HWA Message Board: Spectrum

"And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth: and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power. And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads." (Revelation 9:3-4)

(Senester): Throughout the history of HWA I have assembled not only the greatest athletes this industry has to offer, but I’ve molded men from worthless ash into demigods. Now the proven old has met the unproven new….the classic tale of earned respect and that which is implied. Allow me gentlemen to tell you who you are.

We needn’t regale ourselves and revisit the ageless tale of Buff Bridges building HWA. It as it should be knows is one of twisted truths. Buff Bridges is a legend. Gifted in the ring with accolades to be envied by any would-be professional athlete…let alone wrestler. Buff Bridges is an icon because his name has become synonymous with wrestling. Oh…how he opposed me back in the day. The seeds I planted began to sprout and he knew then that the game had changed. He was so desperate to keep the stride he had become accustomed to at the top of his small mountain. Every inch forward I made was inch back he took, and the he was taken. We’ve battled more times that some books may recount Buff Bridges. And once upon a time, for the very first time…you could hear me.

Gone was the chatter of the arena. Gone was the clanking of the ring crews setting up the ring. Gone was the flash of the cameras. Gone was the telephone ringing endlessly with movie deals and interview demands. There was only the voice of God. There was only me. The world you lived in deceived you. A parasite, a worm, feasting on you for years until I removed it. I took the plastic Icarus wings the world had taped onto your back, and I gave you real wings. I gave you air beneath them and taught you to fly on your own, and not by the kite strings of humanity. I imbued you with a vile arrogance that you could indeed sustain. The right hand of God himself, commander of the army. Once upon a time that was Buff Bridges, and was what I like to call…”elite.” And now Buff Bridges has left the kingdom of God. He has swallowed the worm once more, believing that ignorance is bliss as the parasite once more feasts on what reason is left within, gnawing at the sealed door or knowledge inside you, its ultimate feast…so desperate to get through that door.

A door that holds the truth. A door that Buff Bridges opens when the worm sleeps and he must draw upon reality. A door he opens when he needs the incentive to push harder, to fight longer, to put others in their place beneath what once was great. Oh yes…I know it is there Buff Bridges, it is not your little secret alone. Even Michael Dredge would tap into his reserves in his moments of desperation. The mark of Senester that I’ve etched in your soul. The mark of God that cannot be removed. Now Buff Bridges walks among the plebeians as an equal. Those who crave more blood, those who want more flesh, those who relish more of his tears. To them Buff Bridges has married, and he dances for them once more.

Curt Evers is nothing. He is just another bastard child of h. His is sand, molded on the beach into a gorgeous image, yet easily washed away by the tide. The billions of grains that comprise him are eager to transform. Dirt can be molded into a suitable structure. Stone can be crafted to a solid force. Marble can be carved and polished into a work or art. His hunger is great. It is an insatiable lust for success that will be both his greatest achievement and his greatest failure. I can harness it all to the benefit of my will and he shall reap the rewards. I can wield his jealousy as tool. I can sharpen his haste into a weapon. I can polish his disdain to a blinding reflection.

These things and more I can do, but he must be proven worthy. These gifts are rare. Look at Talon Wilkinson, who shunned such blessings from God. He failed in the tasks before him. Curt Evers pilgrimage has just begun. To you Curt Evers…Buff Bridges is the greatest icon you can imagine. Look. Look upon the man whose greatness you can only hope to obtain at present. Smell the laurels he rests upon and imagine your own bouquet. Look at his finest moments beside me, and delve deep into the understanding of what he has become. Tread further towards the glory of God should you wish to shed yourself of the worlds burdens, should you wish to obtain the sweet, ripened fruits of your labor and do so with the knowledge of certain destruction should you turn away from me. This is why some call Buff Bridges a has-been, and this is why you are a virtual nobody. Two opposite ends of the spectrum staring back at one another with some degree of undeniable contempt. One at the very beginning, the precipice of prominence…the other looking back on it.