He’d flown in to St. Louis late Thursday night ahead of all of the fan events and celebrations that would happen over the weekend. To his left, was his best friend, Randy Orton. He’d be staying with Randy and Nicole for the next few days. It would be nice to stay somewhere a bit more homey, rather than the cold, unfamiliar surroundings of yet another hotel. Adam was a little beside himself, and overwhelmed with the prospect of representing EBWF this weekend.
If someone had told him even six months ago that he’d be the world champion today? He wouldn’t have believed them. No, not at all. EBWF was experiencing something of an identity crisis. While still a wildly successful program, it was missing some of the flare it had had in years past, and problems that were usually kept in the upper echelons of management were to the point that they had begun to trickle backstage. EBWF hadn’t been attracting new talent the way it had in years past. Adam and Randy had spent copious amounts of time talking about why that might be. There were a lot of talented wrestlers in the world. Randy surmised that companies like ROH, Impact and Lucha Underground offered reduced schedules, but also reduced paychecks. Adam had mentioned that the internet had made the International scene attractive. EBWF was still doing very well for itself, but it’s status as WWE’s younger, hotter sibling had begun to fade with the barrage of ways to watch content. EBWF was reinventing itself. Again.
Looking out over the open road from the passenger seat of Randy’s SUV, after what must have been their tenth time going through this conversation, Randy heard Adam give a bit of an exasperated sigh.
Randy Orton: And they chose you.
He shook his head.
Randy Orton: Ain’t that some shit?
Adam gave a nod. Necessity was the mother of invention. Adam happened to know a bit about that. He sighed again.
Adam Copeland: And heavy is the head that wears the crown.
And on Friday morning, Adam learned how correct that statement was. He’d slept for maybe six hours when he woke up to an email with the “final” Fanniversary card, and he was incensed before his feet had even hit the floor. He showered angry. He dressed angry. Then he drove angry, fifteen minutes from the Orton’s home, to the EBWF headquarters in St. Louis. After moving through the security line, Adam proceeded to the elevator and hit the button for the 30th floor. It was a long elevator ride, and he spent most of it trying to convince himself that he would be cool, calm and collected when he walked into the office. The elevator doors opened and Adam started across the lobby area. Lynne McClinton was at her desk, positioned in front of Wes Ikeda’s office. The CEO’s door was open, and he looked to Lynne, but didn’t stop moving forward.
Adam Copeland: Is he in?
Lynne McClinton: Yes, but he’s on the pho…
Despite her unfinished warning, Adam kept walking until he was straight through the opened door of EBWF’s Chief Executive Officer.
Adam Copeland: Would you like to explain the meaning of this?
Wes was indeed on the phone. Seated behind his desk with the landline receiver to his ear, the chairman glanced up at Adam and screwed up his face. He mouthed the word “what?”.
Adam Copeland: You heard me.
Wes Ikeda: Dave, I’m so sorry. I’m going to have to call you back. Small development issue on our end. Thanks. Bye.
Wes hurriedly hung up the phone and stood up from his seat.
Wes Ikeda: Would you care to explain to me why I had to just hang up on an event planner in New Orleans about Wrestlemania Weekend, or should I just throw you out now?
Adam Copeland: I want to know what the fuck the card for Sunday is supposed to be, because I got that email this morning and…
Wes Ikeda: World Champion for less than a month and you’re in my office second guessing my decisions like I haven’t been doing this shit for years.
Adam Copeland: I just want you to justify me and PJ not closing the show. That’s why I’m here.
Wes Ikeda: I don’t have to explain anything to you, Adam. Really.
Adam Copeland: PJ Black has been carrying this company on his back for months. I don’t know the guy really well, but I think he’s probably professional enough to understand why there had to be a change. What I don’t expect him to understand is why we would have to jerk the curtain for a non-title match with an obvious ending! Seriously? Guy has been running this shit and you can’t even give him the nod of the main event at the second biggest show of the year? For what?
Wes raised an eyebrow.
Wes Ikeda: So this isn’t even about you?
Adam shook his head.
Adam Copeland: Well, no, not really. I mean, I just got here. I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t see a shitload of irony in the fact that Mr. “The World Championship Match Should Headline Pay-per-views bumped us so he could main event, but I just think you’re both doing a disservice to the title and to PJ by making us go on before them. It’s bullshit, and I think you know it.
Wes Ikeda: Don’t presume to tell me what I know.
Adam Copeland: Are you going to dig your heels in on this? Just admit that it’s a bad call! It’s a bad call! The problem with this company and the way you run it is what’s it’s always been, Wes! You don’t give a shit about the talent you do have.
And thus Adam was even more annoyed than he realized. Wes seemed unrattled, and that honestly pissed him off even more.
Adam Copeland: No, I’m not done. You’ve been kissing Havoc’s ass since practically the moment he got here…
Wes Ikeda: I’m not really sure he’d agree.
Adam Copeland: Oh, I’m sure that’ll be evident after Sunday won’t it. Fine. You don’t want to admit that this is a bullshit call? Then don’t. Fine. I’m telling you it is, and as the world champion I’m going to tell everyone who asks, all weekend long. That PJ Black and I should be ending this show. And you tell Chris that I think he’s a fucking hypocrite.
Wes had been a much calmer person since his eldest daughter’s death. After marrying Natalie Neidhart, and turning forty, he’d mellowed in a way that made him far more likable, but infuriating to fight with. He seemed almost unflappable in that way. For a brief moment, Adam saw the Wes of old as he offered a stinging retort.
Wes Ikeda: I’ll be sure to tell him. We’ll both laugh about how little that matters to him.
Emboldened by his recent world title win, Adam shook his head, replying in a way one did not reply to their boss, especially when their boss was Wes.
Adam Copeland: Fuck you.
He turned to face the open door, knowing that Lynne had heard every word. Maybe other people in the lobby too. He stormed out, and moved quickly to the elevator, finding he had to awkwardly wait for it as it was on it’s way up. When the doors opened he was confronted with a red faced Natalie Neidhart. She went to step around him. The two Canadians had been on the circuit together for a long time, and Adam was immediately concerned by her expression. They usually avoided each other, not because of any animosity, but because it seemed like the most fair thing to do for Trish. Natalie was Trish’s best friend, and Adam never wanted Natalie to feel awkward about having to be friendly with him, Trish’s… well, whatever he was to her nowadays. His concern overrode all that though.
Adam Copeland: Are you okay?
Natalie Neidhart: Have you seen this ridiculous card? It’s a joke.
Adam Copeland: I have. Maybe go easy on him. I just laid into him pretty good.
Natalie Neidhart: Wait, did you start with him?
Adam gave a meek nod.
Natalie Neidhart: Well, to be fair Adam. It’s not entirely up to him… I just got through with Paul and JR.
Adam had the decency to look mildly ashamed. Perhaps he should have started there too. It was at that point they both heard Wes growl from inside his office.
Wes Ikeda: Lynne! Where the fuck is my coffee?!
Natalie’s jaw dropped in horror as she looked at Lynne, and then back up at Adam.
Natalie Neidhart: Did he just…?
Adam nodded again. Natalie shot Lynne an apologetic glance as she moved to make Wes a cup of coffee. Normally she would have told him to get it himself, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood to be trifled with. Natalie then turned back to Adam.
Natalie Neidhart: Well, Adam. I hope you left some in there for me, because what was going to be a gentle conversation, just turned into me going in there and picking the bones.
Adam had to call for the elevator again, and he gave Natalie an understanding nod as she crossed to Wes’ office. Adam couldn’t help but feel a little pleased at Wes’ fate.
It was something to be standing in front of the EBWF Universe with the World Championship. It was reminiscent of his earlier career. Sometime in 1999, Edge had gone from relative obscurity to superstardom seemingly overnight. It felt like it was happening again. The last few years of his career had been quiet, and then the last thirty days had been insane. Adam had spent early Saturday afternoon signing autographs for the fans at the America’s Center Convention Complex. Now he was sat in the backseat of a limousine with Maurice Moton, a reporter for Bleacher Report.
Maurice Moton: I really appreciate you agreeing to do this interview. I’m going to record it if that’s okay. Should I call you Edge?
Edge: Yeah. I didn’t get permission to do this, so we better stick with Edge.
Moton turned on a tape recorder, and gave a nod of acknowledgement.
Maurice Moton: Interview with EBWF World Champion, Edge. Saturday, 28th of October, 2017. Edge, thanks for meeting with me today. You’ve been the World Champion for a month. How did it feel to beat PJ Black at Destiny?
Edge: It might sound cliche, but honestly, it wasn’t a surprise to me. I did what I said I was going to do. I’m nothing if not a man of my word.
Maurice Moton: Tomorrow night, here in St. Louis, you take on PJ once more. You’ll defend your title at Fanniversary. Do you expect your hot streak to continue?
Edge: Do people ever answer that question by saying “No! I expect everything to go horribly.” They don’t do they? I’ve never met a wrestler who just shrugged their shoulders and said “Nah, I’m probably gonna lose this one.” Look, PJ Black is a hell of a performer. He pushed me to be a better wrestler during our match at Destiny, and I’m not expecting tomorrow to be any difference. I think we’ll probably put on a match of the year candidate. Fans should be excited for that.
Maurice Moton: I know you were very confident about winning the championship, but your fans were pretty surprised. If anything, it seemed like maybe your career was winding down.
Edge: I can see why it seemed that way. Listen, I’ve had a remarkable career. I’ve made a name for myself. Reinvented myself when the situation called for it. I’m going to be 44 on Monday. I’ve been a professional wrestler for over half of my life. 25 years I’ve been in this business in some way. The first half of my career was incredible, and you know I’m pretty lucky, because not a lot of guys in our industry get a second half of their career. Here I am in the second half of mine. I like to think it’s an honor that I’ve earned, and I’m happy the fans have come along on the ride with me.
Maurice Moton: A couple of weeks ago on Warfare, you said that the EBWF Universe helped you get to this point. How do they drive you?
Edge: I think the EBWF Universe connects with me in a way that they can’t connect with PJ Black. There’s a difference between being a good in-ring performer and being an entertainer. I like to think I do a lot of entertaining, and the fans have always sort of been there to support me in that. Whether I’ve been the good guy or the bad guy I’ve tried to have a schtick that resonates with them. They’ve responded to that in ways that have gone beyond my wildest dreams.
Maurice Moton: Why do you say the fans can’t connect with PJ? What is it that you think he lacks.
Edge: Honestly? Charisma. I get it. PJ came up in an era where you didn’t have to be a showman to get over. All he needed were a few flashy in-ring moves and that was enough for him to get by. He’s younger than me. He didn’t have to make it while standing across the ring from Stone Cold Steve Austin or the Rock. He doesn’t understand what it takes to make yourself stand out in that kind of environment. I did it. I turned out to be all the better for it. What’s he got to do? Look better than the Miz? That shit’s not exactly hard.
Maurice Moton: What about this idea that you’ve kind of been sent out here to defend the record held by Randy Orton?
Edge: The longest title reign? Bullshit. Randy Orton doesn’t need me to defend his records. He can do that on his own. I don’t know if people just weren’t paying attention, or what, but I didn’t just beat PJ Black at Destiny. I damn near ended him. It’s a miracle he’s even ready for this match. And if you didn’t know, just ask him, I’m sure he’ll tell you. He wants everyone know what a risk taker he is.
Maurice Moton: Some people would find that pretty endearing.
Edge: Yeah, well, I find it stupid. PJ doesn’t get it, and I don’t think he ever will. I’m interested to see what he has to say to excuse away his loss at Destiny. What makes him think he can win back my championship? I’m sure he’ll talk about how unfair this was to him. I’m sure he’ll talk some more about how I gave away my shot, when he knows damn good and well that I did no such thing. Him talking about me giving away my shot, is kind of like Donald Trump continuing to drone on and on about the election. Campaign is over buddy. There was a winner. No reason to pull out all your alternative facts. I simply let someone cut in line, I never said I wasn’t coming for him, and shame on him for being surprised. A real, defending champion, a champion with integrity, takes on all comers.
The limo rolled to a stop, having gone the few miles to its destination.
Edge: And when I’m done with PJ Black tomorrow at Fanniversary. When my hand is raised, and we cap off a celebration of 16 years of EBWF? I’m going to put PJ Black in the rearview mirror, and then taking on all comers is exactly what I intend to do. Thanks Maurice.
Edge opened his own door, and stepped out of the limo. He looked up at the Scottrade Center looming large above him. Tomorrow night would be one for the history books. He just hoped he’d be on the right side of it.
