relief.
That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy going out in front of an intense crowd and entertaining the masses. Because I do. It’s one of the few things that I don’t even need to think about before I say I love it. And seeing as how I could find the negative side of the rebirth of Jesus and exploit it, I think that’s a pretty important thing for me to say.
I love this business.
I love the XWF, or whatever other flag they want to fly.
If I have to show love to the XWC I will, because it’s still the same family. I don’t see it as XWC, I see it as Anarchy. It’s the same way it always has been. Anarchy is on Thursday while Massacre is on Monday. The switching of the “Federation” to “Conglomerate” no longer has any meaning. So then I have to ask the question…
What has changed?
All of a sudden I found myself being forgotten about. Overlooked. Single-handedly I beat the XWC World Champion, and yet somehow that garners no respect. That garners no attention. I’m only human, and as humans we all want attention. We all crave it.
But I deserve it.
I rake my brains trying to figure out why a win in the main event over the supposed “best” gets pushed aside. I simply don’t understand it. I don’t understand how I get slid out of the XWC World Title contender rankings the day after beating the fucking champ! In reality it’s no problem. I asked for a non-title match against BoonDock Saint because at that point in time I wasn’t interested in taking his title. I still feel that way. But he needs some sort of wake-up call and I feel I’m in the best position to provide it. That’s not the point though.
The point is in principle.
In my search for answers I found the new points system. Okay, cool. But I have more points than Aidan Collins or Christian Connolly. So why are they ahead of me? If the points system was the answer, then the contenders should be Jason Mudd, Iron Bull and Dynamic Dynamite… in that order. But they’re not. Everybody with half a brain knows that Iron Bull isn’t ready for the World Title, and so that’s been taken into account.
So what’s the answer?
I understand it doesn’t matter, I do. I understand that regardless of what a stupid list says, I’m still getting a title shot at Autumn in Hell, while Aidan Collins has to get past Trent Gein and “Mr. Waste Of Time” Nick Nitro. I know that. But I still can’t help but feel a little paranoid about it all. I mean… I’m Lee Stone.
I’m Lee Stone, damn it!
Not a soul on the roster holds a candle to me, past or present. You could bring all the greats to me. T Money? Fuck him. Steve Jason? Fuck him. Jem Williams? Dominator? Cyren? Bigg Rigg? Kitten? Cooper? Mr. High Flier STS? Jayzon Williams? Justin Greenwood? Fran Damage? Sully Burden? All of Deathrow? BOA? The motherfuckin’ Brand? Fuck all of them.
I’m Lee Stone, damn it!
I guess it’s my own insecurities. That’s got to be it. That’s got to be the source of my problems. Steve Jason was right. Remind me to throw a parade for him sometime. When I hear the names I just mentioned, I do become insecure. But not because I don’t think I can beat them. Because that’s a lie.
I know I can beat them.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt I know that. What gets to me is that no matter how many of them I beat, for some reason my name would still be left off their list. The newer stars learn my name and they treat it with respect, but anybody who remembers the older times would never place me in the same category as those people. Why? That’s what I can’t figure out. My own streak is beginning to rival The Brand’s or Cooper’s. You’d think it’d be impossible to overlook it. You’d think with the success I’ve had, it would be insane of somebody to ever leave me off the list.
But they still would.
That’s why I’m sitting here. That’s why I’m at a friggin’ nightclub on a Thursday night, listening to some kid with an accent scream obscenities at his friends behind me. There’s a shit load of his friends there too. But I don’t care for them. I’m sitting here licking the salt from my hand and downing a shot of tequila because of me. I’m biting into the piece of lemon as if it’s going to take care of everything for me. But somewhere deep inside of me, I know that it won’t. I know that there’s only one person who can solve this problem.
Me.
I made the first step last week. Sure it got me suspended, but after seeing all it took for Trent Gein to get suspended, I had counted on that. Especially after Sewaside laid his hand on Jon last month. I did what I needed to do. My message will be sent.
I have no doubt that a lot of people are a little confused as to why I’d push Crimson Kline. I explained a little of it before I acted, but it’s still a grey area to many. Even to me.
I understand the actions. I understand that I laid my hands on Crimson Kline because he needed to be introduced first-hand to Lee Stone. I view the man known as Caedmon as a corrupt individual. His goal is to make Anarchy the most dominant show. His methods to achieve this are questionable though. He has lost his honour.
He has lost my respect.
One week ago I placed him next to BoonDock Saint. I placed him next to Dynamic Dynamite and the rest of the Blood Hounds. I placed him in a group that consists of egomaniacs driven to the extremes to gain what they want. They deal with the devil. But as I stare at the bottle that over the last hour has slowly begun to empty in front of me, I come to a stunning realization.
I am the devil.
Obviously not in the literal sense of the word, but I certainly have the characteristics of him. I walk the tightrope between the boundaries of truth and dishonesty. I speak with purpose to convince and sway minds to my way of thinking. I resolve issues with violence. I see fire and I think pain. I see pain and I think blood. I see blood and I think red. I see red and I think love.
I love the fire.
I love the pain.
I love the blood.
I am The Future, and The Future is painted red.
“Another please,” I whisper, barely audible. The boring bartender nods however, confirming my order. I slide over a few coins and he scoops them up before pouring a new shot of tequila for me. Lick the salt. Shoot the shot. Bite the tequila. It’s the same motion over and over again. But with new purpose this time.
Wash away my sins.
I feel reinvigorated. It’s like everything has just clicked for me. The serenity follows the anarchy like the tequila hour has followed my preference for beer today. My faith in God has been replaced by faith in myself. And it feels good.
I hear the scuffling of feet as the army inside begins to march.
I feel a fresh new breeze blow against my face. It carries a tropical scent. I’m in a club called The Outback yet my nose would swear that this is Fiji. That’s got to be a sign.
I am Lee Stone, damn it!
I tell myself that. Not anybody else. Because I am Lee Stone, and it’s about time I began to act like it. I have a plan now, a plan that meets my own perspectives on salvation. Because it’s all about perspective. What makes me happy could make another angry, or sad, or insane.
But for the first time in what feels like an eternity, I’ve figured myself out. I know what I must do. Call me insane, but I’m happy.
The feet stop. The tropical breeze passes. And I realize that perhaps I’m more intoxicated than I thought I was. Understandable, but I’m fine. The memory stays with me as I glance to my right. The damn rowdy kids. I had blocked out their presence but now I see a large number of them huddled into the gambling room. Half of them are probably in here on fake IDs, so their over excitement doesn’t surprise me. But there is one surprising thing about them. One person stands away from the group. Over by the pool tables I see the foul-mouthed kid whose voice rose above the others. He’s just… standing there.
Ah fuck it. I’ll entertain the kid. If I’m lucky he’ll entertain me too. Sliding off my bar stool, I gather my legs underneath me. Steady now. Adjusting to the vertical position I now find myself in, I move towards the red pool tables not far from where I was sitting. The kid doesn’t see me coming as he begins to head off to join his friends.
“Stay put senorita,” I manage to say, a little quieter than I meant to, but as long as the words were understandable then I really don’t give a crap. The kid turns around, showing that he heard me, as I grab a nearby pool cue and fire it into the air. I really should’ve waited until he was turned around completely. The stick narrowly misses his head and he barely snatches it in his hands before it crashes to the ground. He still caught it though, so I guess that’s all that matters. No damage caused by Lee Stone tonight. The kid looks at me a little puzzled, so I try to explain. “You’re playing and I’m paying.”
“Umm… okay.” His reply comes with some sort of accent. He’s a New Zealander for sure, or a Kiwi as we’re labelled for some unknown reason, but he appears to place emphasis on certain syllables when he speaks. That’s not so strange though, the strangest part comes from me being able to pick up on it after just two words. I drop some coins into the table to get at the balls as the kid speaks up again. “I ain’t very good though.”
“Doesn’t matter. If you’re terrible just blame it on the alcohol. That’s what I intend on doing.” My speech is slow but still clear. The kid chuckles a little bit as I set the table up. “You wanna break?” I ask him.
“Nah, you paid so you can,” he tells me. Fair enough I guess. I line up my shot, but keep an eye on the kid, whose attention turns to where his friends are. They haven’t even noticed that he’s still over here. That’s a bit harsh. One particular individual appears to take his focus, a female who could easily be described as pretty if I wasn’t afraid of being arrested for saying that. Poor, lost kid. Whatever… I shoot at the white ball and it ricochets into number eleven.
“You’re smalls,” I tell him, as he turns back to the table just in time to see the ball fall into a hole. I’m surprised that I still have the coordination to play this game. I think the overly relaxed state I find myself in is responsible for it though. I set up for my next shot and glance up at the kid before firing. “So what’s your name anyway junior?”
“Isaac,” he replies as the thirteen ball falls into a side pocket. Walking around the table, I adjust my suit jacket. “Yours?”
“Lee,” I answer, taking solace in the fact that he doesn’t know who I am. The last thing I need right now is somebody recognizing me in this drunken state, playing pool against a pimple-faced moron. Lining up once more, I put the fifteen ball into the corner nearest Isaac. I notice his eyes shooting towards the assortment of people in the gambling room. “Those your friends over there?”
“Indeed they are. That’s why I’ve been systematically trying to drive them away.” Oh great. A kid who loves to be hated. Just what I fuckin’ need. As long as he doesn’t start whining to me, then I may be able to forgive him for being a complete meathead.
“Sounds like there’s a fascinating back-story here, and if I was just a tad bit sober I may have tried to feign the slightest in what you’re saying in order to make you feel better about yourself.” I have a little problem when I’m intoxicated. The brutal honesty I impart on the world when I’m sober grows to the point where it could be deemed offensive to others. Quite honestly though, I think this Isaac kid probably needs the truth told to him in order to bring him back to his senses and realize that it’s okay to let down your guard every now and then. I sink the ten ball effortlessly and stare at the pocket it just rolled into. “Too bad I’ve been drinking since noon eh?”
“Since noon?” I fight the urge to ask if there’s an echo. I know he heard me though, so I’ll wait to see where he’s going with this. “In that case you’re hardly one to criticise anybody because from the looks of things you’ve been drinking on your own.”
“Hmph…” I lower my voice and grumble to myself a little. “Smarmy fuckin’ kid…” I quickly smash the nine ball into a side pocket and then stand up and look at the kid, smirking a little. “Touché ‘Zeek. But there is one major difference between the two of us.”
“Oh? And what would that be?” I don’t get a hostile feeling from him, despite his words being a little aggressive. To be honest they’re probably not aggressive at all, and instead of the defensive nature. My smile grows as I leave him waiting while I sink the fourteen ball.
“I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.” By looking through his eyes, I feel as if I can see his thoughts scrambling inside his brain to figure out what I’m trying to say. I’ll throw the kid a bone and explain myself. “I’m fully aware that I’m wasting my life away today, however I have a legitimate reason. There was an incident last week that has now prevented me from being where I should be tonight, for legal reasons.”
“And where do you think I should be tonight?” A smile creeps onto Isaac’s face. He thinks I’m just some crazy drunk. Well to be honest he probably has good reason to think that, but as the twelve ball falls into a corner pocket I can guarantee I’ll be the most amused of the two of us.
“Over there with that cheeky piece of jailbait that the largest piece of your degradation pie is delivered to.” I can’t help but laugh. It’s both directed at him being completely unaware that I’ve been able to hear him rattle off insults for the past hour like he has them stashed up his sleeve, and also as I look down to the table I see that all that is left for me to sink is the mystical eight ball.
“Seems like I’m not the only one with an attraction of sorts in this building though,” Isaac offers in an effort to divert attention from himself. I probably shouldn’t have put him on the spot like that. That was naughty. Bad Lee! Isaac motions with his head towards a dark corner on the opposite side of the room, where a shady-looking man sits half in the darkness. He stares at us. “You’ve got an admirer.” So I guess he stares at me, not us.
“But the difference there is that it’s not me with the case of vulnerability-phobia, it’s him. Just like it’s you. And that’s just another thing that separates me and you buddy.” The words come easily to me as I line up my final shot. The winning play. “Because when I have the opportunity to make something perfect… to sink the ball when I absolutely have to… I always do it.”
I wink at him.
Drawing the pool cue back, I then smack the white ball with it.
I drop the cue without even looking at the table to see the result of my shot.
I walk away.
But I don’t hear the sound of the ball sinking. I see the white ball hit the black. I hear a bounce as the number eight hits the wall. And then I hear another bounce. And then nothing.
I missed it.
I could blame it on the alcohol, but in the context of what just happened… how much sense would that make?
The calmness I felt before, now begins to stir. It’s like my heart begins to shake within my ribcage. I can feel it. I’m so close…
But I’m still so far away.
Monday, 23 October 2006 – Cambridge, New Zealand
“You know what the funniest thing about all this is…”
The camera opens to show my face. My voice hits your ears before you even see me though. But when you do, all you can focus on is me. I feel like I’m falling into the megalomaniac category that I despise so much, just by thinking that. But looking around me, all I see is blandness. I mean that literally. Dull wallpaper, dull carpet, dull weather outside through the window. The hints of the approaching summer here in New Zealand come about once a week, and today isn’t one of those days. But I’m the diamond in the rough. I’m the crown jewel. I’m the personification of hope.
“Throughout my first promo, there were two names I kept skirting around. Two people I mentioned only as side-notes. They are Steve Jason and Alex Cutwright. But now that I see Stevie J released a promo the exact same minute that I did, I can’t help but to wonder about how cohesive the White Order team will wind up being. Will we work well? Will we bicker? Will we constantly work to one up each other at the expense of the other chumps in the match? It’s up in the air really.
I heard a lot of the same from Steven, and I don’t mean that in a criticising way. The consistent ribbing between the two of us was heavy from him, but a little lacking on my behalf. I guess I should apologize, so here it goes Steve… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not mocking you for having the same God complex that I have, that Dynamic Dynamite has, that BoonDock Saint has… the same one that drives us all to be better wrestlers. I’m sorry Steven for not calling you a filthy marsupial lover. I truly am… sorry.
A lot of people don’t really understand what me and Steve have going on. Some people seem to think that I wish death on him. Others seem to think we’re best friends forever and go out to the park to play ball all the time and let each other wear out cloths. The truth is, as Steve will tell you, we’re somewhere in the middle. But the relevance of this has striking repercussions for the Autumn in Hell match. The true competition isn’t between The White Order, The Legacy and The Blood Hounds… it’s between Lee Stone and Steve Jason. It’s the one thing that’s been constant throughout the recent XWF history. It’s a pattern. The Hounds grow weak, and in their wake only two pillars remain standing, Lee Stone and Steve Jason.
Egotistical? Fuck yes it is. I’ve never been one to try and hide that from anybody. The only thing I can think of that would be more pointless than trying to hide my ego, would be trying to take Dynamic Dynamite seriously. But when you take into account history, when you take into account undeniable facts, Lee Stone and Steve Jason will compete with each other, even as we are on the same damn team.
So now that I’ve proved that, I hope you all are asking why. Why would I be saying this? Who the hell cares? Well… I do. Because once again after hearing Steven talk, do you know what I notice?
Familiarity.
Again Lee Stone and Steve Jason find themselves with similar goals. And this is where the competition comes into it. Who will succeed? It’s not a question of if we will. It doesn’t matter what The Hounds or The Legacy throw at us, we can brush it off with ease. Having similar goals means that regardless of how they’re accomplished, we do want them to be accomplished. So that’s why I’ll help Stevie J out if I have to. That’s why I expect him to help me out. And that’s why I’ll also punch him in the face if I have to. The balance of the world wouldn’t be right if I didn’t think that way. I don’t think Steven could sleep at night if he didn’t know that Lee Stone will always be Lee Stone. He can make metrosexual comments like I can make a “masturbate into a kangaroo pouch” comment. And I felt that was necessary to say. I feel it’s necessary that Steven knows where I stand, and all you assholes know where Steve and I stand. Because contrary to what some people may think, I don’t have Stevie J on speed-dial. We don’t sit around and discuss things over tea and crumpets. He doesn’t tell me all about how his favourite wombat friend is knocked up or anything of that nature. So there it is Steve. There’s where I stand. I want to see BoonDock Saint get slapped to the point where he forgets about ever being important, and goes back to trying to be the greatest the right way. I want to see The Blood Hounds laughed out of the building in the exact same manner that they should’ve been a long time ago. We’re on the same page, all that’s left to figure out, is who will finish the book first?
Alex is my friend. I’ll admit that. I’ve no problem working with him, and I know neither does Steve. But me and Steve… well we’ll see. I’m still trying to ponder just what’s going to happen there, all I know for certain is, either way… it’s gonna be bad for The Legacy and The Hounds.
But somebody doesn’t feel that way, isn’t that right Dynamite? Aww, is the Dynamo-Kid gonna go stamp his feet on the ground and throw a tantrum? Are you a little upset that despite what you say, you can’t convince me that you are in anyway worthy of your reputation? I mean, look at yourself Dynamite. Look at how other people look at you. Here I stand, staring right through this camera lens at you, and I don’t fear you. I don’t get all worried as if you’re going to rain hellfire and fury down on me. I look at Steve Jason and I can respect what he’s accomplished, I look at you and I see what you’ve done… but it doesn’t make me stand up and say “damn, that motherfucker is amazing!” You’re good Dynamite, I will admit that… but you’re not that good. You’re not at the level where another one of the supposed greats of this company… me… looks at you as an equal.
I want to go back and highlight a quick point right here buddy. Let’s go back to just how good you are, because in reality, that’s all it comes down to isn’t it? That’s all that really matters. And Tony, don’t for one minute think I don’t know what you’re capable of. I’d be a fool to be like that. I’d be… well… I’d be like you.
Not once have I whined about how Rick Lacey was responsible for me losing to you Dynamite. Not once have I made light of what you’ve accomplished just because your methods have been deemed “unconventional” to say the least. I, of all people, understand that it doesn’t matter how you get the win, as long as that number in your win column keeps rising. And dude, I know that’s probably the one thing that we’ll both agree on.
If I knew all of the things that you claim, then why don’t I admit them? Why is it that I can stand here and admit that since the very first day I stepped into the XWF, I’ve painted a target on Steve Jason’s back because he was the best, but I can’t admit that you’re better than me? Why is that I can admit that the hardest task I’ve ever had to achieve in my entire career, is getting up from literal death at the hands of T Money, to face him one on one in the ring… and yet I still can’t admit that you’re better than me? Is it because we have so much hate for each other that I’d simply break down if I did that? That can’t be right. Anybody with half a brain could figure out that I hate T Money much more than I hate you. So Dynamite, tell me… what is it? You know what playa… don’t answer that. I’ve got your answer right here for you. It’s because I simply don’t believe that one tiny bit.
So I’m making excuses huh? I tell you right now that you beat me in May last year because you were the better man that day, and yet I’m making excuses? Yet here you are, talking about how your loss on Anarchy doesn’t matter because after the match you spanked The Legacy like the morons they are. Dude, if that match was for the XWC World Title, you wouldn’t have it! Now I know that it wasn’t, but think about what you’re saying. Attacking people after their matches doesn’t prove shit. Last time I did that was to BoonDock Saint, and that simply used as an eye-opener to bring attention to my new plight. You have no new plight against The Legacy. You’re doing the same thing you’ve always done. Beating down The Legacy means absolutely nothing.
As much as I’d like to hope that you’ll listen to what I say, I have no doubt you’ll have some moronic response to follow up with. After all, it appears that you don’t have the ability to understand the English language very well. And you know what that means? Well… actually all it means is that you’ve finally proven that you belong in the Blood Hounds! Congratulations! Remind me to throw you a parade later on! You and your buddies can ride around on stretchers while the ambulance siren plays a heartfelt melody. So much so that it actually revives your heart that has stopped beating.
I’ve walked through hell Dynamite. Your “brother” T took me there. I know all the signs. And right there in St. Louis, in front of all your hometown “peeps”… we’ll get there. But first I’ma take you down that highway. I’ma embarrass you. And I’m not going to stand here and talk down to you because you lost to Aidan Collins or T Money. I hoped you would’ve figured that out in my last promo, but as I’ve already now established, you’re a moron, so I’ll have to forgive you… this time. What I’m going to tell you though is far more important than pointing out your losses. I’m going to tell you this…
be fucking original!
I mean for fucks sake nigga! You tell me that you’re annoyed about the fact that I merely mentioned your repetitive losses to T Money, yet there you are saying over and over and over again that you’ve beaten me before. And how fucking long ago was that? Have you ever been in the fucking ring with me since then? No. You haven’t. Not even once.
As is the common trend in this business, wrestlers rise to the top over time. And the top, right now, is personified by me, Lee Stone. Twenty straight wins in this fed. From T Money, to Steve Jason, to 504 Boy, to Trent Gein, to Killjoy, to Christian Connolly, to Cyren, to Jem Williams… the list is my own Who’s Who of the XWF, and it’s not set over a few years. This is all consecutively Dynamite. That’s what you need to realize. You need to learn that I have risen to a level far beyond the level that gave you a run for your money when last we met. Don’t believe me? Ask Steve Jason if the man who beat him within the last year is the same man who beat him the year before. Ask 504 Boy the same thing. Trent Gein, Christian Connolly… ask them all. I’d tell you to ask Jem Williams too but uh… yeah, he’s a little preoccupied with the maggots right now.
The point is Dynamite, that you seem to be oblivious to a term I like to refer to as “Evolution”. You… you’re still the same guy you were back then. You still lose a couple of matches. You still ignore the losses. And to be honest, that works to your benefit because it allows you to bounce back from the losses to usually win your next match as if nothing ever happened, but the fact remains dude… I no longer know how to lose in that ring. It just plain doesn’t happen. And let’s add in the fact that as the King of the Cage, a trophy held in my cabinet, not once have I ever lost in a match set in a cage-like situation. Ever. And we’re talking about a career that may not be ten years like your own, but is at the very least at the seven year mark. That’s an impressive record that even you can’t dismiss.
Look… we can stand here all day and debate about this. We can debate about how if your Blood Hound Entertainment title has credibility then so does my World’s Greatest Championship, but what it really comes down to is this:
Neither one of us are willing to give out.
Neither one of us are willing to let the other win.
So I hope you’re going to bring all that to the ring this Sunday, Dynamite. Because if you do… who knows, maybe you can actually make me have no respect for you. And as weird as that sounds, that would actually be an improvement, because right now you’re sitting in the negatives. And if people like me and Stevie J, who usually will disagree just to keep the other in check, actually agree on that… well then there’s very little you can do to prove us wrong.
And now I step to the silence. Not to Zach Rizza’s little corner in the dark. Not to Arson, Juggalo or Christian Connolly’s right to shut the hell up. But to another of the men at the centre of this match. Not at the centre of the XWF, because after this match all of that will change… but when it comes to the issue at hand, there are few who can deny BoonDock’s Saint’s role.
The role of the sacrifice.
I’d expect him to understand my intentions, but I’m afraid he hasn’t cleaned out his ears in a little while. Must be some Ghana-related thing. But with the ludicrous relationship between Queen Akeem... heh, that kinda rhymes… and our “esteemed champion” being forgotten about for a moment here, let me take the time to say something that I hope somebody plays on repeat to our good buddy Dan.
Homie, I’ve been trying to understand what’s driven you to the point you’re at. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s turned you into the crazy person you are today. I see Steve Jason taking the blame for it, but I can’t help but feel slightly responsible myself. I beat you down, and then I told you what you needed to do to improve. And much in the same way as I hope will happen this Sunday… when you had nothing left to push you forward, you actually listened. You set about to find that “aggressive streak” that I said you lacked. Unfortunately, you didn’t find it.
Dynamic Dynamite has a lot of aggression.
Lee Stone has a lot of aggression.
Even the generally laid-back Steve Jason has a lot of aggression.
But the way the three of us use it is what makes us who we are. Steve takes it out on the “bad guys”. Dynamite takes it out on the “good guys”. I take it out on myself. But you BoonDock, you didn’t find aggression. You found resentment. You stopped trying to better yourself in favour of trying to get everything handed to you on a silver platter. Or hell, maybe Akebo gives it to you on a diamond platter. Either way, it doesn’t change what’s happened to you. And for that, I step up and take my share of the responsibility for the douchebag that you’ve become. And I take my share of the responsibility in trying to slap some sense into you.
There was a time where I looked at you and almost respected you Dan. I almost told you that you were an incredible athlete. I almost told you that it was an honour to share the ring with you. And even though all of that only “almost” happened… that’s still a good when it comes to me. But what do you want from me now? What do you want from all of us? Do you want Ms. Ritchie-Brown to just give you the Universal Title? Do you want that numbskull Caedmon to overturn every loss you have, just like what happened when Dynamite beat you? Do you really want us to all stand here and tell you that you’re the greatest wrestler that the world has ever seen?
Well I’m not going to do that.
You’re alright Dan. That’s it. Someday you might be great, maybe even the greatest like you so desperately want to be. But not right now. Not today. All I see when I look at you today is a kid who wants so badly to be like the people that surround him, that help him… that he’s willing to lose whatever possible help they can still give him, just so that they respect him. Well I tell you what… I’ll give Aidan Collins respect because I’ve watched him work his way up the ladder since the moment he got here. I’ll give Jem Williams credit because he came from the old graduate show Impact, to become one of the top names in the company. They’ve paid their dues and like so many others, they continue to pay them. Good things take time Dan… like cheese, for example. But words won’t sway your thoughts will they?
Didn’t think so. And because of that, I’ll leave you with this one piece of information.
I was like you.
Ask Stevie J, ask Double D, ask your little cohort Christian Connolly. I thought I was the greatest, and while I got lucky a few times… the moment that I stepped up against the Universal Champion, the very second I stepped into the ring with Dynamic Dynamite who was at the time, the very best the company had to offer… I found out I was wrong.
I had to wait. I was forced to. And I became what you see today. I became The Past, The Present and The Future. I became The World’s Greatest. I am what you want to be. But just like Dynamite did once to me… I’m going to do to you. Have a bad day…”
Reaching forward, I turn the camera off leaving the last image you see as my personalised necklace, with the fist holding money, surrounded by ice, glimmering.