Post by Chuck Matthews on Oct 15, 2017 18:01:16 GMT -5
Chuck Matthews: “I swear, I feel like a broken record doing this shit…
Another match, another fight, another opponent management throws at me for me to knock down. Chances are pretty good that I’ll win. Why? Because I say I’m gonna win, and nobody’s really talented enough to prove me wrong. But who know? Maybe Cassidy will be the first.
Wait… no, scratch that. Johnny Maverick beat me. My mistake.
Aside from that, though? How often do I come out here, tell you all exactly what my plans are, exactly my intentions, and things don’t go exactly as I predict? How often am I taken by surprise? How often am I proven wrong?
It’s an exceedingly rare occurrence.
Though, I suppose if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t hail me as the smartest man in this business, would they?
And that’s sort of the problem here, isn’t it? I’m… never… fucking… wrong. That’s the problem with this business. That’s the problem with my continued career in this industry. It’s too easy. It’s predictable. Worse than all of that, it’s BORING. And the longer my career has gone on, the more clear this realization has become: I’m so painfully bored.
It’s this strange sensation, knowing that you’re phenomenally talented at something that you simply don’t have interest in any longer. Most guys, if they get to this point, their bodies have broken down. They’re old, they’ve got years of nagging injuries that have piled up, they just don’t have the energy to keep doing it, and the decision to finally hang it up is easy.
Me? I’m in great shape. I still haven’t reached my thirties. I’ve been doing this for a decade, and yeah, I’ve had my share of injuries, yeah I’ve had my share of pain and beatdowns. That’s the kind of price you pay for the successes I’ve had. You don’t win world championships without a few bumps and bruises. You don’t become one of the best in the business without the scars to prove the battles you fought to get there.
The problem is I’ve reached that point in my career where, sure, I suppose if I really wanted to make another run at the top, if I really wanted to grab another world title, if I wanted to sit at the top of the food chain again, there really isn’t anybody who’d be able to stop me. I’ve got years of experience under my belt, I’ve proven I’m talented enough to do it, and for the few younger guys who may have the physical edge, I don’t see anybody, past or present, who could get a mental edge over me. But the question is: Do I want that?
And the longer I continue to go through the motions, the more I’ve realized: No. No, I really don’t. I’ve BEEN the best. I’ve WON the accolades. I’ve done everything there is to do, and THAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM.
I’ve become Alexander, looking over his career and weeping because I’ve realized there are no lands left to conquer. I’m Caesar looking out over his great empire. I’ve created this brand, I’ve created this great name for myself and now, perhaps it’s time to sit back and enjoy the rewards of that hard work.
So this is your mission, Miss Cassidy. Give me a reason to leave. Give me that crippling injury that puts me on the shelf. Put that doubt in my mind that I just don’t have it in me anymore. Be better than the ones before you. Be smarter. Be stronger.
Beat a man that for ten long, arduous years, couldn’t be taken down. Beat a man who has been called by many: The Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling.
But that’s wishful thinking, isn’t it? You won’t do it. You can’t. You’re not quite there. You haven’t got that experience, you don’t have that instinct it’s going to take to beat me… No… not you. Maybe the next one. It’s always the next one.
The next one never comes.”
Another match, another fight, another opponent management throws at me for me to knock down. Chances are pretty good that I’ll win. Why? Because I say I’m gonna win, and nobody’s really talented enough to prove me wrong. But who know? Maybe Cassidy will be the first.
Wait… no, scratch that. Johnny Maverick beat me. My mistake.
Aside from that, though? How often do I come out here, tell you all exactly what my plans are, exactly my intentions, and things don’t go exactly as I predict? How often am I taken by surprise? How often am I proven wrong?
It’s an exceedingly rare occurrence.
Though, I suppose if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t hail me as the smartest man in this business, would they?
And that’s sort of the problem here, isn’t it? I’m… never… fucking… wrong. That’s the problem with this business. That’s the problem with my continued career in this industry. It’s too easy. It’s predictable. Worse than all of that, it’s BORING. And the longer my career has gone on, the more clear this realization has become: I’m so painfully bored.
It’s this strange sensation, knowing that you’re phenomenally talented at something that you simply don’t have interest in any longer. Most guys, if they get to this point, their bodies have broken down. They’re old, they’ve got years of nagging injuries that have piled up, they just don’t have the energy to keep doing it, and the decision to finally hang it up is easy.
Me? I’m in great shape. I still haven’t reached my thirties. I’ve been doing this for a decade, and yeah, I’ve had my share of injuries, yeah I’ve had my share of pain and beatdowns. That’s the kind of price you pay for the successes I’ve had. You don’t win world championships without a few bumps and bruises. You don’t become one of the best in the business without the scars to prove the battles you fought to get there.
The problem is I’ve reached that point in my career where, sure, I suppose if I really wanted to make another run at the top, if I really wanted to grab another world title, if I wanted to sit at the top of the food chain again, there really isn’t anybody who’d be able to stop me. I’ve got years of experience under my belt, I’ve proven I’m talented enough to do it, and for the few younger guys who may have the physical edge, I don’t see anybody, past or present, who could get a mental edge over me. But the question is: Do I want that?
And the longer I continue to go through the motions, the more I’ve realized: No. No, I really don’t. I’ve BEEN the best. I’ve WON the accolades. I’ve done everything there is to do, and THAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM.
I’ve become Alexander, looking over his career and weeping because I’ve realized there are no lands left to conquer. I’m Caesar looking out over his great empire. I’ve created this brand, I’ve created this great name for myself and now, perhaps it’s time to sit back and enjoy the rewards of that hard work.
So this is your mission, Miss Cassidy. Give me a reason to leave. Give me that crippling injury that puts me on the shelf. Put that doubt in my mind that I just don’t have it in me anymore. Be better than the ones before you. Be smarter. Be stronger.
Beat a man that for ten long, arduous years, couldn’t be taken down. Beat a man who has been called by many: The Smartest Man in Professional Wrestling.
But that’s wishful thinking, isn’t it? You won’t do it. You can’t. You’re not quite there. You haven’t got that experience, you don’t have that instinct it’s going to take to beat me… No… not you. Maybe the next one. It’s always the next one.
The next one never comes.”
