Post by santiago on Feb 1, 2021 23:59:12 GMT -5
So, this is the alleged victory lap, aye?
I say alleged because I see nothing worth celebrating. Another night where Revo etches the name of a champion into the history books of this place, another moment of the trending amnesia sweeping over this place like freaking fidget spinners. You win a belt? Forget the thing that made you decide to throw your hat into a federation you’d never heard of for a chance to stop worrying about crossing every t and dotting every I. You either lose a match or you could’ve done better? Shrug yer’ shoulders, brush it off, learn absolutely nothing from it, and keep it moving into the new year. New year, old flex. A roster full of people callin’ themselves the karate kid, but the only time they wax on, wax off is when they’re in the ring. Same performance, same actions, same results.
Screw all that.
Screw the breath of fresh air from Portia, Amelia, and Dorian because they think now that a gold reflection means I’m taking my boot off their necks. Screw every single person tuning in every week who took a sigh of relief because they thought this belt meant I wasn’t gonna treat their Top Five list like the US capitol when I run through and loot it like I own the bitch. Screw the collective desire to move onto the next big show, the next big thing, slap an accent on and proudly declare WAR GAMES and forget all the lessons this undefeated asshole’s been teaching you for two months now, back to remedial school.
See, I ain’t a man who can claim to have been down on my luck, because bad luck was the only hand I was ever dealt. I got to appreciate everything I had. Days spent where I could get an extra seven dollars for a pack of ramen noodles were the highlights of the week. We kept up with the Jeffersons, not the Jetsons. I couldn’t tell you about having lights kept on, going to sleep hungry, and sell it like some poor, woe-is-me sad story. Nah, see I am humble because I came from nothing and I manifested every single thing I got - including this gold lil’ thing wrapped around my waist. So screw it. Let’s say I get this belt and I fuck it all up. The quality of the work goes down. Strader takes the pins instead of me. Hell - I fuck up and I lose these belts, and after all that high and mighty, the book of Ten Drago commandments talk, someone hungrier than me packs my bags and sends me on my way. You know what I’ve gotta say to that?
This ain’t about the money. I’ve been broke before, and if I’ve gotta sleep in my car in between matches, I’d go back to it in a heartbeat. If the only food I get to eat is that cooked in a microwave and made edible with a fine powder for flavor, I ain’t too good to get back to my roots.
Drago Santiago put a pen to paper in Revo one because fuck you. The divide between us is a fissure I’m kicking you bitches into, Sparta style. I’ve been on bigger stages and the paychecks here have the decimal point in the wrong place compared to other places. This is a passion project. Yours truly in the role of Ty Pennington giving your shack held up with shit and elbow grease an extreme home makeover, all because it’s what I want to do from the bottom of my heart. Control is folgers in my cup waking me up in the morning, and when they call me a control freak, it ain’t because I need control, it’s because I take it every chance I get. I could find a bigger stage. I could find a bigger check. I could find a belt where my name isn’t the first on the list, if I cared about that sorta’ thing. I am here to impose my will on others who can’t raise a finger without it getting broken to stop me. Austin, you protesting not getting the outcomes you want? I DONT GIVE THEM A CHOICE. A DECADE IN AND I TREAT THIS INDUSTRY LIKE ITS GAMESTOP STOCK, RUNNING IT UP SIMPLY BECAUSE I DON’T CARE ABOUT WHAT I LOSE.
So Austin.
You weigh almost twice as much as I do.
You stand a head above my shoulders, and everywhere but in the ring, you’d cast a shadow on me.
All those tools at your disposal - but when you don’t get your way you…. protest?
Nah, I’m the living swipe right on this pissant love story. Our match ain’t a title defense but it’s another day etched in history while the bar gets raised to where something like you can’t touch it. Another contract ended, another room on the roster opened up for something deserving of it. Another person not willing to go balls to the walls gets got, another opportunity for something worthy gets presented. Lil’ parting lesson. You can’t dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools. You can drag your feet and kick and scream in contract negotiations to feel badass but when your name hits the paper and they own you, whining don’t work. Bitching don’t cut it. If you ain’t willing to give it all you’ve got, then someone like me comes around and takes it all from you anyways.
I say alleged because I see nothing worth celebrating. Another night where Revo etches the name of a champion into the history books of this place, another moment of the trending amnesia sweeping over this place like freaking fidget spinners. You win a belt? Forget the thing that made you decide to throw your hat into a federation you’d never heard of for a chance to stop worrying about crossing every t and dotting every I. You either lose a match or you could’ve done better? Shrug yer’ shoulders, brush it off, learn absolutely nothing from it, and keep it moving into the new year. New year, old flex. A roster full of people callin’ themselves the karate kid, but the only time they wax on, wax off is when they’re in the ring. Same performance, same actions, same results.
Screw all that.
Screw the breath of fresh air from Portia, Amelia, and Dorian because they think now that a gold reflection means I’m taking my boot off their necks. Screw every single person tuning in every week who took a sigh of relief because they thought this belt meant I wasn’t gonna treat their Top Five list like the US capitol when I run through and loot it like I own the bitch. Screw the collective desire to move onto the next big show, the next big thing, slap an accent on and proudly declare WAR GAMES and forget all the lessons this undefeated asshole’s been teaching you for two months now, back to remedial school.
See, I ain’t a man who can claim to have been down on my luck, because bad luck was the only hand I was ever dealt. I got to appreciate everything I had. Days spent where I could get an extra seven dollars for a pack of ramen noodles were the highlights of the week. We kept up with the Jeffersons, not the Jetsons. I couldn’t tell you about having lights kept on, going to sleep hungry, and sell it like some poor, woe-is-me sad story. Nah, see I am humble because I came from nothing and I manifested every single thing I got - including this gold lil’ thing wrapped around my waist. So screw it. Let’s say I get this belt and I fuck it all up. The quality of the work goes down. Strader takes the pins instead of me. Hell - I fuck up and I lose these belts, and after all that high and mighty, the book of Ten Drago commandments talk, someone hungrier than me packs my bags and sends me on my way. You know what I’ve gotta say to that?
This ain’t about the money. I’ve been broke before, and if I’ve gotta sleep in my car in between matches, I’d go back to it in a heartbeat. If the only food I get to eat is that cooked in a microwave and made edible with a fine powder for flavor, I ain’t too good to get back to my roots.
Drago Santiago put a pen to paper in Revo one because fuck you. The divide between us is a fissure I’m kicking you bitches into, Sparta style. I’ve been on bigger stages and the paychecks here have the decimal point in the wrong place compared to other places. This is a passion project. Yours truly in the role of Ty Pennington giving your shack held up with shit and elbow grease an extreme home makeover, all because it’s what I want to do from the bottom of my heart. Control is folgers in my cup waking me up in the morning, and when they call me a control freak, it ain’t because I need control, it’s because I take it every chance I get. I could find a bigger stage. I could find a bigger check. I could find a belt where my name isn’t the first on the list, if I cared about that sorta’ thing. I am here to impose my will on others who can’t raise a finger without it getting broken to stop me. Austin, you protesting not getting the outcomes you want? I DONT GIVE THEM A CHOICE. A DECADE IN AND I TREAT THIS INDUSTRY LIKE ITS GAMESTOP STOCK, RUNNING IT UP SIMPLY BECAUSE I DON’T CARE ABOUT WHAT I LOSE.
So Austin.
You weigh almost twice as much as I do.
You stand a head above my shoulders, and everywhere but in the ring, you’d cast a shadow on me.
All those tools at your disposal - but when you don’t get your way you…. protest?
Nah, I’m the living swipe right on this pissant love story. Our match ain’t a title defense but it’s another day etched in history while the bar gets raised to where something like you can’t touch it. Another contract ended, another room on the roster opened up for something deserving of it. Another person not willing to go balls to the walls gets got, another opportunity for something worthy gets presented. Lil’ parting lesson. You can’t dismantle the master’s house with the master’s tools. You can drag your feet and kick and scream in contract negotiations to feel badass but when your name hits the paper and they own you, whining don’t work. Bitching don’t cut it. If you ain’t willing to give it all you’ve got, then someone like me comes around and takes it all from you anyways.