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> All Hope Is Dead
TheMegaHeel
Posted: July 02, 2019 01:05 pm


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Member No.: 414
Joined: June 30, 2019






Thoughts in dark and rambling on the road...

    The low rumble of the blacked-out 2019 Harley Davidson Iron 883 cut through the desert night, a beam of luminance from its headlight cutting through the pitch-black darkness that engulfed me. It roars as I switch gears and accelerate, wind rushing past my shaven head, a bandana covering the lower half of my face rippling in the wind. The road is empty, it’s been empty for hundreds of miles, but that’s the way I like it. Living in San Antonio for the past fifteen years, it’s rare that I get a chance to ride outside of the city, away from everyone. There’s certainly no empty land to spare in south Texas, but very little call to travel it. My life, my career, was focused so much on just staying in the city. Night after night, week after week, month after month, and yes, year after year, I climbed into a wrestling ring for a sold-out little crowd, in a sold-out little building, and put my body on the line and for what? For the fans? The greedy little fans who never seem to be satisfied. The fickle fans that will cheer one moment and stop showing up the next. The fans whose money drives the business and lack thereof kills it all the faster. No, I didn’t do it for them. Could it be for glory? Fame? Fortune? Laughable. For fifteen years I beat my body to a pulp and probably broke even financially once it was all said and done. Luckily, early in my career, my national television stents made me more than I will probably ever spend. After all, I don’t require much, especially these days. Was there a time when someone could consider me extravagant? Sure, isn’t any young man with endless amounts of money and talent? However, as I’ve aged, my need to live some kind of lavish lifestyle doesn’t really seem appealing. After all, comfort is key, especially when you’ve been beating your body up for three decades. I could drive an expensive supercar, or live in a mansion, but for who? Children, all four of them, all grown up. One of them no longer with us, God rest her soul. No need to house any of them. It’s just me and the mother of my second two children after all, and while we may have gone to war, and this business had beaten our relationship, through marriage and divorce, ripped us apart and pushed us together over the many years I’ve known her, we don’t require that kind of lifestyle. I change gears again and really rip on the throttle accelerating into the darkness.

    The last few years since I’ve stepped out of the wrestling ring, my life has slowed down quite a bit. I guess the biggest change is reconciling with my ex. We fucked and fought for years. Who could blame us? There was always heat between us, certainly love, hell we had two children. Both of us married to our careers, but eventually, Alia did right by our kids. Mothers instinct and all. They turned out to be good kids, involved with the business in their own ways. She put her career on hold to raise children, I didn’t. Made that decision quite a few times now that I think about it. Well, I guess I’ve always been a bastard, so one more reason to add on with all the others, right? Nevertheless, we’ve set aside our differences and for the last few years have settled down, mostly. Of course, we aren’t retired, we train every single day. Train young up and coming wrestlers. Our work out regimen is second to none. Truth be told I’m probably healthier, stronger, and in better shape than I’ve been my entire career. The late forties are the new mid-thirties. Well, that’s how I feel about it. Then again taking a few years to avoid getting slammed onto hard surfaces and beaten with steel chairs will definitely let your body do some healing. Don’t get me wrong, there are days I wake up and I feel twice my age, but you hit a shot of coffee and man the fuck up, there’s shit to do. However, life has slowed down, even with as busy as we stay. Our wrestling company isn’t ever coming back. Honestly even the last few years there, it was a month by month struggle to get people paid. Absolute mess. I even poured some of my own money in, investing in it, trying to help keep it afloat. Hell, we all did. No one wanted to let the dream die. But, it did. Not going to shred my life's savings trying to save something people didn’t care to come to see. So we had to walk away. I got to spend time with family and friends. Got to stop getting hit with foreign objects. I couldn’t really complain. Then my eldest daughter got cancer. She had won world titles, a God damned legend, one hell of a fighter. God, she could scrap. I guess, there are some foes you just can’t beat. Life’s a real bitch like that. Missed the first half of her life on the road, because wrestling is my life. Finally, I got to spend time with her and her kids, hell my grandkids I guess, of course, their father was an absolute waste, I’ll probably never see them again. Finally, get to be her dad, now she’s gone. Sick irony. So, why stay in San Antonio? Damned place pretty much robbed me of everything at this point. A career, a daughter, family, money, all down the drain. Ace Hart, that name used to mean something across the wrestling world. All these years later and it doesn’t mean much. Sure, some remember, but most? Too young. Too busy screwing around on social media. Wrestling today isn’t what it used to be. You used to show up, go to that ring, and put on a damn show then go home. Now the camera never stops. Everybody tweeting away. Sure they’re talented. Athletic. No short order there, but in that few inches of real estate where it really matters up top? None of these kids know what it REALLY takes to grind in this business for a lifetime, and still be around. Not a single one. The landscape has certainly changed, but the wrestling hasn’t. Although, a lot more big breasted blonde lesbians than in my heyday. Guess it makes for good television. Whatever floats their boat.

    So what's an old battered war king like myself supposed to do? Hang up those boots and call it a career? Fifty keeps creeping closer, the old Grim Reaper stands in the shadows. I could hang it up. Would I be satisfied? No, but hell who is? I won a lot of gold, I beat a lot of guys, hell I even bedded some divas. Well, more than some. I could call that a good career I suppose, most guys would dream of it, but I’m not most guys. I wasn’t seeking titles for the sake of titles. I wasn’t seeking victory for fame and fortune as stated. I was chasing wrestling immortality. A man can’t live forever, but his legend can. They say for thousands of years, man has searched for the Holy Grail. Same thing, immortality. They want to live forever. Hell, I do too, but this isn’t an Indiana Jones movie. So how do you become immortalized in the wrestling business? Do everything you can to make sure they remember your name. I thought that’s what I was building in the heart of South Texas, in reality, I just walled myself off from the rest of the business. While we worked our asses off, the wrestling world has evolved, changed, and continued on without us. Without me. I used to be a pillar of it. A staple. I was a commodity. A made man, for lack of a better term. Now, who am I? My accomplishments should speak for themselves, but does that mean a thing to the generation of the now? Probably not. Respect in this business has always been earned, not given and what I know about the youth of today, no respect. Not an ounce. Yeah, I could put the final nail in the coffin, hang up those black boots, and call it a day…

    But, then I wouldn’t be Ace Hart. I wouldn’t be the man who ended careers, hell… Ended companies. I wouldn’t be the squared circle assassin that could make or break a roster by no more than a whim. Kids today, they think they know what this business is about. They think they have an understanding of what it really means to be a professional wrestler. They know what the business is about TODAY. Social media and selfies. They know about going on European or South American tours. They know about comfortable plane rides and state of the art training centers. They don’t know about the grind. They don’t know about the road warriors of old. Up and down the highways of America, night after night around a territory, wrestling your ass off for a crowd of a couple thousand people just to pick up and do it again twenty-four hours later. They know about television tapings and live streams. They know about glitz and glamor, not blood, sweat, and tears. Wrestling in a bingo hall in south Texas when the air conditioning goes out and it’s nearly a hundred and twenty degrees ringside. Wrestle in a ballroom in Philly where the lights fall down on your head mid-match. You want tours, go to the land of the rising sun and beat the shit out of some local in matches you couldn’t think up in your nightmares. Nah, the ‘wrestlers’ of today have it made. They think they are all ‘safe’ from the stone slabs that building the wrestling kingdoms upon which they stand. These kids don’t know… but they will.

    They will learn about the plague that is Ace Hart. They will learn about the unrelenting destroyer that is fast approaching. I’ll come in the night when they rest when they think they’re safe, and one by one I will knock them down. Just like I’ve always done. Three decades, of me looking up at a mountain, and then climbing it, building a throne out of the careers I ruin on the way. The Mega Heel rolls over anyone that gets in his way. That’s been my career for longer than most of them have even been alive, let alone in a wrestling ring. A kid like Liam Ryan wants to call himself the ‘King of Pro Wrestling’? Keep the crown warm kid, I’m coming back for it. Or, how about the Prodigal Son, the SCW Champ himself. I heard him recently droning on about crowns. The young titan that was bread for this business right? The boy-king, ready to rule? Damn kid, you ALMOST got your shot, didn’t you? ALMOST got to build a legacy. Well, you still have time, after all, I have to throw some people off the mountain on my way up. Cherish these moments Mercer. You might very well be the prodigal son, the future wrestling is waiting for, but daddy is coming back, and that throne has always belonged to me. I’ve been king of every company I’ve walked into, you’ll soon see. Sin City Wrestling is just the next destination on a decade's long path to that aforementioned immortality. Who knows, maybe it will be the final destination for this grizzled old bastard. I can’t answer that question, but I can answer this one. If it is, IF this is my last run in this business, you bet your ass I’m going to take that belt along the way. So, you wanted to talk about young lions a few weeks ago right? Work on that growl kid, and I’ll show you how to roar.

    I could continue to go on and on right down the roster, but that time will come. I’ll save that for the ring, exact my pound of flesh for the viewers. The grumble of my Iron 883 turned to a low growl as I slowed the bike, pulling over to the side of the black top that cuts through the desert. The time for my arrival draws near. Real estate has been sold back home and purchased here. The move is almost complete. I took the scenic route while Alia got on a plane. The wrestling world will once again shake at the sound that The Mega Heel makes. I’m coming back and I’m coming for all of it. The mad titan of wrestling is coming back, enjoy the time you have left…

Omnes spes demortae sunt





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