RP #4

At this point, Lee Best should just close HOW, shouldn’t he?

And I’m not talking about passing the torch to Mike or to Tyler, or even selling the company to that oaf Lindsay Troy, or that dullard Jon Page, or that wet blanket Ray McAvay. I’m talking about shuttering the doors, boarding up the windows, turning out the lights, and letting the curtain fall on HOW.

Because, right now, all I hear are a bunch of wrestlers caught up in their feelings about how they don’t want the World Championship, or they aren’t interested in running up against the Final Alliance, or they don’t expect to win War Games, or they’ve had enough World Championship reigns.

Imagine being in your late twenties to early forties and going, “I’m content with a couple of World Championship reigns.” Or, “I’ve conquered the business.” Or, “I’ve shown I can hang with everyone.” Not beat everyone, mind you, just that you could “hang” with everyone.

Is that where the bar for HOW is now?

Is it really that fucking low?

What you’re telling me is that if Lee Best called your dumbass into his office and said, “Hey, you’re getting a World Title shot at the next CHAOS” that your stupid ass would say, “Nah, I’m good boss. I’ve had a couple title reigns already. I’m content beating down people I already know I’m better than.”

What fucking bullshit.

The problem is that you enjoyed the high when you had her but couldn’t handle the come down because of what it did to you. You weren’t as invincible as you thought you were. You weren’t as unbeatable or untouchable.

You know, when I came back to HOW, people scoffed at a returning wrestler, someone from HOW’s past, getting back onto the roster. But it’s not their fault. They balked because the examples they had before were poor… at best. A bunch of coasters eager to pick up a paycheck once more and let the river carry them to their next destination. Because GOD forbid they actually take control of their lives, step up their game, and show the rest how it was done back in the “Golden” era.

No, it took this guy to show them how it’s done. It took someone out of the game for TEN YEARS to come back and show them why returning Hall of Famers SHOULD be feared.

And look what I’ve done.

I’ve become a dream crusher. A hope destroyer. The wrestlers of HOW mope around wondering who is going to be the one that will dethrone me. And the heroes they thought would do it… they fell short. They were found WANTING in talent and ingenuity.

MY WILL imposes its dominance on the rest of you and rather than rise up like an oppressed people… you cower, you sulk, and you bend the knee.

When I lost matches, it ate me up inside. It devoured me… consumed me… swallowed me. I fell into pits of blackness that would make a black hole blush. And every time, I clawed my way out. I sought out the championships of this company. Victories. Opponents who would challenge me and force me to get better.

I ran my head into the buzzsaw of David Black countless times and came up short. And I would still, TO THIS VERY DAY, run my head into that buzzsaw once more because I want to prove myself. That I’m not like I was in the past. That I’ve changed. That I’ve evolved.

But none of you will.

You’re nothing more than mosquitos, preserved in amber, frozen for the rest of time.

You deserve NO response from the fans. No boos. No cheers. You deserve silence. A deafening indifference. The same indifference that you treat the HOW World Championship with. The same indifference that you treat this company with.

The truth is that HOW became difficult for you.

You want out, but you don’t want to look like a fool.

Too late.

I already see you all for what you truly are.

You’re hoping that post War Games, someone other than me will be holding the championship. You’re praying that War Games, with its sheer number of wrestlers and teams, will do what no one has been able to do ONE ON ONE. That quantity, NOT QUALITY, will take the title away from me. And on that day, you’ll miraculously find the love and drive for this business again.

It’s more than sad.

It’s pathetic.