[font color = "red"]"THIS.... is Life.
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The beginning and the end of history. The true center of the universe. The place where stories have begun and ended. New York City. A small, run down gym called COOPER'S.
Eli Flair has apparently been working out. He's sweaty from head to toe, his hands are taped, and his hair is leaking drops of red and blue tinged sweat down his forehead and neck. He looks up at the pull- up bar, and, after taking a moment to steady himself, jumps up and grabs it, pulling himself up.
"Good one, GUNS."
"You're doing a good job there."
"You almost had me completely in circles."
He hangs there for a moment.
"I suppose it's residuals from years past here. For my first three years in this company, it was always HornetGUNS. HornetGUNS. HornetGUNS. Everything in this place was built and centered on HornetGUNS being the end- all, be all of the CSWA. Hornet and GUNS are the focus of this company, their immediate allies have second from the top billing, and the rest of you are lucky you're even on the card. Can't fault Merritt for that.... it made money. It made a lot of money, and the rest of us made a lot of money by proxy."
"It doesn't make money anymore."
"I've been going over the past few days, GUNS.... and I've been trying to figure out how it is you got so far into my head. I've gotta hand it to ya there, ya certainly made me feel like a green punk named The Eliminator. Most definitely made me look like him."
"Unfortunately for you.... I'm not The Eliminator anymore."
"I don't wrestle like The Eliminator."
"I don't hurt people like The Eliminator."
"You're right when you say that one match doesn't make a career, GUNS. But I'd be careful if I were you.... bringing up all the matches that made your career might be seen as bringing up the past."
"Oh.... never mind. Bringing up the past is only taboo if you used to be known as The Eliminator."
"Trust me, GUNS.... when you say you've done everything in a career except one thing.... that one thing IS stepping in the ring with Eli Flair. Not beat Eli Flair.... if that was criterion for a complete career then a lot of the boys have left the business with some insurmountable regret. I know that a three- count is a fleeting moment of perfection.... I know that even Brigsby and Paige are former United States Tag Team Champions.... but I also know a cop- out when I see one."
"You set an impressive bar in your career, GUNS.... Bottles of piss, midgets with dice, and a tour bus covered in psychadelic flowers. They're just as much a part of your legacy as World Titles and sixty- minute matches. Your legacy is built just as strongly on a foundation of whining after setbacks and throwing sarcasm at challenges as it is the wars you made famous. You're the only man I know of who could possibly be ANGRY at winning the main event match at the biggest pay- per- view event of all time. You're the only man in history who has an almost unblemished record of getting within a breath of your goals.... and falling flat on your face."
Then a pull- Up.
"And I'm even worse. Because for the smallest fraction of time.... I let you get to me. For just a moment, GUNS.... you had me doubting my own legacy."
"But I don't think the bar I set is all that mundane, either. I beat nearly everyone I stepped into the ring with, and I took the CSWA World Title because I wanted it."
"See how simple it is, GUNS? And I didn't need a tour bus for it."
"World Titles, Gambling Midgets, Psychadelic Buses.... You're right, GUNS.... you have done everything except one thing. You'll be remembered after your day is done with. But will the three words that go down in history with you be Third Row Inc?"
"Or will they be Sharing Is Caring?"