Hardcore Wrestling Is Dead.

This should not be news to those who follow the sport of professional wrestling.

Indeed, that statement should be obvious.

Only the delusional fan-base who still think jumping into a dumpster full of fluorescent light-tubes is a good way to spend time on a dull afternoon are the ones who still believe that Hardcore wrestling is relevant. Natural selection is taking care of those.

Hello LPW fans. I am Wevv Mang. Your soon to be Head Honcho.

Funny isn’t it, how life can travel in a circle? I once ran this company, taking it to glorious heights, only dreamed of. I relinquished my power and went back to the locker room, handing the reigns of power over to those who I thought could handle the pressure. I wanted to go back to my humble beginnings. To once again make my own way in this company, to see if I could once again feel the thrill of true competition. To see if someone, anyone could fill the void I had left. And then, I would take them down again.

I am horrified at what has become of my once company.

But I am not surprised.

It’s a worst case scenario, but one that I am prepared to deal with.

I have earned the right to correct the mistakes of my past and put this company back onto the path of glory it once so proudly walked. Two shows. Two brands. One chance each. The world can change in the blink of an eye if one has the ability,the will,a nd the means to follow through on their convictions. Soon enough, you, my fellow members of the locker room, and management staff, soon, the reigns will pass to MY hands. I will be the one in power. Your fate will be mine to decide and there isn't anything you can do about it. The lunatics have run rampant long enough.

Reality is closing in on you, and there is no way to escape it. The economic crisis has hit even us, and no amount of pretending is going to make it go away.  Bill collectors won't be sitting down to tea parties to talk over payment plans. The power company will not accept hand made checks, no matter how pretty they may be. Imaginary friends won’t help ticket sales. Or merchandise sales. Or pay your salary.

Like a fever burning out of control, the madness has spread high and low through this company. Once proud and savvy businessmen are now capering about like fools, trying to emulate the crazies who have taken over. Proud men and woman have thrown aside reason for absurdist philosophies that promise a quick escape to their woes.  Up has become down, and in has become out. The whole world seems to have turned topsy-turvy. The clown has become the hero and the hero has become the clown.

I see a clown who is revered as a hero. I am going to face this heroic clown here tonight. In that very ring. A clown who is a champion. Of a dead bit of wrestling trivia.

No one becomes a champion by mistake. It takes hard work, a will to succeed, and a drive to be better than everyone else. I know what it takes, for I have been there before. I, too, was a champion, once upon a time. Long has it been since I have worn a golden belt proclaiming me the best at what I do. But I have not forgotten. Nor ceased trying to regain that honor.

But not tonight. Tonight, I am not fighting for a championship. Tonight, I am fighting for a higher cause.

No, I do not fight for the Lord. He and I, …well…., we have our differences. Let’s just say, I am not one of those who expects Jesus to pay off my credit cards because I ask him to. Nor do I expect God to make my life better without having to lift a finger myself to make it so.

No, tonight, I am fighting for a return to Sanity. A return to logic. A return to Purpose. Determination. Dedication. A return to striving to be the best. No questions asked.

Tonight, I am going to set the stage. By defeating the champion of an outdated, passé, style of wrestling.

Hatchett, if being hardcore is to seek absolution in insanity, to risk my life for no purpose, to seek acceptance of my beliefs by trying to be just another painted face in a crowd of lunatics, then I reject your hardcore ways.

There will be no flaming tables. No thumbtacks. No frying pans, steel chairs, ladders, garbage cans, cookie sheets. There be no stuffed bears or Geo Metros either.

This is my world. A ring, a mat, and an opponent. The strength of my arms against yours. My will against yours. My drive against yours. My convictions and beliefs against yours. Reality against your illusions. Fact against fiction.

Hardcore Wrestling is Dead.

Welcome to the new age.

Welcome to my reality.

Welcome to MY… Shangri-La.

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