An Open Letter To Some Old Friends...and their friends, too.

There is no more Owen Hart.

There's no more Davey Boy Smith.

There's no more Rick Rude.

There's no more Brian FUCKING Pillman.

There's no more Chris Benoit.

There's no more Eddy Guerrero.

There's no more Kerry Von Erich. Or Mike, or David, or Chris.

There's no more John Tenta.

There's no more Big *** Dudley.

There's no more Miss Elizabeth.

There's no more Chris Candido.

There's no more Eddie Gilbert.

There's no more Crash Holly.

There's no more Buzz Sawyer.

There's no more Rick McGraw.

There's no more Gino Hernandez.

There's no more Bobby Duncum, Jr.

There's no more Adrian Adonis.

there's no more Gary Albright.

There's no more Yokozuna.

There's no more John Kronos.

There's no more Pitbull #2.

There's no more The Wall.

There's no more Johnny Grunge OR Rocco Rock.

There's no more Terry Gordy.

There's no more Bruiser Brody.

There's no more Ray Traylor.

There's no more Mike Awesome.

There's no more Dino Bravo.

There's no more Brian Adams.

There's no more Woman.

There's no more Curt Hennig.

There's no more Bam Bam Bigelow.

There's no more JYD, or Hercules, or Andre, or Studd, or Hawk, or Sherri
Martel, or Pez Whatley, or Chris Adams.

The Moondogs are about all dead.

No more Eddie Graham.

No more Gorilla Monsoon.

No more Bad News Brown.

No more Terry Garvin.

No more *** Murdoch.

No more Wahoo McDaniel.

No more Sapphire.

None of the above were over the age of 65 when they died...and that's not
a complete list.

There's also no more Andersons except CW. No Magnum TA, no Ricky
Steamboat, no Billy Jack Haynes, no Bret Hart. No Droz.

And there's no punchline. There's no surprising, mildly shocking,
politically incorrect but still worth a chuckle wise-ass remark at the
end of that list of corpses and casualties.

But remember the next time you whine about someone having 'no workrate'
or 'the high spots suck,' or 'too many rest holds' or 'not enough
tables' or 'shut up and wrestle...'

.....that every interview; every rest hold; every jobber match; every
backstage vignette; every screwjob ending; every high-spot not taken in
favor of using classic mat skills to tell a story; every cowardly heel
that takes a dive; every chair that doesn't get swung...

....is a few more minutes that maybe, just maybe, someone we all care
about - and yes, that includes the Crush's and Renegades of the world -
might live a little longer.

Many years ago I was a part of this business. I did what I could, but I
was pretty much just as bad as everyone else when it came to the
lifestyle. Far worse than some - at that time, the Hardys were still
loudly bragging that they'd never taken so much as a tylenol for pain.

I did take a little time, though, to tell a couple of people I considered
friends some of the things I'd seen and done, and why they'd be best off
staying away from it.

I bared my soul a bit...and you know, the 'friend' I bared it to blew it
off, and blew me off, and it hurt...but I did what I could do, and took
the chance. If that friend turned out not to be a big enough man to
simply appreciate an attempt by a friend to pass on a little wisdom,
that's okay...I'm sure he's had time to reflect on it over the years.

But what I didn't do was say 'hey...do you *really* need that spot to
make the match?' What I didn't do was say 'I love seeing you do your
thing, but brother if you don't slow down you're not gonna be here.'

Some of the guys who made up that little circle I was in are out of the
business now. Jason Ahrndt, last I heard, was selling cars. Toad was a
stand-up comedian. No idea what happened to Christian York. Otto
Schwanz/Bo Dupp is a teacher in a Raleigh suburb now. Mike Maverick/Jack
Dupp cuckolded Jerry Lawler - rightfully so, by some accounts - and was
last seen living in Florida with the former Kat Lawler. Some of the
other guys are still in the business. Lexie Fyfe was working out in
Nevada, last I heard. Shannon Moore. Joey Matthews. CW Anderson.
Shane Helms. And of course, Matt and Jeff Hardy.

There were other guys, too, that I got to work with, but never
necessarily put over a whole bunch here. Steve Corino, for instance.
Chilly Willy. Major DeBeers. Scab. Dewey Cheetum. Mr. Jolly, the ref
who made Jeff Jones look like a portrait of sobriety and officaldom.
Count Grog, who gave me a spot for 36 months and let me run with it.
Thomas Simpson, who along with Matt allowed me the honor of working for
OMEGA. Ted Hobgood/'Scott Simpson,' the Voice of Omega who always took
my sense of humor in stride, even when it was childish and boorish. RVD,
who still owes me a buzz. Greg Price, god knows where he is anymore but
damn best to you mate.

Maybe while I was in the locker rooms and the after parties...maybe I had
my own contribution to pushing the guys harder than they should be; maybe
I had my own hand in encouraging wrestlers to keep pushing themselves
harder and harder, to keep playing that game of 'can you top this?'

There's no maybe to it. I did. We all did. So did most of the people
who have been through this newsgroup in the last fifteen years.

I don't really think of the OmegaPowers as friends anymore. Old friends,
yeah. Some of them, I'm sure if we saw each other tomorrow we'd have
plenty to talk about and it'd be just like old times, but with a few more
gray hairs and road stories.

But friend, foe, or none of the above, I don't really want to feel
responsible for seeing another young man or woman taken off the shelf
before their sell-by date.

So now, maybe it's a little late, but maybe - just maybe - there's still
someone in a new york or nashville locker room who remembers this dark
lil corner of the internets.

Maybe this message will make it through to those old friends, because
frankly this is the only way I've GOT to reach them anymore, short of
showing up at their homes, and that's just waaaay too Fatal Attraction
for my style.

What I'm saying, guys...is slow down.

What I'm saying is don't pull every highspot out of the book in every
match...and let some of those once-in-a-lifetime stunts you've pulled
*stay* once-in-a-lifetime.

What I'm saying is stay healthy in mind and body. There's no reason a
man (or woman) can't have a few beers or whatever. There's no reason a
man can't take a legal painkiller. There's no reason a competent doctor
can't ensure a sensible, safe, healthy course of steroid treatment for
injuries.

But if you slow down, pick your spots, and don't let yourselves, the
fans, or the bookerman push you beyond the limits of what can reasonably
be expected from a world-class athlete...then maybe y'all will be around
long enough to 'meet me again on the way back down.'

And brothers...if you make it back down in one piece and you meet me
along the way, I'll be happy to buy you a cold beverage of any variety
and spend a few hours talkin about the old days at the Berzerkely Cafe,
the Butner and Sanford and Louisburg Armories. Maybe me 'n the emperor
still have touch with that same little undergroove, the one that made
things fall together so nicely during an off-the-wall jam session.

Maybe we can make a little music sometime, if the opportunity arises.

Maybe a nice little underground cover of 'Wish You Were Here,' for all
the lost boys and girls. I know my heart's still in it. Can't speak for
anyone else, though.

But the point is this:

If we, the fans - the *marks* - want to keep seeing what we enjoy
seeing...then maybe we need to let someone know that we'd be willing to
see a little less of it today, if that means we'll get to see a little
more of it tomorrow.

I don't want to log on to RSPW and hear about another dead wrestler for a
long, long time.

I sure as hell don't want to log on to RSPW and hear about a dead
wrestler who I once considered a close friend, regardless of if we
drifted apart or have a little heat or whatever. There are two people in
this business - maybe three - that I would whip my *** out and piss on
if they ever crossed my path, and they know exactly who they are and why,
and none of them are anyone that anybody here has ever given a rat's ass
about, because they're poseurs who never got noticed ON the indy circuit,
let alone beyond it.

When they die, nobody in the business is going to care one way or another
anyway. I won't see *them* here.

Everybody else...you know, if I never see any of you guys again I'll die
being grateful for having known you, regardless of how it all worked out
in the end.

But please, man. As your former friend, as a guy who was there when some
of you went from Nobody to Somebody, as a guy who's shared your meals,
your homes, and in some cases your private thoughts that will never see
the daylight side of kayfabe...as a *fan*, I say to all of you, and to
all the people in the business I *don't* know as well.

Please. Slow down. We're not worth dying for, no matter how much
pressure Vince or Johnny Ace or whoever's got the pencil this week in
Nashville puts on you. Invest your money wisely; at least a half-dozen
of you guys should be set for life if you had to walk away from this
business tomorrow. If you're not, *get that way.* Tomorrow's gonna get
here someday, sooner or later.

There's nothing wrong with being loyal to the business. There's nothing
wrong with being loyal to a company, even.

But first and foremost, you have to be loyal to *yourselves,* and to the
people who loved you long before you were Umpteen-Time World Tag Team
Champions or The New Enforcer or a Hollywood Blonde v3.0.

I'm not one of those people - I got here mid-stream. I'm not talking
about me or any of the rest of the folks who have slipped out of your
address books over the years. I'm talking about fathers, mothers,
spouses, girlfriends who have been with you forever and a day. I'm
talking about the people who know you when you're not on TV.

Them...those people, are worth dying for, because they'd have died for
you when you weren't jack ***.

Us..the marks, the fans, the crowd, the pop?

Yeah, man, it's great. I've been there. A few of you even finally
managed to beat my top crowd. Congratulations...but the crowds fade
away, the lights go down, and sooner or later all those people who are
telling you how great and cool and edgy you are now are gonna be gone.

But those people who were there before, who were there outside...those
people are still gonna be there.

And those people aren't just worth dying for.

They're worth LIVING for.

If you got *** to clean up, clean it up. Stay alive and in one piece.
Stop pushing so hard. Insist on safety and protection, and if the other
jobronie isn't able to provide that, then the other jobronie doesn't
belong in a ring until he or she CAN provide that. Stay clean, use
medicines as prescribed by a reputable physician. Don't overdo it for
the sake of getting back to TV two weeks earlier. Don't overdo it to
prove to some old redneck who barely paid his own dues that you've paid
yours. Don't overdo it because Vince keeps hiring *** writers and seems
to have completely forgotten that most of the greatest moments in this
business were off the cuff. Don't overdo it because the business is a
fuckin' meat market and the next guy who kisses ass better than you do
will take your spot if you overdon't.

Don't overdo it.

Stay alive.

Not for me.

Not for us.

For YOU.

Please.

Thank you.

Your friend, former announcer, manager, and glorified asexual ringrat,
John Henry,
'The Net.***.'

PS: Don't think that if I *do* see one of you bastids, I'm not going to
read you the riot act for forgetting my phone number. Dickheads, every
one of you. But I love you anyway. You were each my life, when I didn't
have one, and I can never thank you enough for that, whether any of you
actively gave a flying *** or not.

Stay alive.

PPS: ONE of you jobronies in NY and Nashville reads this place, I know
damn well you do. Borash, you're here, you can barely log off long
enough to write your angles. Russo's probably still lurking around here,
but no idea if he's still lurking around the business. Ditto Gerwitz and
that other clown from NYC, the one who posted here a couple of times and
then wrote for Friends and a few other sitcoms before heading to Titan
Towers. Take my name off it if you want, I could care about that. God
knows if I need the attention, I know how to get it...

....but print this *** and post it on the locker room wall, like you used
to back in the day. Maybe someone will read it and not take that last
shot or painkiller or stack that pushes them over the edge.

*shrug* and maybe not...but I did my part, and that's all I can do.

--
jh, still the guy who cut the best original, spontaneous, intro heel
promo in the history of independent wrestling.
.