Do you remember the first time you got hit? Like really, really hit? The kind of hit that can only be interpreted as coming from a place of malice? It’s a coming of age moment. Up until that point the world is alright, kinda friendly place. Then you get your first dose of pain. The blow connects hard enough that it whips your head back and makes your jawbone click. Your teeth rattle against one another and you taste blood for the first time in your life when you hit the ground. We are taught at that age that it is important to share but that pain is yours and yours alone to enjoy. Your innocent has been taken from you with that one hit and now you begin the long, winding journey of pain that you will be experiencing for the rest of your life. So, can you take it? Can you take the hit and keep getting back up? Can you steady yourself for all the pain that is coming your way? Or are you going to cower from it… hide from it… do everything in your power to stay away from it?
Jon remembered his first time. Hard to forget it really. He was ten years old, riding home from school on his bike and some older kids grabbed the seat of his bike and flipped him over. He hadn’t been on the ground for two seconds before he felt their feet stomping on his head, neck, and ribs until he stopped moving. When he woke up his lunch money was gone and his bike was nowhere to be seen. His mom yelled at him when he got home for losing the bike before giving him a boxcutter so he’d be ready for next time. That’s a frightening prospect, right? Not only will violence be done to you in the future but you may have to do some yourself? Good. We all go through it and now it’s your turn.
The heat of Cincinnati was only getting more humid as summer drug on. When he was sixteen and homeless this wasn’t the worst sort of weather. Sure staying out of the summer was hard but sleeping out under the stars weren't as miserable as it was in the winter months. Those days were long beyond him now. Say what you will about that damn company, he doesn’t have to worry about going hungry again. He was a simple guy: jeans and t-shirt, wash and wear. He could stretch a couple million out the rest of his life. No, EBWF wasn’t about the money. It was about the freedom. It was about shaking off years of repression, biting tongues, and holding back and taking the bullshit for the sake of a contract and a roof over his head. A man will do a lot of crazy things for a hot meal, but placating a universe of children and seldom satisfied fans whilst stroking the ego of a septuagenarian old man? Unheard of.
He held out his smartphone to record his thoughts as he stood on the banks of the dirty Ohio River below the Reds stadium. When he was a kid he used to sneak into the games until a security guy chased him off. Times have changed. Jon Moxley was not a social media guy. He never uploaded a profile picture to his twitter account, let alone posted anything on the damn thing. He also wasn’t one for interview segments with a corporate stooge in a well-lit stage asking him predetermined questions whilst acting like a living, breathing microphone stand. He didn’t need anything fancy or special. He didn’t need magazine interviews or podcast appearances any longer. Just the basics would be fine.
Jon Moxley: Champion, that’s what I am. Back at Summerslam, I beat Hardcore Holly and took the Breakout title from him. I told that piece of shit that I would break him, and bury him and I did. You see he’s no hardcore legend he’s just a normal man. He ran his mouth and got a Dirty Deeds for his trouble. After all what I did to him at Summerslam, I hear Lio Rush had something to say about me. I hear that he says I don’t belong in the same arena as Bob Holly and Bobby Lashley. I just shake my head at that, and I laugh because I proved that they don’t belong in the damn ring with me. When are you two jackasses going to realize that neither of you can measure up to me. All you two are is bitches you two have no balls.
Moxley smirked, and cracked his knuckles.
Jon Moxley: This week on Warfare, I face Bobby Lashley. He thinks that he’s going to evenge Hardcore’s loss, but he’s not. Bobby you're going to suffer the same fate your boy did, your going to suffer defeat. Bobby your no better than Hardcore is, he was the longest reigning Breakout Champion and he couldn’t beat me, what makes you think you can beat me. You can bring your little manager Lio to ringside with you, and you can bring Hardcore as well, and I’ll put all three of you on the shelf. Bobby you have no idea who you're dealing with. Your dealing with Jon Moxley, one crazy motherfucker, with no feelings, or remorse.
Moxley sets the Breakout Championship next to him.
Jon Moxley: You see this title Bobby, I beat your boy for this title. Everytime I look at this title I smile, because I know that I took a piece of Hardcore with me. I’ll give it to you mister Lashley, you got the look, but oh boy do you ever suck. You can’t hack it as a wrestler, your matches are bland and boring. Your not entertaining, or charismatic. I mean damn son, you can’t even talk on the microphone, you have to have Lio do all the damn talking for you. To me that’s just sad and pathetic. Like I said before mister Lashley, go back to MMA, were you actually were a big deal. Bobby, I’m going to bury you, just like I did your boy Hardcore Holly.
Moxley looked to the side for a minute. He could smell the fear on Bobby Lashley. A melody was playing in his head, of course it couldn't be heard by anyone else.
Jon Moxley: I guess that’s the thing about Bobby Lashley that a lot of people don’t understand. The wrestling business is so narrow minded that they think everything has to revolve around some achievement or championship but sometimes shit just gets personal. Now, me? I have a very old fashioned view on things. If there is somebody out here in the world that you do not like, then it’s on you to get in their face and address the problem. I don’t like people who coast through their careers on reputations they made in the past, I don’t like people who are given preferential treatment due to those reputations, and, most importantly, I just don’t like Lashley. I put that on myself. I call it living with a weird sense of integrity. I’m a very open and honest man at the end of the day. I call it like I see it.
Jon ran his hands over his head and smirked at the camera.
Jon Moxley: Lashley, you now have zero incentive to be in this match. You have no glory, no respect, no loyalty, and nothing to gain. You aren’t afraid to spill blood and you aren’t afraid to have your blood spilled either. You’ve had your number of matches in your career. The difference is that you’ve never been in a match with Jon Moxley. Now let’s not mince words, this match this match will be a career ending match for you. Another mark in the win column isn’t going to keep me satisfied. I want pain, I want broken bodies and mangled flesh, I want the ring to smell of blood and guts… and you’re volunteering to put yourself in the line of fire, Bobby. You have all the reason in the world to be scared of me, Lashley. You’re coming into this match with absolutely nothing. So, if you think I’m not going to do everything in my power to cripple you, to bludgeon you with a baseball bat, to completely take you out of the equation so you can learn a very powerful lesson in not fucking with me, then you must be crazier than I am. When the train is coming down the tracks, Bobby, the dumbest thing you can do is volunteer to step in front of it.
Moxley draped the Breakout Championship over his shoulder, and looked directly into the camera.
Jon Moxley: The next time you see me, mister Lashley, you better duck. I’m going to take everything you have ever held near and dear to you heart. The best part is, I won’t even have to tear it away. After I get through beating you within an inch of your life you’re going to freely hand over all of your accolades and accomplishments. You’re going to admit that you were never as good as people led you to believe. Lastly you will find out why I’M THE DEATHRIDER.
Jon walks off with his Breakout Championship, as the scene fades.