I finally won.
But, did I really?
I mean, I did. But…
…oh, fuck it. Bare with me for a sec, while I set the stage.
Sean ‘Triple X’ Stevens sat comfortably on the porch of his palatial Orlando, Florida palace. An absolutely stunning mansion consisting of ten bedrooms, sitting on two acres of legal greenery, surrounded by a lake, where the fish were plentiful.
I am one of the greatest wrestlers on the planet.
— shit. Did it again. Pardon me. Being average is still an adjustment for me.
I was one of the greatest wrestlers on the planet. Hell, some thought I was the undisputed best wrestler in this very biz, that affords us to live the lives of our dreams, but if I can be honest and humble for a moment…
…I knew that I wasn’t.
I couldn’t beat Hornet because Hornet never lost. Couldn’t beat Flair because he had my number. Never beat Dan Ryan because he passed me by and broke through the glass ceiling before I could, and never looked back.
Of course, there were the average Joes, or in Lindsay Troy’s case, Jane … names that make the resume stand out, but if we’re keeping it all the way real, I never was able to quite win that big, gigantic one, that solidified my position as the guy.
But, being who I am, I let the world go right on thinking whatever they wanted, because when push came to shove, even with my flaws, shortcomings, and inability to capitalize on the biggest moments of my career, I was still better than ninety percent of the guys and girls they suggested would beat me, and I could pass the occasional loss off as a fluke.
That’s not arrogance, that’s my truth.
So when Desmond Leroux beat me clean? Or the month prior, when that guy who cut the worst promo I’ve ever witnessed in my life, Devin DeWhatever his name is did the same thing?
I just did what I always did.
I chalked it up to underestimation.
I told myself that the loss to Leroux was because I didn’t care as much as I should, and maybe I don’t. Or… maybe me telling myself that I no longer cared about things that I’ve been obsessed with over the better part of my existence is what I needed to do in order to see to it that I didn’t have a mental breakdown, because things weren’t going my way.
Something overcame Sean. Something difficult to explain. Stevens sat there, temporarily bowing his head, to no one in particular. At first glance, it looked like he was sobbing … but, he wasn’t.
I went into my rematch with Desmond vowing to right serious wrongs. I went into the Best Arena with intentions of destroying him. I barely spoke to the press, I didn’t cut many promos, I had no desire to kiss babies, sign autographs, or be anywhere where I couldn’t be my authentic self.
High Flyer … Jack … I’m a father, a husband, and I’m sure there are some wrestling fans somewhere that’ll speak lovingly about me. But, let’s be very clear about one very important detail – historically, I’ve been a very bad person. I’ll lie if I have to, I’ll cheat if I need to, I will spit in your face if I feel like it, and piss on your grave when you die if you make me mad enough.
I was supposed to expose that two weeks ago, and I didn’t. Because, I couldn’t.
Then it hit me.
Maybe my time is up.
Whatever’s going on, I definitely need to figure some shit out.
As for you? We’re not friends, but we’ve been around each other for awhile. You’re a hell of a wrestler, and I know you wouldn’t have been a walk in the park for me back when I was pretending I was the best, let alone now.
But, you’re the perfect test … because if I can’t beat you, then maybe I’m not who I think I am … and, maybe just maybe, I wasn’t who I thought I was.
And, if I’m neither of those things … maybe I shouldn’t be here.
I can’t wait to find out.