“Of mankind we may say in general they are fickle, hypocritical, and greedy of gain” -Niccolo Machiavelli
What does man do once they’ve achieved it all?
Reflect upon their life? The loves. The losses. The almosts. The ifs. The realization that the path they chose cannot be taken back to the beginning….but in front of them lies more travel. But to where?
There are very few things that have not been accomplished. Tag team championship? Done. Living life on the edge every night shedding blood in a vicious inter-gender hardcore division. Done. Living life flying on jets and being the man who holds the World Championship around his waist and the world on his shoulders? Have that t shirt too.
The impact made on the professional wrestling world has been meteor like for this super star, so why is that feeling still there. In the bottom of the gut. Like something wasn’t accomplished.
Perhaps its nostalgia. Remembering how great it once was to compete in the squared circle—when you win there is nobody to accept praise but you….unfortunately the ugly side is when you lose the world points the finger at you. An honorable life….accompanied by an honorable death.
Looking now….its apparent that the talent around isn’t as good as it was. The greats have been phased out of memory. The words “what have you done for me lately” have never been so apparent. The fans have even developed with the times. Knowing every detail of their favorite superstars life thanks to the internet. A gift…and a curse.
IT could be love, if that existed. Love is non-existent…infatuation is all it is. Maybe an infatuation with the business…that’s what it keeps coming back to.
….or maybe it’s just the memories. The lights. The music hitting as the striped man’s hand hits the pale canvas for the third time. All the while the building simultaneously stands either in agreement or disagreement with the outcome. The relationships….both on and off camera. The glory days. In everyone’s life they experience them. Some more glorious than others….nostalgia is a bitch.
So does one just remember and celebrate the good times? Or do you dig deep…like a miner looking for diamonds and find that feeling…that passion. It’s there, but if one must dig is it worth to bring to the surface?
Or has the passion gone into hiding awaiting the proper time to resurface and show the world one more time….that maybe it can be done again. Maybe the success can, in fact, be duplicated. The lights. The music. The ups and downs. The retirement was never official…..it was an unexpected leave of absence—is he an afterthought? A distant memory like the glory days of his own? Or is the demand possibly out there…..waiting for the return of one of the greatest to walk down the ramp. There is one way to find out….
But the expectations would be huge—fans want right where he left off….an ounce of ring rust and the world will blow up, asking “does he still have it?” …. “Who does he think he is?” He has seen the greats come back and disappoint time and time again….it would kill him inside to think that could be him. That feeling sits right above that passion as he drilled down to inspect.
Nostalgia is a bitch….but so is looking up and seeing a tattooed man coming from the top rope as he methodically moves in mid air. The lights flashing around him as the cameras go off and the opponent realizing that when that striped man’s hand hits the third time he realizes… “that….is good morning America…”
The name is synonymous with controversy, demon, franchise. The face is looked upon as one of the greats. The world around has been changing…the game hasn’t. Same four sides restricted by three ropes. Same pale canvas. Same seats around the arena. Same bell that rings for the beginning and end of the contest.
….maybe it’s just nostalgia….maybe its passion…even infatuation…. But to him…
It’s Professional Wrestling.
He is professional wrestling.
He is, and forever will be, UWF. Good times and bad. Thick and thin.
It isn’t a life you choose, it chooses you.
The torch hasn’t been passed….it’s leaning on an unsure wall barely lit…waiting for something to ignite it once again so that it burns like the times before.
…the sick, needy hand pulling him back….his resistance slowly giving up…
Does he keep digging? Or does he stay complacent?
I think he digs.