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It all started with a slur.
...some bitter,”dingo ate my baby” has been who can't take care of his family - Saber. June 2, 2009.
A single reckless, racist slur told me all I needed to know about the "Legend in the Making".
This rookie, so warmly embraced by TWD's simple fanbase, so brash, so damn confident. This kid who claimed to stand for respect and integrity. I knew he was the kind of guy who'd stop at nothing to get what he wanted. I saw him and knew that he'd turn his back on everything he purported to believe in if it meant reaching the top of the wrestling mountain.
In Saber, I saw myself ten years ago. Young, cocky and brimming with ambition. Youthful desire in all it's innocence just waiting to be corrupted. I saw his ascension and his inevitable downfall and in my benevolence, I tried to help him. I pulled him up on his casual racism. I pointed out his lack of respect. I even wrote him an open letter drawing a roadmap of the horrors a future in this business would entail.
I reached out to Saber and everytime I did, he slapped my hand away. And I won't lie, it pissed me off.
See, it was never the casual racism or childish insults Saber threw my way that I had a problem with. My issue was that in spite of all the talk of revering legends and respecting veterans when I, the greatest legend in the history of this putrid industry gave Saber advice, he ignored it. Moreover, he scornfully dismissed it. For all his empty platitudes doled out to anonymous "legends", when faced with a real legend showing true generosity and kindness, he turned his back. He closed his ears. He acted as if my sincere attempts to ward him off a lifelong tailspin were self-serving.
It didn't surprise me.
From the very get-go, Saber has been confused. He'd veer wildly from promo to promo, at one time saying he wanted to bring respect back to the industry and then suddenly blasting all the "selfish" legends and the "impatient" rookies who wanted a Main Event spot without earning it. Like a schizophrenic off his meds, he blathered incoherently, his focus switching with every blink. He said he admired those who had paved the way for him and then attacked them with the very same breath. He claimed to despise those young braggards who swan into wrestling companies with an air of entitlement and a diva's attitude and yet he then, in one of his very first promos, took shots at TWD's established talent. He mocked fan-favourite, Jahmon Rastafari. He mocked champions Shaka X and Dragzilla. He mocked former TWF Champion, Kingpin. He mocked me. Don't believe me? Just look.
This confusion, this hypocrisy, it's by no means exclusive to Saber. It's his insistence, however, that he's above the negative traits so firmly rooted in wrestling: the greed, the glutony; it's this false belief of his that is so damning.
I told Saber over six months ago that this business would swallow him whole. I told him that his youthful exuberance and boundless ambition would give way to bitterness, insecurity and narcissism. To be honest, I knew these traits already laid dormant within the so-called "Legend in the Making". I also knew that the wrestling business would wake them and make them rise to the surface. I wrote him the letter I did because I thought, given his claims of reverence for tenured stars, he might take my words on good faith and save himself years of torment. I had only been back for a few weeks at that time and so was maybe feeling generous, a little less spiteful towards everybody that found themselves entangled in the wrestling web. Saber was young and new and I took pity on him. As I say, he reminded me of myself.
Ten years ago, I made my wrestling debut in a little known federation initialed MWF. I, much like Saber now, was a hot young prospect. I had the critics buzzing and the fans quickly warming to me. I had my peers in the locker room afraid that I'd take their spot. I'd trained for years to get where I was and I wanted to be the very best in the industry.
But above all this, I was innocent. I wasn't doing it for the money or the women or the free drugs and booze. I was wrestling because I loved it. I saw it as an artform. I saw the fans as misunderstood connoisseurs. I went out each and every night and gave all I had for the rush, for the roar of the audience, all the while working my way up the ladder. Much like Saber in TWD, I rose to prominence at a rapid rate. All the success that I'd dreamed of during those tough years of training, it came to me almost instantly. By 2002 I was in my early-twenties and was already a former MWF and BTW World Champion. I was already ranked 27 on the TWF's all-time list of greatest wrestlers. I'd achieved so much so quickly that I honestly felt like I deserved to be perpetually lauded as the best in any federation I competed in. They say absolute power corrupts absolutely and at that point in my life I was powerful.
So what do you think happened then? I got bored, I left. I came back and won and reclaimed my place atop the mountain. Rinse, lather, repeat. The thing is, whereas in my first run, I was earning my success, as time went on, I began cheating to attain it. I justified this by telling myself that I was only righting a wrong, replacing myself into my deserved position. I became paranoid and insecure. I consciously held newer guys down. I became complacent. My matches became lacklustre and my workrate poor. I became an addict. Addicted to sex, to booze, to drugs. Within the space of two years I'd gone from wrestling for the love of it to wrestling for the sake of it. It was all I knew and since I was constantly high and on the end of a blowjob I could and did convince myself that it was fine, I was happy.
And this went on for years. All until I met my wife... but you know that story.
The point of me laying this all out is to underline exactly why I directed my focus upon Saber so early in his TWD run. I saw a young man much like my old self and I thought I could do for him what I wish somebody had have done for me. I thought I could make him see that this world is bullshit, that it's putrid, that it's a slaughterhouse. I thought I could stop him from wrestling.
I thought wrong.
See, what I'd failed to acknowledge was the determination, the single-mindedness, the blind desire that makes up a young wrestler. I failed to acknowledge that if somebody had have come to me ten years ago and told me to turn away I would have told them in no uncertain terms where they could shove their advice. So Saber, in the light of hindsight, I can forgive you for ignoring my words of wisdom.
That doesn't mean I'm about to stop teaching.
Last year, I said what I did because I thought there was hope for you. This year, TwentyTen as all the cool kids are calling it, I know you are completely hopeless. I know you're lost to wrestling. I know you're destined to spend the remainder of your life gradually falling apart before a savage public. I know that you will be held up as a hero to the many that don't see this bloodsport for the horrific poison to mankind that it is.
And that's why I'm going to stop it.
That's why I'm going to cut you down.
It's not about saving you anymore, Saber, no, it's about destroying you. It's about depriving wrestling of a future with you in it. See, with my time in wrestling, the clock is quickly winding down. I'm making money hand over fist and I'm ensuring my family's wealth and prosperity for decades to come. When I'm done with wrestling, when I no longer need it to provide for me, I want nothing more than to see it implode. I want the industry to die.
One way I can ensure that happens is to take away it's future before the flowers truly blossom. Which brings me back to you, Saber. You call yourself a "Legend in the Making" and, honestly, going on the evidence, there's no reason to doubt that claim. Sure, you can't beat me but nobody can, so that can't be held against you. In you, Saber, I see somebody who can carry this industry throughout the next decade.
And that sickens me, so...
I'm going to do something for me but, in a way, I'm also doing something for you. See, I now realise that my words could never remove you from this wretched industry. That doesn't mean my fists can't.
Saber, for me this is about more than just pointing out your hypocrisy and revealing to the public that you're no different to any of the other insufferable masochists that inhabit this business. To me, this is about the future. This is about molding the world itself into a better place. This is about ensuring that the world my daughter grows up in is a world worthy of her. And that, along with many other reasons that I'll get to later, is why I'm going to defeat you at Supercard III.
You can't be told to quit but you can be humbled. You can be humiliated. You can be beaten again and again by Jamie Krenshaw until you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. You can be incessantly shamed and forced to tap and held back from your dreams until you hate yourself. I can squeeze every last ounce of enthusiasm and spirit out of your body, Saber.
I can take the fun away.
And then what's left? Then what would you do?
You should have taken my advice when it was handed to you, Saber, because now, when I'm done with you, you'll be left with only two choices:
Retire in shame.
Or suicide.
Not only do I plan on taking you away from wrestling. I plan on taking wrestling away from you.
Life is full of opportunities, Saber. Now would be an opportune time to get out while you can.
Silly me, giving you advice again.
We fade in to a simple, dimly lit room. Sitting on a black leather recliner is Australia's Greatest Export, Virtuoso of Violence and Your World Champion, Jamie Krenshaw. He reclines comfortably, wearing jeans, battered old Converse sneakers and a brand new "Australia's Greatest Export" T-shirt (buy it now!) Krenshaw is without many of his usual prizes. The TWD World Title isn't draped around his waist. The Champion's Case doesn't rest by his feet. There is one prize visible, however. Sitting just ahead of Jamie, laid out on a small table is Krenshaw's TWD Tag Team Title belt. With a spotlight shining on both Jamie and the title, Krenshaw leans forward in his recliner. Listen in, this'll be good.
JAMIE: People seem to have forgotten about this.
A gesture towards the sparkly belt sitting on the table.
JAMIE: It's understandable. Since obtaining the TWD Tag Team Championships along with Krunch, I have gone on to have some more... significant successes. Truth be told, people may have forgotten about this luminious golden belt due to the fact that ever since we humiliated The Freytag Effect and sent them packing, nobody has had the balls to challenge us for them. The Rabble are back and they're skirting around the issue. Brent Kersh got mashed through a table before he and the Wizard of Arse could even consider challenging. The fact is, since seeing what we did to The Freytag Effect, a team who at the time threatened to take TWD by storm, any would-be opponents have shrunk, backed away and shut their mouths.
A wry grin.
JAMIE: See, incase any of you had forgotten, allow me to remind you that Krunch and I are the most dominant team in all of wrestling. Krunch is a machine, an annihalator and I, I'm the Virtuoso of Violence. Together we comprise every ability and attribute necessary not only to succeed but to dominate in this industry. We have held our titles for a long, long time and we won't be relinquishing them any time soon.
A proud, brief gaze cast down towards the prize.
JAMIE: But why, I hear you ask, am I bringing this up now? Why am I talking about Tag Team Gold in the lead up to a World Title defense? Simple. To remind the world just who I have in my corner. See, me by myself, I'm a world-beater. I'm the greatest success story in the history of wrestling. But me and Krunch together? We're world-conquerors. People may have forgotten due to all the success I've achieved on my own that I still have the backing of one of the most brutal, powerful and dangerous men to ever step foot in a wrestling ring. My hand-picked partner in crime.
A moment's silence for you all to contemplate just what this pairing means.
JAMIE: But it's not just he that I have by my side, no. Because alongside him stands a man known around the world as Mr. Sadistic. Myself, I'd never met Jason Hartnell until a few weeks ago on Showdown. But he and Krunch, they go back years. They're like brothers. In fact, what happened to Scott Pandora a few weeks ago shows that they're more than brothers. Where Krunch goes, Hartnell goes. Those who fight Krunch, fight Hartnell. And those who fight Krenshaw, fight Krunch. Do you see where I'm going with this?
A cocked eyebrow, confidence pouring forth.
JAMIE: When Saber, Blacksmith and Eno Redrum got together to form their Alliance, they claimed they were doing so to set things straight. To stop interference and unfair beatdowns. Since then, they've ambushed me not once but twice! They've interfered in Filipe Barroqueiro's matches, affording Saber the title shot he "earned" against me at Supercard. They ambushed Krunch and I last Showdown. They've proven to be nothing more than self-serving bullies. They've proven to be hypocrites. And last Showdown, they were proven to be outmatched.
A smile, an evil glint in the eye.
JAMIE: Last week Krunch saved me from a brutal sneak attack at the hands of Saber. He ran down and made things fair. And then, of course, came the ambush. Blacksmith Bobby Baggs and Eno Redrum came down to make it a two-on-three affair. They wanted to beat us into the ground and to make the title match at Supercard a foregone conclusion. They wanted to steal my World Title. They didn't count on Jason Hartnell.
The grin widens.
JAMIE: As with any bully who faces somebody willing to fight back, they cowered. Once the fight was fair, they wanted no part of it. Myself, being the sensible and balanced human being I am, acted as the bigger man and led Krunch and Hartnell away from the situation. We didn't fight The Alliance but our point was made.
Getting serious now.
JAMIE: Saber, Eno, Blacksmith. You wanted to bully me? You wanted to ambush me and beat me? Well I will not be bullied. I told you all a few weeks ago that I have powerful friends. In Krunch and Jason Hartnell, I have the most powerful friends you could dream of. Together, together we're a Trifecta. Jamie Krenshaw: The Champ, The Virtuoso, The Greatest Success Story in Wrestling History. Krunch: The Annihalator. The Machine. The Man Who Took Out His Own Brother. And lastly, Jason Hartnell: quite possibly The Most Sadistic Man to ever enter a wrestling ring.
Just think about those names. Cower.
JAMIE: Alliance, your claims of integrity rang hollow. Your true purpose has been revealed. You want to take the World Title from me? Well you're not the only guys who can band together. For the past few months it's been nothing but ambushes. Starting at Supercard, the decks are even. I dare you to get involved in my business again. And if you do... well, here's a little something to think about.
The feed suddenly cuts to footage from the Jason Hartnell vs. Scott Pandora match. We see the post-match beatdown of Pandora at the hands of The Trifecta: Krunch, Krenshaw and Hartnell. We see glass bats shattered over Pandora's prone head. We see the three men standing tall, covered in blood, in the centre of the ring. Things didn't have to be this way, Alliance, but you just kept pushing.
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