suddenimpact
Angry Johnny
People of all shapes and sizes have been asking me for a reaction to the Castor V. Strife production that showed up at NFW Brawl.
Someone wants me to get angry. Someone wants me to get even. Someone wants me to give them the exclusive scoop and break down, or break up, or something of the sort.
Everyone, everywhere, has missed the point.
This is why I don't give interviews. This is why I don't tie my name or my reputation to one person. Miss Ivy did this for years in Greensboro with Rudy Seitzer, positing that the underdog will be less likely to twist the message.
The theory was sound, and as far as I know Rudy Seitzer never twisted the message, but the only way for the Messenger to know this for sure is to D-I-Y all the way.
So Castor Strife insulted my girl and myself, threw up a video that makes some wild insinuations, and, by the old way of doing things, I'm to attack Castor at every turn, until the NFW front office signs a final confrontation.
No disrespect intended to those who came before me, but the old way of doing things does nothing but continue the cycle of futile violence and unending roundabouts.
So Castor insulted my girl and myself. I take it as a compliment. I take it as Castor attacking what he doesn't understand. I take it as Castor knowing that he has no recourse against me personally.
What, exactly, is the message in this specific circumstance?
The goal of this business is to beat your opponent. When your ability to do so is unclear, the goal is to psyche out your opponent. That's what Castor is trying to do. I still don't know where his interest in me began, but it's clearly progressed beyond what I do in New Frontier Wrestling.
My girl, Rosie, is a bartender in the Bronx. She has nothing directly to do with the wrestling business, therefore, any mention Castor makes of her is because he can't downgrade my wrestling ability.
It's simply a matter of fact. In a straight wrestling match, Castor wouldn't have a wing or a prayer. His only hope is to psych me out.
Fortunately, Rosie isn't involved in this match. When she comes to the matches, she either stays in the backstage area, or she has a seat in the first few rows.
You're not wrestling Rosalyn Callasantos, Castor - you're wrestling Impulse.
More to the point, you're trying to wrestle Impulse, and it's by my good graces that you don't leave the match with some form of minor injury. I don't want to hurt anyone, but if I'm backed into a corner, I'm not going to allow myself to be hurt, either.
Keep talking, Castor... talking never won a wrestling match in the history of professional wrestling, and, truth be told... you don't measure up.
But you should keep on talking about Rosie. She's a twenty one year old bartender who hasn't been inside a wrestling ring since she was sixteen, has bad lungs, and has only incidently been on TV. Obviously, your path through me goes through her.
Idiot.
You can stroll into my neighborhood with a bullhorn, Castor, and talk me down. Build yourself up. Insult my message. Make fun of Rose. Call Mr. Flair old and Miss Ivy irrelevant and Angry Johnny a flake and Mr. Cooper a user.
I'm still your opponent, despite your best efforts, and I'm still a better wrestler than you.
Have you a prerecorded segment for that?
Fade it out.
Someone wants me to get angry. Someone wants me to get even. Someone wants me to give them the exclusive scoop and break down, or break up, or something of the sort.
Everyone, everywhere, has missed the point.
This is why I don't give interviews. This is why I don't tie my name or my reputation to one person. Miss Ivy did this for years in Greensboro with Rudy Seitzer, positing that the underdog will be less likely to twist the message.
The theory was sound, and as far as I know Rudy Seitzer never twisted the message, but the only way for the Messenger to know this for sure is to D-I-Y all the way.
So Castor Strife insulted my girl and myself, threw up a video that makes some wild insinuations, and, by the old way of doing things, I'm to attack Castor at every turn, until the NFW front office signs a final confrontation.
No disrespect intended to those who came before me, but the old way of doing things does nothing but continue the cycle of futile violence and unending roundabouts.
So Castor insulted my girl and myself. I take it as a compliment. I take it as Castor attacking what he doesn't understand. I take it as Castor knowing that he has no recourse against me personally.
What, exactly, is the message in this specific circumstance?
The goal of this business is to beat your opponent. When your ability to do so is unclear, the goal is to psyche out your opponent. That's what Castor is trying to do. I still don't know where his interest in me began, but it's clearly progressed beyond what I do in New Frontier Wrestling.
My girl, Rosie, is a bartender in the Bronx. She has nothing directly to do with the wrestling business, therefore, any mention Castor makes of her is because he can't downgrade my wrestling ability.
It's simply a matter of fact. In a straight wrestling match, Castor wouldn't have a wing or a prayer. His only hope is to psych me out.
Fortunately, Rosie isn't involved in this match. When she comes to the matches, she either stays in the backstage area, or she has a seat in the first few rows.
You're not wrestling Rosalyn Callasantos, Castor - you're wrestling Impulse.
More to the point, you're trying to wrestle Impulse, and it's by my good graces that you don't leave the match with some form of minor injury. I don't want to hurt anyone, but if I'm backed into a corner, I'm not going to allow myself to be hurt, either.
Keep talking, Castor... talking never won a wrestling match in the history of professional wrestling, and, truth be told... you don't measure up.
But you should keep on talking about Rosie. She's a twenty one year old bartender who hasn't been inside a wrestling ring since she was sixteen, has bad lungs, and has only incidently been on TV. Obviously, your path through me goes through her.
Idiot.
You can stroll into my neighborhood with a bullhorn, Castor, and talk me down. Build yourself up. Insult my message. Make fun of Rose. Call Mr. Flair old and Miss Ivy irrelevant and Angry Johnny a flake and Mr. Cooper a user.
I'm still your opponent, despite your best efforts, and I'm still a better wrestler than you.
Have you a prerecorded segment for that?
Fade it out.