There's something very endearing about the local, independent talents who work the opening dark matches at WZCW house shows. I was once in their position, slaving away in relative obscurity, trying to impress the talking heads backstage enough to get a contract. Part of me could empathize with the two kids in the ring at this house show, as I prepared to storm the ring and let these fans know what was really on my mind, but I realized that their entire match was an exercise in futility, anyway.
As I walked through the fans in the stands, the ones closest to me jeered and booed, while the rest of the crowd was abuzz with speculation as to what was going on. The more people noticed my presence, the louder the boos got. The two local wrestlers in the ring looked around, confused by this perceived betrayal by their hometown crowd.
I hopped the barricade and demanded a microphone -- all eyes were on me, at this point. I slid into the ring, much to the bewilderment of the two wrestlers in the ring. All the action halted, as they tried to figure out what I was doing there. I put the microphone to my lips and began speaking.
I've got quite a bit to say, so don't hold your breath on finishing this match, boys. You can get out of my ring now.
The two talents quickly slid out of the ring, unsure of what was really going on. The crowd's booing intensified.
Now, it's about time that people started to listen to me -- this goes for all you sheep in the crowd and all you idiots in the back, too.
The crowd continued to shower me with boos, some even launching pieces if trash at the ring.
That'll teach me! Validate everything I say about you by hurling trash at me. Genius. It's a wonder how some of you even manage to make it home every night.
You guys are just a cog in the machine, though. You're part of a much larger problem, the problem being WZCW as a whole.
At this point, the boos are being supplemented by "Smith sucks" chants, among other things.
After having won against Black Dragon and Johnny Scumm in the main event of Meltdown 77 -- alongside my partner Rush -- I was demoted to the middle of the card the next week. Where is the logic? It took two vicious beat downs of Scumm and The Gent last week, to earn me another main event spot. Even so, I'm stuck in another inconsequential match. What will a match against Matt Tastic and Celeste Crimson earn me? Absolutely nothing.
I took a momentary pause, as I paced around the ring.
Tastic is the definition of a company stooge and nothing but a jobber to the stars; he's a nobody. Crimson, in her own right, has done nothing in this company and is nothing more than a novelty; she's a woman trying to compete with men, a product of the Title IX era. Yet, Rush and I are supposed to be grateful we've been given the main event slot to face off with them.
The crowd has slowly begun to quiet down and listen to me. A select few are trying to spark chants of "Crimson" and "Tastic," to no avail.
What's more, it's these people that are shoved down the fans' throats. It's these people that are given their own mentees to mold. It's these people that are undeservingly given the spotlight, while the likes of Rush and I are kept away from the success we deserve. This company isn't about how good you are, it isn't about putting out the best possible product, it's about rewarding those who shove their nose firmly into the asses of management in the back. If you're a glad-handing yes-man, this is the place for you.
The shocked looks in the crowd only serve to fuel my anger, as I continue on.
It's not just them, though -- it's all throughout the company. Alex Bowen, a hardcore reject, is being pushed into the spotlight as a serious wrestler. The man's a sideshow with serious self-mutilation issues, he can't lace up my boots. James King was entered into the six pack challenge for the World Heavyweight Championship, while I wasn't even put on the pay-per-view. What, exactly, has King ever done? Well, other than ride Alhazred's coattails, of course. What about Grand Mystique? He was instantly thrust into a main event last week against a former World Heavyweight Champion, Showtime, upon his return. You know who I faced upon my return? Phoenix. The very same Phoenix who I'd beaten before, the Phoenix who I'd beaten en route to my Elite X Championship victory. Tell me, is that fair?
The silence of the crowd told me everything that I needed to know.
Look, I could brown nose any number of the stooges backstage and hope to get a World Heavyweight Championship match, but I have too much dignity to do it. Just like I have too much dignity to make an ass out of myself in front of you people. This is why Rush and I want to destroy this company, because it's all a sham.
Maybe after our sound destruction of Celeste Crimson and Matt Tastic on Meltdown 79, Rush and I will get the respect we deserve. I doubt it. It doesn't matter, though. We both enjoy tearing through the WZCW roster. We like what we do.
Tastic and Crimson better fear what's coming their way, because we don't have any qualms about putting them on the shelf, to achieve our ultimate goal. It doesn't matter which set of company men -- men and women, in this case -- management had sent at us, the result would be the same. Rush and I will leave, with a path of destruction in our wake, because we are the best this company has to offer.
With that, I drop the mic and slide out of the ring. I slither over the barricade, disappearing back into the crowd, as WZCW security finally streams down the entrance ramp. The utter chaos around me is exactly what I wanted. A job well done.
I wasn't going to ask that.
