Posted in: Just Business Just Business #37 - Truth 1:01
By Plan
Oct 9, 2009 - 11:40:57 AM
#37
Truth 1:01
My name is ‘Plan and I have a pretty good life.
There’s been ups and there’s been downs but right now it’s in a pretty good place. I always had what I wanted, always had a comfortable home, a pleasant family, good grades and a place in University. I should have a good future ahead of me and my past could frankly be a whole lot worse than it is…or was, whatever. In short, I have not been left wanting.
But some have. We can call them victims, we can call them martyrs, we can call them unfortunate souls caught in the crossfire. Some don’t get what they want through their own choices and their own decisions. Others frankly get fucked over by Fate and a series of unfortunate events.
As always one man’s loss is another man’s gain. I hit upon a truth, an unpleasant truth that seemed to make something a whole lot clearer for me, because we all know of a man who has been fist fucked by Fate. This is his story.
“It’s certainly a phenomenon in all walks of life.”
We all have to start somewhere. There’s always an origin story and some are more worth telling than others. In our little world we like to call it “paying your dues”. Jobbing out, doing what needs to be done before you have earned that deserved spot in the mid card with a championship belt around your waist and a contingent of fans loyally building at your feet.
Two men shared the same origin in the same company, roughly around the same time. We did not know then that our lives would become inevitably intertwined with one another. We did not know then that the success of one could only ever mean the misery of the other.
We both started promisingly. He became an unexpected hit under a shared moniker, now legendary among the tag team ranks. He even got his chance to shine alone when that team was inexplicably torn apart, capturing gold and wrestling a legend on more than one occasion. WCW would later make the mistake of not realising that this man was by nature what he also was then by name; simply stunning. And when the requests started hitting their front desk, they told him simply “No baby, that’th for thomebody elthe, we just gonna’ keep you right where ya at right now.” So what did he do? He packed his bags, he upped, he left for some second rate piss-ant porn shop that were willing to listen and willing to let him speak.
I had lesser success. In less than a year I achieved little bar a lame snob gimmick and some forgotten pairing with a British fellow from across the pond. I sent my requests to the front desk and they told me, “No.” So what did I do? I too packed my bags, I too upped and left but I didn’t stop by the run down bingo hall packed with fat sweaty porn addicts gobbling up the garbage in their ring; I went straight to the big leagues. I jumped from one kingdom straight to another without any true chance to prove my worth. But I didn’t need to prove it because in an ironic turn of events, the gimmick I used of the life with a silver spoon left wanting for nothing saw me achieve promises and the guarantee of a bright and shining future.
Two lives, running parallel, the same yet different, both arriving at different times in the same place.
“Well, at one time, you’ve got it, and then lose it, and it’s gone forever.”
So there I am.
A fresh start, a new life, a company slightly more willing to give. A promise of a push, dues paid, main events waiting to be offered on a platter. The time draws ever closer for me, the clock ticking and tocking, counting down to the night in which I would ascend to my throne.
And in that time I make friends. I join a group, cutely nicknamed The Kliq. And in this group we promise to watch one another’s backs, do unto others whatever the fuck we feel like doing before going to whine and bitch to the Big Man Upstairs whenever our own way wasn’t the way things went down.
The times we had were fun. We were inseparable, riding together, drinking and eating together, living in the back pockets of one another. Until the same corporate conglomerate that drove me away with their denial of a future came calling to my friends with nice fat pay cheques and promises of grandeur. The group is split. A thunder bolt driven down between the four of us and two of us throw their hands up in the air, turn around and say, “Thanks for the good times, but I’ve got dollar signs in my eyes and I’m a sucker for the colour green.”
They leave. It’s emotional. Everyone will miss everyone else. Sob, sob, sob. Do they say goodbye? Do we violate the single inviolable rule of our little world simply to pat one another on the back and tug ourselves off in public a little more? If only the answer were no. Kayfabe shattered before a live crowd. Now someone has to be punished. Two have left. One is a champion. That leaves only the man who had been promised everything upon his arrival.
Now I’m pushed to the back…and that first man takes my place.
Everything changes with a single promo. Now I have to watch as Austin 3:16 takes the spot that was mine. Now I have to watch as Austin 3:16 gets his face on the magazines, gets the corporate endorsements and the merchandise. Now I have to watch as my misfortune becomes another man’s big break. Show stealing matches, championships captured, his main event push mere months following a broken neck, an injury that should have ended the man’s career and paved the way for the push that never was.
From King of the Ring 1996 to Wrestlemania XIV that first man went from strength to strength to becoming THE only guy that mattered. As for me, what did I do? Meandered forwards, a smattering of Intercontinental glory followed by carrying the bags for the prick I called a friend.
I had everything and in a second, everything became nothing. My push became the making of “Stone Cold” Steve Austin; Fate’s great accident.
“No, it’s not bad, but it’s not great either. And in your heart you kind of know that although it sounds all right, it’s actually just shite.”
But did I complain? No. My time will come. Austin Fever was nothing more than a passing fad surely, something that would give one guy his spot before the company could quickly resume the push that never was. How long could he just do the same routine every night and stay so popular after all, right?
So I keep my head down and work hard and do what the company officials tell me because all this is just punishment and it has to end somewhere. I knew I was next in line, next to get that big rub two years late. I go out and do something different every night, go out and wrestle a different match against a different opponent and that was sure to get me noticed.
Does it?
Won’t it?
The fans just keep on chanting “Austin, Austin, Austin!” The catchphrases J.R comes out with, the same small cache of moves every night and the same old middle finger has the fans eating from his hands. It’s that same old shit yet…yet somehow…somehow the people love it. Love him. The first man had reached the pinnacle of a great and legendary career thanks to the hand of Fate coming down upon me.
I could do as many different things as I wanted but the truth was no one cared for the guy who just carried bags. Chopping my crotch got me somewhere but everyone knew, it seemed, that it was nowhere near as innovative as sticking up the middle finger to anyone willing to look. Bad mouthing and beer drinking were in; anarchists and cock jokes were just too 1997 it seemed.
And yet it’s all unimportant because I knew that the beer drinking and the bad mouthing should have been my chance.
“Dwayne Johnson, Mick Foley, Glen Jacobs…”
But I say nothing. I stay patient. There was only so long the people could keep me from the top. I would earn it and I would be safe and comfortable in the knowledge that unlike Austin, my rise to prominence was no mere accident of Fate. I knew you could not stop talent rising to the top.
…
Something in the water. It had to be that, right? I was more talented than the lot of them. I knew that. Austin was an accident but what about the man they used to chant “Die” at?! How could the people like some ego-driven rookie over me? He gets the title matches, he gets the big feud, he gets the merchandise and the catchphrases, the main event rub from The Boss himself; well where the fuck is he now people? Who was it who stuck with you?
The Rock was not alone. He needed a foil but instead of choosing me, who had already been screwed over by Fate twice, the sensible choice with the history, they go for the freak who pulls his hair out and doesn’t know who the fuck he is, who couldn’t wrestle his way out of a paper bag. I say nothing. I keep my head down. I keep paying my dues, keep working, keep telling myself that my chance would come and even three years late, my promised push would come.
Hell, even the guy riding the coattails of The Undertaker gets the title matches before I do. Even the guy in the mask pretending to be a burned, psychologically disturbed quasi-killer gets the main event push. Why won’t people care about me? If only I’d gotten my push. If only my rub had come.
I had gone from wrestling for championships with The Rock…to watching on the sidelines with an already reduced menace while the two bastards that screwed me over have the feud of the ages that has people eating out of their hands. That should have been my spot. That should have been my feud. That should have been my main event. But my time was coming close. At least now The Boss was at last showing interest.
“All I'm trying to do is help you understand that The Name of The Rose is merely a blip on an otherwise uninterrupted downward trajectory.”
Success! The patience pays off. Three years on and the promise is fulfilled. The irony is sweet. Now the man that stole my spot, stole my push, the man whose success was nothing more than the company stumbling into a superstar is the man who has to put ME over. I think I’ll savour this. I will remember this. Today “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, tomorrow the world. And at the second biggest show on the calendar to boot.
Ever heard of that saying, “too good to be true”? Here it is applicable. I’m suddenly told that the man who was meant to put me over doesn’t want to, doesn’t think I’m ready. An insult. A slap in the face. Now I’m not winning on the big show, not getting the big pay off three years in the making. Now I have to make do with a second rate win over a second rate transitional champion; that freak who pulls his own hair out. Where will that get me?
The bastard that stole my spot suddenly became the bastard not wanting me to get one of my own. He was trying to fist fuck me but luckily, this time, the corporations were on my side. My moment was stolen from me but my push came to fruition at least. Several times over by the end of that year in fact and, in but a few months, not even Fate stood in my way because now my success became the fall from grace of Austin.
Run over he was in our world. But in the real, the neck caught up with him. Surgery. Out for a year. Now I had my chance. Now I could take my ball and I could run with it. The shoe was finally on the other foot and, in my mind, the foot it should have been on all the fucking time.
And run with that ball I did. Finally the freak became the psycho…who I beat. The Rock, the second man to steal a spot meant from me, became the man who challenged me at Wrestlemania…who I beat. Fresh meat from the company that screwed me over became fresh meat to devour even without gold involved. Even Olympians could not stand in my way. Thanks Steph.
I felt like justice was finally being served…
…and then he came back.
“What about The Untouchables?”
“I don't rate that at all.”
“Despite the Academy Award?”
“That means fuck all. It's a sympathy vote.”
Just when we were making some progress. Just when things were looking up and he comes back. Wins the Royal Rumble. Costs me a title. Some small compensation comes when we meet in the ring and I come out the victor; but then why did I not get that main event spot at Wrestlemania as a result? Why should they decide that the two bastards that have kept me down for the last five years be the ones to get the biggest spot of the entire year?
I still have a good match, but it’s no main event. To rub salt in it people start saying it’s the best Wrestlemania ever; fuck the people. That was mine too! But once again no one cares about me. No one thinks about me. They’re too rapped up in Austin and Rocky tugging each other off. Then they tell me they want me to team up with Austin; team up with that bastard? Team up with the guy who stumbled into his spot with the guy who actually earned his?
But I run with it. You never know, maybe now I’ll get to lead him, maybe…who am I kidding? I should have seen it coming really. They tell me I am to be Intercontinental Champion while Austin is WWF Champion. Suddenly it’s 1998 all over again and the last three years are like they never fucking happened.
And then the cheery is put on top. Again, I should have seen it coming. Whenever he’s doing well, I do shit. And they so love it when he does well. So he’s champion and I tear my quad. They tell me I can’t wrestle for six months. They tell me it’s going to take months, that my career could be over.
…
FUCK THAT! I want my spot! I want that push they never gave me! This isn’t going to fuck me over. So I train and I rehabilitate. 2001 was meant to be my year but instead Austin gets his sympathy vote. The poor bastard breaks his neck, comes back and now everyone wants to see him back on top after years of the same old shit stale act?
It spurs me on to train harder, makes me more determined to come back better and bigger than ever and then no one was going to stop me. No one would be able to beat me. I would win the Rumble. I would main event Wrestlemania. I would be the guy that leads the company, not some retard who’s only use is pissing people off. Time for a wrestler to stand on top. The right wrestler.
“Right. So we all get old and then we can't hack it anymore. Is that it?”
I win the Royal Rumble like I said I would. Of course the bastard can’t just let himself get eliminated. He has to hit everyone with a chair and have his egotistical moment to satiate himself. But I’m the guy who wins, goes to Wrestlemania and becomes Undisputed Champion, something he never achieved for all his worth.
Maybe he would have done but he got too upset with the idea of having to take a back seat. I stuck it through. I put up with it. I stayed patient and worked my ass off while he took all the glory for himself thanks to…well, chance. Doesn’t that tell you anything? About work ethic? About self-obsession? About passion for the business and not for the ego?
So he takes his ball and goes home because no one wants to know about Austin 3:16 anymore. So now I take the spot I was meant to have. Now it’s all about what brand I’m going to be on. Now it’s all about me being World Heavyweight Champion. Now it’s all about Triple H leading the flagship show of the top wrestling company in the world. Now I’m the best in the entire world and now I’m the guy that people want to talk about.
And no one can stop me because now I’m the boss’s son in law. I get some stick for it but fuck them. They don’t understand. Time and again I got screwed over. I’m just trying to catch up with lost time. Rob and Kane and Shawn…they’re just the suckers who happened to be milling around. It wasn’t malicious. It was just bad timing on their part. Blame Austin. He stole my spot, took my glory, everything.
I paid my dues and I took my punishment. It lasted a whole lot fucking longer than it should have done. So I took Steph. It aint going to happen to me again. I don’t deserve it.
“Yeah. Beautifully fucking illustrated.”
The sweetest thing is his big come back a year later didn’t last two fucking seconds because he just didn’t have what it took. Fate’s accident was made better because of me. Sure he took my main event at Wrestlemania XIX because the bastard just doesn’t know when to stop, but that bit him on the arse.
Not even Fate stood in my way. Why? Because I got sick of it all. I got sick of being screwed over by everyone. No one ever takes my side. No one ever understands why. Well what happened to Austin was meant for me. What happened to The Rock was meant for me. They were my main events. They were my title reigns. They were my spotlights. Now I’m main eventing the biggest show of the year every year and he’s reduced to straight-to-DVD movie parts and riding quads like some lame ass gimmick, good for nothing other than saying goodbye.
After everything I went through, I deserve my spot. What better spot is there underneath…Stephanie McMahon?
“Well, let's face it, it could've been wonderful.”
Choose to pay your dues. Choose a push. Choose a career. Choose a mid card title. Choose a fucking awesome stable. Choose catchphrases, logos, custom trunks and your own theme music. Choose the come back, repaired quads and a little time off. Choose a fat pay cheque. Choose a big house. Choose the right friends. Choose Wrestlemania and its main events. Choose a series of flash cars in a multitude of contemporary fucking colours. Choose your own storylines and wondering why the fuck you didn’t marry her sooner. Choose squashing in the ring and coasting through your work, not giving a shit about the crap you shovel in your mouth. Choose staying past your prime like he did, fucking up your sayonara, nothing more than an embarrassment to the ignorant demanding fuck ups that call themselves fans. Choose your own future. Choose to pay your dues? Why would I want to do a think like that? I chose not to choose to pay my dues; I chose someone else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got power?
“Austin 3:16 says…”
Austin 3:16 says I just kicked your ass.
Truth 1:01 says Fate just tore you a new one.
Suddenly, the why seems a little clearer. Suddenly the reason we choose to not hate the player but rather to hate The Game seems somewhat questionable. He laboured for years and while he may have deserved his initial punishment, he was constantly pushed to the back.
Maybe if he won King of the Ring things would be different; maybe even a little better. Who knows? But can you really blame the man for deciding to fuck Steph after everything he went through? Can you blame any man for wanting to fuck Steph for any reason whatsoever?
Damn. I know I can’t. Triple H paid his dues. It basically got him nowhere. Triple H fucked Stephanie and eventually it got him everything. All the more power to him I say.
(Author’s Note: This column is dedicated to Mazza, because I know Triple H makes his manly bits fizz.)
Written with thanks to the creators and writers of “Trainspotting,” from which the quotes used here, as well as the “Choose” speech, is derived.
Feedback to: planm4n89@hotmail.co.uk
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