Post by mstryker29 on Oct 29, 2005 17:59:54 GMT -5
Fade in.
We’re looking at a view of a posh Manhattan apartment that some fans might recognize, while others may be unfamiliar with it. The center of the screen shows a majestic trophy case adorned with various cups, plates, traditional trophies, and championship belts. The centerpiece of the case sits top row, center position. Again, some fans will recognize it immediately, while newer, younger fans may not know it’s significance.
It’s the UIW Heavyweight Championship Belt.
From the left side a hand reaches into the open case and caresses the outline of the title belt. From off-screen you hear the words, and fans young and old know who they’re hearing.
They all know Mike Stryker.
It’s been a long time since I actually looked at these things and thought about how much each of them mean. It’s been a long time since I’ve even considered putting myself back into the ring. I was retired. I was happy. I wasn’t one of these old guys who felt the need to stick around past my prime just to stay in the spotlight. Wrestling gave me everything I had, and I made my peace with leaving the night I left.
Looking at this belt reminds me of both why I started and why I left. I’ll never forget the night. March 28, 1998. Super Slam 2. I was on a roll. I had just come off being a double champion in the UIW, I had just nearly gone coast to coast in a 40 man gauntlet battle royal. A month before the night I won this, I beat 3 men in one night to earn my shot. March 28th, 1998, was the night I arrived for good.
Mike Stryker, challenging Drew Snyder, in a one hour ironman submission match. One hour, make your man tap as many times as you can. It was a classic. It even had to go overtime. In the end, I made Drew Snyder tap. I made the heavyweight champion of the world quit, I made that man tell the world that he didn’t want to be their champion anymore. I have never, in my life, had a night quite as special. I was the World Champion for the first time in my life. I was at the top of the mountain. I was the BEST.
Over the years, and through a few companies, I established myself as not just a champion, but one of the best to ever step in that ring. I kept padding my resume, kept climbing that mountain to becoming the greatest of all time.
The camera finally swings to the left, looking at the face of a man who, years ago, was as good as it got. While you’d expect him to be glowing while remembering his greatest moment, he looks down at the ground, somber, apprehensive, even doubtful.
I made myself a promise when I was an 18 year old rookie just getting my feet wet. I said I’d go as far as my ability and hard work would take me, and when I knew I wasn’t performing at the highest level I could…I’d walk away. For years I worked, always working a little harder than the day before, trying to keep some distance between me and the day that I wasn’t the best I could be anymore. For years I was successful. And in a night, in my last match, I finally didn’t keep up anymore.
Mike Stryker…Rally Jackson…MWA Last Stand. The final night for the Midwest Wrestling Alliance also became the last night for Mike Stryker as a performer. For it was on that night that I did something I simply never thought possible. I did something that told me I wasn’t at that highest echelon anymore.
Mike Stryker tapped out.
I’d lost before. Nobody goes their life without a loss. I’d learned to live with the fact that I wasn’t invincible. But to me, quitting was like telling the world I’d rather just go home than fight one more time. I never thought I’d do it. I’m not going to sit here and make excuses about the match. I won’t say how bad I was hurt. I won’t say how much blood I’d lost. Bottom line, I quit. As soon as I got backstage, I knew it was time. It was time to leave. I’d done all I could, more than I imagined I was ever capable of. I was ok with it.
Stryker leans on the case and sighs, a mix of anger and frustration come with the breath he exhales.
I didn’t want the money, or the glory, or the girls, or the gold. It wasn’t any of those things that would ever make me come back.
As it turns out, it was because of a friend. A friend who lost his path.
I was following Brandon’s career, speaking with him often. However, the more I watched how he handled himself here in Valor…the most it ate at me. I had promised myself to never come back, but this wasn’t about coming back for another selfish gain. This was about my friend, who I was watching slowly lose sight of what made him great. I watched Brandon break out every dirty garbage tactic he could just to save a little face, just to get out of a little jam. The man I knew as a great competitor was becoming a second rate cheat. At first I stayed back, hoping he’d pull himself out of it.
But he didn’t.
Then I agreed to one appearance, hoping that if I could see him backstage, he’d remember his own integrity. I showed up in Albany, NY, hoping I could change him.
I didn’t.
So I asked to be in his corner, hoping if I was there, during the match, he’d realize that he shouldn’t take the easy way out. I tried to stop him as he took his shortcuts. He simply brushed me aside.
I couldn’t do it as his friend. I couldn’t help him see the error of his ways.
At the Hardcastle memorial, I’d finally had enough. I had an epiphany. I sat there and listened to you run down a man who everyone believed was dead. It was that moment that I knew I’d never be able to help you back.
I knew the only way to stop you was to confront you. And how did you respond Brandon?
Stryker’s volume decreases and he strains to keep his composure.
You took me out. You tried to injure me. You looked at me, your best friend, and basically told me that our entire friendship was trash. You pissed on everything we’d ever done as a team, everything we’d conquered together. You’ve been blinded by that title, by being the best. You’ve let your blindness make you do things that you will regret soon enough.
In the end, Brandon, I didn’t come back for the thrills. Hell, I didn’t come back to get my revenge Brandon. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not facing off against you out of spite, or hatred. No, it’s quite the opposite.
Brandon, I’m doing this out of friendship.
It’s like helping an alcoholic. You start by trying to help, trying to make it better. When it doesn’t work, after enough tries…you cut them off.
I’ve cut you off Brandon.
Stryker pulls a picture out of the case. It’s a framed 8 x 10 of the Big City Hitmen, holding the UIW world tag team titles. Stryker looks at the picture, remembering all those great matches.
Remember Brandon, I didn’t do this to you…you did this to yourself.
Stryker takes the picture and holds it against his head, almost like he’s trying to get the memories into his brain through osmosis…then, suddenly-
SMASH!!!!
Stryker throws the picture down as the glass shatters into a million little pieces. He looks down at the broken frame, sneering, his breathing rate increases from finally releasing a little of that anger. He starts speaking louder, quicker, as he gets himself worked up.
Cage of Horrors Brandon. You and I both know how bad it is. We both know what it takes to win this thing. We both know that in the end, you have to be willing to do something to a man that you’d never be able to talk about. You have to be able to become violent in a way that you’d never allow yourself to believe you could be. You have to be able to become criminally vicious. Brandon, You’ll have to look me in the eyes, your best friend of a decade, and have no remorse and you try and destroy me. Do you think you have that in you Brandon? Do you think you have it in you to look at your Brother and do the unthinkable? You better son, because if you hesitate, or slow down. If you give me a reason to think you can’t do it…rest assured.
I will absolutely destroy every fiber of your being Brandon. I have no more remorse for you. I have no sorrow. I’ll have no regrets.
Brandon, I love you as a brother, as a friend. I love you like family.
Brandon…
I love you enough to kill you Sunday.
Good bye, dear friend. I’ll see you soon enough.
Stryker takes a step over the glass, putting his shoe over the picture and turning his foot back and forth, squeaking the floor and dragging the glass over the faces, cutting up the prized photo until it’s deformed. He chuckles, and smiles an evil grin, as the camera fades out.
We’re looking at a view of a posh Manhattan apartment that some fans might recognize, while others may be unfamiliar with it. The center of the screen shows a majestic trophy case adorned with various cups, plates, traditional trophies, and championship belts. The centerpiece of the case sits top row, center position. Again, some fans will recognize it immediately, while newer, younger fans may not know it’s significance.
It’s the UIW Heavyweight Championship Belt.
From the left side a hand reaches into the open case and caresses the outline of the title belt. From off-screen you hear the words, and fans young and old know who they’re hearing.
They all know Mike Stryker.
It’s been a long time since I actually looked at these things and thought about how much each of them mean. It’s been a long time since I’ve even considered putting myself back into the ring. I was retired. I was happy. I wasn’t one of these old guys who felt the need to stick around past my prime just to stay in the spotlight. Wrestling gave me everything I had, and I made my peace with leaving the night I left.
Looking at this belt reminds me of both why I started and why I left. I’ll never forget the night. March 28, 1998. Super Slam 2. I was on a roll. I had just come off being a double champion in the UIW, I had just nearly gone coast to coast in a 40 man gauntlet battle royal. A month before the night I won this, I beat 3 men in one night to earn my shot. March 28th, 1998, was the night I arrived for good.
Mike Stryker, challenging Drew Snyder, in a one hour ironman submission match. One hour, make your man tap as many times as you can. It was a classic. It even had to go overtime. In the end, I made Drew Snyder tap. I made the heavyweight champion of the world quit, I made that man tell the world that he didn’t want to be their champion anymore. I have never, in my life, had a night quite as special. I was the World Champion for the first time in my life. I was at the top of the mountain. I was the BEST.
Over the years, and through a few companies, I established myself as not just a champion, but one of the best to ever step in that ring. I kept padding my resume, kept climbing that mountain to becoming the greatest of all time.
The camera finally swings to the left, looking at the face of a man who, years ago, was as good as it got. While you’d expect him to be glowing while remembering his greatest moment, he looks down at the ground, somber, apprehensive, even doubtful.
I made myself a promise when I was an 18 year old rookie just getting my feet wet. I said I’d go as far as my ability and hard work would take me, and when I knew I wasn’t performing at the highest level I could…I’d walk away. For years I worked, always working a little harder than the day before, trying to keep some distance between me and the day that I wasn’t the best I could be anymore. For years I was successful. And in a night, in my last match, I finally didn’t keep up anymore.
Mike Stryker…Rally Jackson…MWA Last Stand. The final night for the Midwest Wrestling Alliance also became the last night for Mike Stryker as a performer. For it was on that night that I did something I simply never thought possible. I did something that told me I wasn’t at that highest echelon anymore.
Mike Stryker tapped out.
I’d lost before. Nobody goes their life without a loss. I’d learned to live with the fact that I wasn’t invincible. But to me, quitting was like telling the world I’d rather just go home than fight one more time. I never thought I’d do it. I’m not going to sit here and make excuses about the match. I won’t say how bad I was hurt. I won’t say how much blood I’d lost. Bottom line, I quit. As soon as I got backstage, I knew it was time. It was time to leave. I’d done all I could, more than I imagined I was ever capable of. I was ok with it.
Stryker leans on the case and sighs, a mix of anger and frustration come with the breath he exhales.
I didn’t want the money, or the glory, or the girls, or the gold. It wasn’t any of those things that would ever make me come back.
As it turns out, it was because of a friend. A friend who lost his path.
I was following Brandon’s career, speaking with him often. However, the more I watched how he handled himself here in Valor…the most it ate at me. I had promised myself to never come back, but this wasn’t about coming back for another selfish gain. This was about my friend, who I was watching slowly lose sight of what made him great. I watched Brandon break out every dirty garbage tactic he could just to save a little face, just to get out of a little jam. The man I knew as a great competitor was becoming a second rate cheat. At first I stayed back, hoping he’d pull himself out of it.
But he didn’t.
Then I agreed to one appearance, hoping that if I could see him backstage, he’d remember his own integrity. I showed up in Albany, NY, hoping I could change him.
I didn’t.
So I asked to be in his corner, hoping if I was there, during the match, he’d realize that he shouldn’t take the easy way out. I tried to stop him as he took his shortcuts. He simply brushed me aside.
I couldn’t do it as his friend. I couldn’t help him see the error of his ways.
At the Hardcastle memorial, I’d finally had enough. I had an epiphany. I sat there and listened to you run down a man who everyone believed was dead. It was that moment that I knew I’d never be able to help you back.
I knew the only way to stop you was to confront you. And how did you respond Brandon?
Stryker’s volume decreases and he strains to keep his composure.
You took me out. You tried to injure me. You looked at me, your best friend, and basically told me that our entire friendship was trash. You pissed on everything we’d ever done as a team, everything we’d conquered together. You’ve been blinded by that title, by being the best. You’ve let your blindness make you do things that you will regret soon enough.
In the end, Brandon, I didn’t come back for the thrills. Hell, I didn’t come back to get my revenge Brandon. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not facing off against you out of spite, or hatred. No, it’s quite the opposite.
Brandon, I’m doing this out of friendship.
It’s like helping an alcoholic. You start by trying to help, trying to make it better. When it doesn’t work, after enough tries…you cut them off.
I’ve cut you off Brandon.
Stryker pulls a picture out of the case. It’s a framed 8 x 10 of the Big City Hitmen, holding the UIW world tag team titles. Stryker looks at the picture, remembering all those great matches.
Remember Brandon, I didn’t do this to you…you did this to yourself.
Stryker takes the picture and holds it against his head, almost like he’s trying to get the memories into his brain through osmosis…then, suddenly-
SMASH!!!!
Stryker throws the picture down as the glass shatters into a million little pieces. He looks down at the broken frame, sneering, his breathing rate increases from finally releasing a little of that anger. He starts speaking louder, quicker, as he gets himself worked up.
Cage of Horrors Brandon. You and I both know how bad it is. We both know what it takes to win this thing. We both know that in the end, you have to be willing to do something to a man that you’d never be able to talk about. You have to be able to become violent in a way that you’d never allow yourself to believe you could be. You have to be able to become criminally vicious. Brandon, You’ll have to look me in the eyes, your best friend of a decade, and have no remorse and you try and destroy me. Do you think you have that in you Brandon? Do you think you have it in you to look at your Brother and do the unthinkable? You better son, because if you hesitate, or slow down. If you give me a reason to think you can’t do it…rest assured.
I will absolutely destroy every fiber of your being Brandon. I have no more remorse for you. I have no sorrow. I’ll have no regrets.
Brandon, I love you as a brother, as a friend. I love you like family.
Brandon…
I love you enough to kill you Sunday.
Good bye, dear friend. I’ll see you soon enough.
Stryker takes a step over the glass, putting his shoe over the picture and turning his foot back and forth, squeaking the floor and dragging the glass over the faces, cutting up the prized photo until it’s deformed. He chuckles, and smiles an evil grin, as the camera fades out.
