At one time in my career, I was a slave to this company. We all were.
I’d win a few matches, sell a few T-shirts and sign a few autographs. My face was splattered across just about every wrestling magazine on the Planet. The people behind the scenes like to whisper compliments into your ear, tell you that you’re the hottest ticket around and generally let you live like a King. You actually start to believe that you’re a player on the scene and that you have some real power...
But it’s totally false.
Back in the day, I was directionless and at the mercy of Senester and the HWA’s corporate types. I was their chief cash cow. I thought that my career was being driven by the motivation to win titles and to build a legacy; in reality, I was merely pushed to make as much money as humanly possible. The propaganda was never ending and I lapped up all of it, refusing to believe that I was being used by the back slappers. It was supposed to be the Ronnie McNeil show. It was supposed to be about me.
It wasn’t though. It was never like that.
And yet, here we are again, each one of us, trying so hard to buck the system, yet being dragged down by it.
David Wilyard may have been fired, but how much you wanna bet that his parting shot was the SoA’s out of nowhere show of force? They’re a distraction, nothing more, nothing less. This eight man match is nothing more than a distraction, something thrown together to run us into a trap so that the “titleholder” and his band of buddies can try to prove themselves to the public that they are worthy. They talk about interference, yet in every match we’re in; someone chooses to stick their nose in our business. But let us retaliate….oh no…it’s the big bad nWo coming to ruin the day.
Bullshit. We’re coming to save the day.
Saving the day from the hypocrite turned wanna be motivational speaker Buff Bridges.
Saving the day from the inevitable Butch vs. Hans love in that outside of those two, Logan and the women, nobody else wants to see.
Saving the day from an entire division that nobody really gives a damn about.
Saving the day for everyone that draws a paycheck from this company.
We are the straw that stirs the drink around here. We are the heartbeat, the focus, the truth, and the light of this entire company. It’s time we truly started acting like it. Road to Ruin will be the last time we shall be dictated to, or be used as the “come up” for somebody else’s glory.
Merlyn, you still have a lot to learn about the ways of this business, but that’s why you’re under our wing. You could have stuck with Anton and Davis, but you knew where your best chance for success lies, and it’s time that we showed you the path to where you want your career to go. You hold your own, you stand behind us at all times, and I promise you that you will be a champion before we’re done.
Eddie, you must stay focused in the ring. That was your match. THAT WAS YOUR MATCH!!! You let it get away, trying to preen for the cameras. Same with you, Talon. Same with me. We can’t continue to do what we’ve been doing. These cameras mean us no good. Those reporters don’t do a damn thing for us. We can Twitter and Facebook to our fans if need be, but when we’re out on business, we need to be about business. The media can kiss my ass for all I care, and you two should say the same. No more unnecessary talk. We talk about what we want to talk about and nothing more. We’ve been playing the damn fool long enough, being reactive and shit. It’s time to go on the attack. F*ck anyone else’s thoughts, feelings, or objections. People wanna get involved in our matches, then so be it. Be prepared to face the consequences.
SoA, since you want our attention so badly, you have it. And I can promise you, the attention that you get from us will not be PG, that’s for damn sure.
And with that said, its time for us to hit the road. We have business to attend to. Let’s ride.
…and the four men shake hands and trade fist pounds, hop into their respective rides, and drive off down the highway as a unit, heading towards Havoc.
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