Adam Copeland was sitting at the kraft services table enjoying a pancake with maple syrup when his phone vibrated. The camera focused on his phone, as he flicked through apps. He had an email from production. The subject simply said, “Read This”. Adam was disinterested as he opened it up and clicked the link. The entire scene unfolded before him. No women, growing beards, growing guts, something about being Canadian, retirement, mid-life crisis, and the ultimate crescendo “a retired gay man infested with aliens.” How on earth had it gotten to this?
Edge: Wow. I didn’t know Trent still works here. Guess I should be flattered that he showed up for this, a match he is not in, when he couldn’t even be bothered to show up for the match he WAS in. Thanks for the bye, bro.
Edge rolled his eyes, unbothered.
Edge: To be candid with you, ‘Zo, I’m just….slightly disappointed in you. You’re supposed to be one of the hottest things going right now. You’re supposed to be this fresh, new thing. You’re supposed to be one of the most creative, innovative young studs in the game. The smacktalker skywalker! And somehow, you came in here with the most played, most tired, most overused tripe that could have come out of your mouth.
Edge leaned back in his chair a bit, shaking his head. Then he looked over to the camera.
Edge: Now, you’re right that there do get to be a few drawbacks when you reach my age. For one, everyone expects you to be the best at everything all the time. Kind of exhausting. Two, you’ve been at it too long to claim ignorance. Three, you’re around for every lame, terrible gimmick that comes in and out of here. Yours included.
He cracked his knuckles as he put his hands behind his head.
Edge: So yeah, I’ve seen a lot of losers come and go from this company, and I got to tell you Enzo, you just might be their King. You’re cocky, and far be it from me to not respect the arrogance. I know all about that. But the difference between you and me, is that I’ve earned the right to be arrogant. You? You’re just arrogant because you’re afraid. Afraid that you’ll fade into obscurity, and be just another white guy who wore a gold chain and called himself a “G”.
Edge scratched his head, and put all four legs of his chair back on the ground.
Edge: You are so bad, it’s as if someone took the promo stylings of John Cena, mixed in the Brooklyn Brawler’s accent, and slapped on the wardrobe of Dennis Rodman circa 1996 and called it “good enough”. That’s not high praise, man. But you know what? I could forgive all that if you weren’t such a bore.
Edge raised his eyebrow.
Edge: You try so hard, Enzo. So hard to be a good wrestler, to be funny, to be relevant. It’s all just a little contrived. It’s like you were searching for your fifteen minutes of fame, and you just landed here. You thought, oh “I’ll try this thing”. That’s the problem with you and the generation of wrestlers you come from. Fame at any cost. Don’t have to love the sport. Don’t have to enjoy what you do. So long as it pays for gold chains and video games.
Edge leaned forward and looked directly into the camera.
Edge: Behind all the shuckin and jivin, the moon walking, the made up words and gay jokes, I can see you what for what you are. A bad wrestler, with a fear that someone is going to come along and expose that weakness. It’s why you’re so loud. Tonight, anything else I have to say will be said in the ring. You better be ready though, ‘Zo. Cause you might be the Michael Jordan of Jargon, but I’m the one with all the rings.
Edge pocketed his phone, and got up from his seat, leaving the catering room as the scene faded to black.
KOTR Quarter-Finals
KOTR Quarter-Finals
Writers aren't exactly people. They're a whole bunch of people. Trying to be one person.
The only living, breathing, Queen of Efeds in captivity
"You can't blame a writer for what the characters say." - Truman Capote