eyoung
League Member
(Eddy Love stands at the gate of his Lake Hartwell estate. The gate is black wrought iron with "E L" encased in a heart at the center of each side. Eddy wears a pair of faded Levi jeans and a T-shirt that reads "valentines day is for LOVE".)
Hurricane Eddy Love…. the man known as Legend Killer since I was 3 years old and tore the pages out of the "Cat in the Hat"…… the man who has reinforced that name every step along the way….. whether he was defeating varsity stars who had never tasted defeat by the time I was in the 9th grade….. whether it was at Clemson University where in the 3rd week of practice he pinned former national champion Noel Lobin who was working with our squad….. whether it was in the Federation he made his debut the old NWCI, where on a single night Hurricane Eddy won the World Title in a battle royal, then not only defeated, but broke the neck of wrestling legend Rocky Ford Meloneer, right in front of his future boss Chad Merrit who had been hired as a special guest announcer……. Now we know the history of the CSWA, where the Southern Dandy went from a man known in a small circle as a legend killer to Hurricane Eddy Love, International man of fame and *THE* Legend Killa…..
Now with Hurricane Eddy’s hands firmly clenched around the throat of the legacy of Mike Randalls, and with what many believe may be the final chapter in the Randalls novel only a few short days away….. I turn on the TV to hear a grown man who calls himself, catch this, Wicked Site, fantasizing about what it must look like in the rectum of Hurricane Eddy Love. Well, Mike Plett, you wanna know "what’s up Eddy’s ass" as you so eloquently put it. I could supply an array of answers to that, Mike. I could explain how I came back to this Federation to save it from three of the most talented, greedy, mean spirited S.O.B.’s the sport has ever known…… I could tell you how I assembled my army to defend Chad Merrit from these men staking their claim, I could explain that it is in my ass, Mike, that I came and saved it for a group of fans who had never done anything nicer than dumping their $7.00 Budweiser on me after I sweated blood for 90 minutes for their entertainment…… I could tell you how it chaps that very ass, that I came back to save this company so that ungrateful hacks like you could have somewhere to earn the winner’s share of the preliminary card and graduate to collecting the loser’s share of the mid card, Mike, then instead of thanks, I get one of those wrestlers fantasizing about the King’s daughter….. no not Troy Windham the other king….. being found in Eddy’s ass. I could tell you, Mike, that my trainer was thrown 20 foot to her disability check, that for a year Troy and I fell from cages, pinned great wrestlers, put our careers on the line every night for this company, while you topped out at Havoc and Kevin Powers. I could tell you that it sticks in my craw that while we fought this war Merrit tried to get second rate talent like Steve Radder and now Evan Aho over by soiling the 20 pounds of gold *I* made famous….. I mean hell Aho has put the belt on a diet, it’s already down to 15 pounds of metal and leather by his own admission…… I could even tell you that it gaulds me that while I did these things for Merrit he throws me into a tag match without my partner on the same night he basically hands that Damn Hornet my title. Let’s face it The Greatest American Hero may have proven himself incapable of ever beating a Playboy, but does anyone really think that Larry Stanley and Evan Aho pose any threat. Did you see Aho’s lip trembling when he called Hornet’s name, It’s pathetic, but truth is that’s not in my ass, Wicked Boy. I could tell you that it burns my rectum that I’ve admitted to myself to the Wolf’s delight that no matter how bad I beat Randalls up, over and over again he still gets on TV every week drooling about the WAY we were and about it all means nothing……
But the truth is, Mike Sight, as much as these things might stick in the buttocks of a lesser man, they have not "crawled up my ass and died"…… and while I would LOVE to ask if your Mother knows you talk like that I will instead, Wicked Plett, point out to you that I reviewed my recent interviews for when I may have mentioned the bottom eighth of the roster, but I could never find that reference to silly gimmicks and poor ring fundamentals, that must have made you mention my name….. so Wicked Sight I answer your question with a question….. What is it that’s crawled up your ass when it comes to Eddy Love??? Do you think you become a star by just calling my name??? As busy as I am with days to make and hearts to break, do you think I’m too busy to bust down a hack like you, Mike??? I’ve walked through tougher turnstiles than you on the way to a fight, Sight, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget you know my name.
As for my man Mike Rambles, yes Wolf I heard your words…. And as tempted as I am to address them I think I’ll just send you copies of the last year of interviews I’ve where I discounted your notions that no one’s accomplishments in life are worthy of the chore of climbing out of bed when you’re a chronically depressed, egotistical menace to *MY* sport. Yes, Wolf, it did turn to be a bit of the War that you promised, and yes no one has shown up for their nightly beatings any more reliably than you and your other three Csers…… but you also promised my nights of dancing until the Wolves howled were over, you promised that you could turn that sweet taste of chilled Dom sour in my mouth Randalls and yet here we are a year later and no one still smiles brighter or dances later than Eddy Love, although a few, a very few but still a few, do now have better hair. You’re right also, Randalls, about the value of a mystery tag match…. I figured that must be your idea, but if it falls on Merrit then so be it, unlike you , I take those lemons and make electric lemonade.
Randalls, in Greensboro…. In the Carolinas that have always been Eddy Love country….. I spring another Wolf trap…. And this time Wolf, after you drop your jaw in awe at just how big the names are that line up to be associated with Eddy Love…. then it’s Hurricane Pile Driver, sirens, flashing lights and orthopedic specialists for you, you Mean Mean Man.
(FTB)
Hurricane Eddy Love…. the man known as Legend Killer since I was 3 years old and tore the pages out of the "Cat in the Hat"…… the man who has reinforced that name every step along the way….. whether he was defeating varsity stars who had never tasted defeat by the time I was in the 9th grade….. whether it was at Clemson University where in the 3rd week of practice he pinned former national champion Noel Lobin who was working with our squad….. whether it was in the Federation he made his debut the old NWCI, where on a single night Hurricane Eddy won the World Title in a battle royal, then not only defeated, but broke the neck of wrestling legend Rocky Ford Meloneer, right in front of his future boss Chad Merrit who had been hired as a special guest announcer……. Now we know the history of the CSWA, where the Southern Dandy went from a man known in a small circle as a legend killer to Hurricane Eddy Love, International man of fame and *THE* Legend Killa…..
Now with Hurricane Eddy’s hands firmly clenched around the throat of the legacy of Mike Randalls, and with what many believe may be the final chapter in the Randalls novel only a few short days away….. I turn on the TV to hear a grown man who calls himself, catch this, Wicked Site, fantasizing about what it must look like in the rectum of Hurricane Eddy Love. Well, Mike Plett, you wanna know "what’s up Eddy’s ass" as you so eloquently put it. I could supply an array of answers to that, Mike. I could explain how I came back to this Federation to save it from three of the most talented, greedy, mean spirited S.O.B.’s the sport has ever known…… I could tell you how I assembled my army to defend Chad Merrit from these men staking their claim, I could explain that it is in my ass, Mike, that I came and saved it for a group of fans who had never done anything nicer than dumping their $7.00 Budweiser on me after I sweated blood for 90 minutes for their entertainment…… I could tell you how it chaps that very ass, that I came back to save this company so that ungrateful hacks like you could have somewhere to earn the winner’s share of the preliminary card and graduate to collecting the loser’s share of the mid card, Mike, then instead of thanks, I get one of those wrestlers fantasizing about the King’s daughter….. no not Troy Windham the other king….. being found in Eddy’s ass. I could tell you, Mike, that my trainer was thrown 20 foot to her disability check, that for a year Troy and I fell from cages, pinned great wrestlers, put our careers on the line every night for this company, while you topped out at Havoc and Kevin Powers. I could tell you that it sticks in my craw that while we fought this war Merrit tried to get second rate talent like Steve Radder and now Evan Aho over by soiling the 20 pounds of gold *I* made famous….. I mean hell Aho has put the belt on a diet, it’s already down to 15 pounds of metal and leather by his own admission…… I could even tell you that it gaulds me that while I did these things for Merrit he throws me into a tag match without my partner on the same night he basically hands that Damn Hornet my title. Let’s face it The Greatest American Hero may have proven himself incapable of ever beating a Playboy, but does anyone really think that Larry Stanley and Evan Aho pose any threat. Did you see Aho’s lip trembling when he called Hornet’s name, It’s pathetic, but truth is that’s not in my ass, Wicked Boy. I could tell you that it burns my rectum that I’ve admitted to myself to the Wolf’s delight that no matter how bad I beat Randalls up, over and over again he still gets on TV every week drooling about the WAY we were and about it all means nothing……
But the truth is, Mike Sight, as much as these things might stick in the buttocks of a lesser man, they have not "crawled up my ass and died"…… and while I would LOVE to ask if your Mother knows you talk like that I will instead, Wicked Plett, point out to you that I reviewed my recent interviews for when I may have mentioned the bottom eighth of the roster, but I could never find that reference to silly gimmicks and poor ring fundamentals, that must have made you mention my name….. so Wicked Sight I answer your question with a question….. What is it that’s crawled up your ass when it comes to Eddy Love??? Do you think you become a star by just calling my name??? As busy as I am with days to make and hearts to break, do you think I’m too busy to bust down a hack like you, Mike??? I’ve walked through tougher turnstiles than you on the way to a fight, Sight, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget you know my name.
As for my man Mike Rambles, yes Wolf I heard your words…. And as tempted as I am to address them I think I’ll just send you copies of the last year of interviews I’ve where I discounted your notions that no one’s accomplishments in life are worthy of the chore of climbing out of bed when you’re a chronically depressed, egotistical menace to *MY* sport. Yes, Wolf, it did turn to be a bit of the War that you promised, and yes no one has shown up for their nightly beatings any more reliably than you and your other three Csers…… but you also promised my nights of dancing until the Wolves howled were over, you promised that you could turn that sweet taste of chilled Dom sour in my mouth Randalls and yet here we are a year later and no one still smiles brighter or dances later than Eddy Love, although a few, a very few but still a few, do now have better hair. You’re right also, Randalls, about the value of a mystery tag match…. I figured that must be your idea, but if it falls on Merrit then so be it, unlike you , I take those lemons and make electric lemonade.
Randalls, in Greensboro…. In the Carolinas that have always been Eddy Love country….. I spring another Wolf trap…. And this time Wolf, after you drop your jaw in awe at just how big the names are that line up to be associated with Eddy Love…. then it’s Hurricane Pile Driver, sirens, flashing lights and orthopedic specialists for you, you Mean Mean Man.
(FTB)
