Scotch Egg or a Meatball?

Scotch Egg or a Meatball?

Posted on May 5, 2022 at 8:39 pm by Jatt Starr

I am not going to blame you, Scotty.


I am not going to fault you in your assault against me after I eliminated Bobbinette Carey and punched my ticket to War Games.


You are no longer “The Hardcore Artist”.   Gone are the days of wielding a barbed wire hockey stick.   Gone are the days where people actually fear you and, more specifically, what you could do to them.  Let’s face it, you are over the hill!  Old news!   A nobody!   Obsolete!   A hasbeen!


Perhaps you need to rebrand.


Perhaps you need the services of the School of Sparrowdynamics.  It is doing wonders for Darin Zion.


Let’s see, what nickname would suit you for today’s HOW audience?


“The Hardcore Doodler”?   Nah, that is too close to the rumor that you doodle Bobbinette Carey with your noodle.   


“The Hardcore Fingerpainter”.   I can’t use that one again.  At this point, it’s unoriginal.


“The Hardcore Paint By Numbers Guy”.   Way too wordy.


Maybe it’s the word “Hardcore”.   Nothing is hardcore about you.  You’re not even softcore.  How many Zamboni’s do you need to drive before you realize that there is nothing ‘Hardcore’ or ‘Artistic’ about it?


What about “The PG-13 Libertine”?   Or “G-Rated and Always Dated”?   No, people would make the wrong assumptions.  Wait…it’s coming to me, ”Scottywood:  G-Rated and Always Degraded”!   There ya go!   That on a t-shirt would be a hit!  It would sell out everywhere!


Next, your image.   


Considering leather assless chaps, leathery zippery faced mask, and dog collar is too on the nose and Bobbinette Carey would need to lead you to the ring, an image no one wants burned into their memories, that it is not even up for consideration.  Also out, magenta manties.  Again, no one wants to see that.   What about a magenta beard?  Maybe that’s too clownish.  


I know what you are thinking.  I am being too negative!   I am shooting down my own ideas!  But, sometimes, you just have to spitball something to see if it sticks.


But come to think of it, it’s an impossible task. There is no amount of marketing that can change what you are.  As they say, if you put lipstick on a pile of shit, it’s still a pile of shit that Bobbinette Carey kissed.  


I’m kidding, of course.   


About the Bobbinette Carey thing.   Not the huge pile of shit thing, that is just fact.  I am pretty sure it is on your Wikipedia page.  


But look, all joking aside, you aren’t worth the Professor of Sparrowdynamics’s time.  


Which brings me to my next point….


Look, at the end of the day, this is a business.  We want to, nay, we need to make money.     You and I have a match this weekend at the most anticipated “Refueled” since “Refueled L-X-X-I-I-I”, what is that like sixty-two?  Eighty-four?  


Granted, I lost that match.  I was facing Conor Fuse hot off his victory over Max Kael’s pissant adopted kid.  


But here is the thing, Scotty old bean….does winning really matter?   What does beating you really accomplish?   The Rembrandt of Wrestling defeated the Hardcore Doodler.  Hardly, page one news.


The way I see it, there is a way that we can both benefit.


Look, that stunt you pulled with Bobbnette Carey at “March to Glory”?   Atrocious.  Disrespectful.  It made you look like a joke.  It did not accomplish a damn thing.  But then, I think to myself, if Scotty is willing to do that, maybe he would be willing to work out a little deal.


“War Games” is coming up.  I am in the match, you are not.  In “War Games”, you have to be in peak health, both mentally and physically.  It was also at last year’s “War Games”, a little turdwaffle named Dan Ryan tried to end my career.   Do you know how long it took me to find a morally questionable doctor to clear me to wrestle?   


Side note, it will be more difficult now that my morally questionable medical provider is being sued for malpractice and was arrested for fraud.  


I can’t go through that again.  Searching for the doctor, that is.


To this day, I still have twinges of pain in my neck which, every so often, results in headaches.  I should own shares in Advil with the amount of Ibuprofen I pop during these periods.   There have been matches, my match at ICONIC against Jeffrey James Roberts, for example, where that pain became exacerbated and lingered for days afterward.   That, plus the emotional baggage of my daughter getting shot, it took a toll on me.  


The way I see it, Scotty, old sport, at “Refueled Ninety-Seven”, anything can happen.  You could land a lucky shot and seriously hurt me.  I could slip on your blood while lifting you up for a German suplex where you land on head, paralyzing me, and there it is, the Simon Sparrow War Games Redemption Tour is done!   


I don’t want that.  


This very well could be my last shot at the HOW World Championship and I have every intention of going to the Ukraine and winning it.


And winning matters, Scotty.


Significant wins matter more.


So, here is the deal I want to present you with —- an easy victory.   You come to the ring, I come to the ring, Matt Boettcher or Rick Stevens or whomever sounds for the bell, I suffer from a sudden panic attack, faint, you cover me and there you go.  One, two, three.  


Or, if you prefer, the bell rings, we shake hands but maybe I come with a sudden case of brittle bone syndrome and your grip is far too powerful than what my weak calcium deprived bones can take and I immediately tap out.


Just think, Scotty.  A victory over the Rembrandt of Wrestling.  Then, I walk out the HOW Champ, guess who holds a recent victory over the Professor of Sparrowdynamics?   That’s right!   You!  And, I would be more than willing to make my first title defense against you.


Something to consider…..