I had a dream… it was stolen for me.
17 long years…
I started on the Canadian independent circuit. Everyone knows a wrestler has to pay their dues, and I paid them. Five years touring school gyms. Five years touring broken down bingo halls Five years touring dirty warehouses. Were they packed to the rafters? Like hell they were. Fifty people if we were lucky. Zero reaction. Still, I was pursuing a dream, a dream I had since a small child. Touring the indie’s wasn’t all bad, I gained valuable experience and a friend… no… more than that, a brother.
17 years…
My potential was recognised and I signed to a dream promotion. My head dizzy from ecstasy, I was too high on life to recognise my potential being squandered. A vampire? Lets be realistic, the brood wasn’t the highlight of my career.
17 years…
At last…a realisation of my true talent. Brothers in arms, Adam and me fought alongside each other once again. We became a history making tag team. I had captured gold before but capturing the tag titles with Adam felt like a real sense of accomplishment. We innovated and re-invented tag team wrestling. Scratch that, we set the bar for tag teams of the future. No one has topped our legendary TLC matches… tag teams seized to exist after us.
17 years…
My brother, apparently, was destined for greater things. Meanwhile, I’m stuck with a frustrating gimmick and wallowing in the mid card. I screamed, desperate at management to allow me to fulfil my potential. If only they let me. They pleaded with me to sign a new contract with them. I declined. I wanted to leave gracefully and with dignity while treating them with more respect than they deserved.
17 years…
A new chapter began, a fresh start. The ‘Instant Classic’ they called me…I felt appreciated. Many thought I was getting the recognition I deserved in TNA. Dixie Carter awarded me with a World title, or two. It felt sweet but left a bitter aftertaste in my throat. As good as it felt to be on top, this wasn’t my dream. I was considered one of the best workers in the world and I had yet to achieve what I had set out to those long years ago in the independents. Meanwhile back in titan land, my brother was achieving stratospheric levels of success. I’d never let it known to him but, he only attained that success by fucking Lita. If he hadn’t fucked Lita and capitalised on the scandal by becoming ‘the Rated R Superstar,’ he’d be nothing.
17 years…
I enjoyed ample prosperity in the ‘second’ promotion but that’s where the problem lied, it was always going to be the ‘second’ promotion. I departed as misuse was again plaguing my career. Ex-WWE members started to clog up the roster and I didn’t want to become ‘just another face.’ I made my return to WWE on its ECW show. It was the ‘C’ show which led me to question their actions once again. I earned an ECW title reign. It meant nothing to me; it was a sham title on a sham reincarnation of a legendary promotion.
17 years…
To nobodies surprise, ECW was cancelled and I earned a call to the Raw roster. Raw… so long since I had been here… so much had changed… but not with my treatment. No matter how many brain cells I had to loose, how many bruises and the extent to which my body was battered, I could do nothing to be appreciated round here. Fans across the globe had been calling for me to be recognised as a main event performer for years, and I felt I deserved that… I wanted, NEEDED to achieve my dream. A torn pectoral would be a setback.
17 years…
Another return, this time from injury. Injury… a bittersweet word. Adam had been diagnosed with a career ending injury. Sorrow. Guilt. Sick pleasure. Three words I’d use to describe my feelings when I heard the news.
17 years…
I was finally given a WWE World Title shot. My dream was hanging, literally, inch’s above me. I climbed, exhausted, body aching, a bevy of emotion soaring round my clouded mind. Was this it? Had I finally achieved my dream? I looked out across the arena and saw the crowd; cheering, deliriously happy yet, I couldn’t hear them. My ears as if filled with water were not processing sound. My stomach lurched, twisted and knotted. I steadied myself and grasped the cool, solid gold belt. As I stared at my reward, relief spread across my body like a cool anaesthesia. My frustration, envy, jealousy all washed away with tears. After 17 years, my dream had finally been achieved and I was glad I could share that emotional moment with Adam.
2 days…
Two days.
It makes me sick. The company I’ve dedicated over a decade to. Blood, sweat, tears, injuries and flesh have been given to this company. Countless days and hours spent travelling on the road with no sleep. Performing night after night for thousands of fans across the globe. My talent has put over stars far less deserving than me into the main event. Two days is all I get to spend to live my dream?
This is me proclaiming, I won’t take it ANYMORE. Fuck the company for making Adam the star and not me. Fuck the fans for not voicing their opinion more. Especially fuck Randy Orton. If I catch wind of him playing any political mind games, then he’s over. I mean it, I will end his fucking career. He will be a draw regardless of his position; it is MY time to be the king. I have a new dream. A dream to prove the naysayer’s wrong, handle my career on my terms and show this company who just who the real draw is. Fuck Edge and Fuck Randy Orton.
17 years…
Thanks for reading
I thought I'd have a little go at creating a potential storyline for a Christian heel turn by telling his story as a psychotic, frustrated Christian could possibly see it.
Bare in mind it's my first venture into something like this, so be kind :)
But definately leave feedback for me somewhere, twitter @crapminitweets
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