Ring Announcer: Aaaalright fans, welcome back! The following contest is set for one fall. Weighing in at--
Before the first participant could be announced, a familiar old song began to play over the sound system. The bombastic opening to Saliva's "Ladies and Gentlemen" rang out, and green lights flooded the arena. A few seconds later, the name "Shane Helms" appeared on the tron and the man himself made his first arena appearance in years.
Wearing a pair of lived-in blue jeans and a green leather jacket over a t-shirt adorned with his familiar Hurricane mask logo, the longtime EBWF fixture made his way down to the ring with a purpose. The fans welcomed him with a rousing pop and a "Welcome Back!" chant, but you'd never tell it from the stoic look on the former champion's face.
Helms paced around the ringside area for a few moments, taking it in. The sights, the smells, the sounds. The bright lights, almost blinding if one were to look directly at their source. The scent of sweat stained into the canvas, the beer and nachos spilled on the floor in the first few rows, the metal of the ring frame. And the deafening roar of the crowd, pockets of fans competing for verbal dominance with competing chants that just weren't quite in sync. It had been too long. The whole thing felt familiar, yet unfamiliar. After breathing in the moment, Helms finally put a knee up on the ring apron and pulled himself up, propelling himself between the ropes and into the ring. He paced the ring, a dark scowl upon his face, and then began to speak.
Shane Helms: The EBWF is a multi-billion dollar global media juggernaut, and it was built on the backs and the blood and the sweat of a small handful of men who laid the foundation. For those of you who don't care to remember, my name is Shane Helms, and I'm on the short list of those men. In the early days, we had our Undertakers and our Bret Harts, and then along came our Shannon Moores and Jeff Hardys. In amongst that time, there was me. Breaking my back, night in and night out, doing my job and doing it well. And when I look back on those days... it eats at me. It eats at me.
SH: You see, I've spent the last handful of years sitting at home, raising my daughter, and having one hell of a life if I may say so. I know more about Ponyville and Rainbow Dash and Derpy Hooves than one grown man should be allowed. But I sit there in my living room, playing games with my daughter while her mom is still out on the road doing a thing that I love to do. And I look at the trophy case in my basement, the Hardcore Championships and the X-Division Championships, and the Intercontinental Championships. And it eats at me. It eats at me.
SH: There's an empty spot on the top of that rack of title belts. The one Wes Ikeda brass ring that I was just never quite able to grasp. Sure, if you look back at the history book, if you look up Shane Helms on Wikipedia, you'll see one World Title reign. It lasted for one week in October 2005, and it was a farce doctored up by the Dream Team that I was a part of - myself, Christian, and I think something called Mark Jindrak was there? It was one big put-on that never should have happened, and I've since stricken it from my own record. But to go out there and earn an EBWF World Championship... it eats at me. It eats at me.
SH: There was one time, one shot that I took at that spot at the top during Alex Shelley's reign in 2007. And I was hot. Man, I was hot. I went into that match with all the confidence in the world, knowing that I had done all I could to prove to the EBWF upper management that I had earned that spot, that I was the man to take the company on my back and lead it forward. And what happened? Nothing. A match that should have been my crowning achievement, I was treated like an afterthought. Ikeda's machine had other ideas, I guess. Some Jeff Hardy shenanigans happened, and I was tossed out of the World Title picture like yesterday's meat loaf. And it still eats at me. It eats at me.
SH: That was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. And that's fine. It's fine. I went out and I had myself a wonderful little career. I went out and won myself some Intercontinental titles, some X-Division titles, some tag team titles. I was a good little spoke on the wheel and I did my part to keep the company moving forward. But that little voice in the back of my head always tells me, "you should've been more. You should have been a contender." Because I was good. Some of you may not care to remember, but dammit, I was good at what I did! And don't get it twisted - I love my life, and I'm proud of everything I accomplished in this ring. But there's that one empty spot on my trophy case, and it eats at me. It eats at me.
SH: So that brings us to the Royal Rumble. This right here, this is a warning. To the other 29 competitors, including Wes Ikeda himself. To everyone watching. To everyone in the suits and ties in the offices with their ideas and plans for what they want WrestleMania to be. This is not about you. This is about all of them.
Helms motioned out around the crowd, who obliged his cheap pop.
SH: This is about what they want to see, and about who deserves to be in that top spot. It eats at me that I never saw that top spot, and that's why I'm coming to the Royal Rumble. Not as some nostalgia act, not as a cheap thrill... but to win. To win, and to go on to main event the biggest event in our business, WrestleMania. So that it can eat at me... no longer.
And with that, Helms took the mic away from his mouth and hopped out of the ring. He paused only slightly to offer a pat on the head to a young fan in the front row clamoring for his attention, but ultimately set the microphone on the corner of the ring and exited the arena to a warm response. And the show, as they say, goes on.
