I've never done a story for wrestling before, but I felt compelled to do this. I did no planning
for it, I just typed it out by the seat of my pants. This morning, on April 22, 2003, I read
that Jeff Hardy is not longer working for the WWE, the official notice from the companies site
saying this:
"WWE.com regrets to inform its fans that WWE has severed its relationship with Jeff Hardy effective today. We wish Jeff the best of luck."
Thats it. No mention of his accomplshments, how much he gave to the company. NOTHING. And to be blunt, it pissed me off. So, here is what I saw in my mind as I read these words. I have no clue what happened that day, so here is my take.
I would say that the WWE owns Jeff Hardy, but that would be lying. No one has EVER owned Jeff Hardy, never have, never could, and never will.
*********************************************
'END OF THE RAINBOW'
By Rebecky-mo
So, this is it. This is how it all ends for me, my career. Not with a match, but with silence, and frowning executives watching at me with emotionless eyes, money tearing away any sense of emotion in years gone by.
I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now. Anger? Confusion? Sadness? All of them are rolled into one, smearing together much like the body paint that's become one of my trademarks. I say nothing to them, because I know I can't change thier minds; I just face Vince, and for what seems like eternity, I look right into his eyes, letting him see what's inside me right now. And just as silently as I accept the news, I leave them and head off to my dressing room to get my things.
I was supposed to have a match tonight, it was set up that Trish and I would be taken out by the Dudley's in a 'Intergender match' and then Kane and Rob would come in and take them out. Now, it was Spike who'd be the one to take the fall.
God, I think that's what is ticking me off right now. This is the my final night as a Superstar, and I get nothing. if they had given me one more match-- TLC Handicap match, Ladder match....fuck, even a Goddamned Bra and Panties match!-- I would have showed them the real meaning of 'Extreme', cuz there's only one thing crazier than a Hardy in a match....
....And that's a Hardy that has no tommorow.
The fans would've loved it, they were the reason I did the stunts. The kick I got from the roar of the audience in the stands, the applause, that was what I lived for in this sport. I knew I'd probably have a short career, because of all the stunts Matt and I pulled. If I'd known it would be this short, I would've done twice as many psycho matches, rather than go out as a midcarder.
When I finally reach the locker room, Trish is already there, along with Rob, Glen, Spike, and the Dudley's. Damnit, Trish's eyes are red and puffy, meaning she's been crying. I HATE it when she cries. "So, you guys heard about the new plan then." Good work Jeff. A full sentence without losing it; much better than I thought I'd do.
"Morley filled us in half an hour ago." Says Rob, standing up from his seat. "It's hard to see ya go, man." He slowly comes over, and extends his hand to me. With a smile I practially have to super-glue on to keep it on my face, I take it, grasping his wrist as he does to mine. One by one, the other guys come up and do the same. It's pretty hard, considering how many of these people I've known since my Indy days before the WWE. I haven't known Glen as long, but he's a great guy, and about as loony as I am. After all, how many almost seven feet, 326 pound guys do you know who'd pull a Val Venis impression on live TV, mask or not? Trish couldn't say anything to me, she had started crying again as I pulled her into a hug. I swear, if anything made this girl upset on RAW, our rating would plummet; nobody would be able to take it.
D-von wants to know if I want some company while I pack up my stuff, but I refuse, making a joke about how I'm not so small that I can pick up a fifty-pound bag on my. That gets a small laugh outta them , even Trish, and they leave, having to go and rehearse the the new plan for the night again.
A quick 10 minute packing job soon turns into two hours, as more guys come in to say goodbye. Christian and Jericho, two other guys I've had some great matches with have a conversation with, along with Shawn Micheals, a guy that's been one of my idols for years. The way Christian was talking, I should probably expect a call from Adam later. Why not? I'm sure I'll have Matt calling me soon enough anyways. Finally, with the guys gone, I finish filling my bag, and head out, with only five minutes to spare until the show starts, this week in Atlanta.
As I walk away from the changing and wardrobe areas, I watch as some of the newer guys to the WWE are hanging around. Steiner, and the illustrious Goldberg are talking, and it finally strikes me as to how many guys around here are built like brick houses. I don't understand why they feel the need to be so buff all the time, the muscle slows them down an awful lot. Hell, even with his stats, Kane's probably one of the quickest guys on the roster. Not to mention they always seem to get hurt. Since Paul, or 'Triple H' bulked up, he's had nothing but injuries, while I've had next to nothing, even with all the stunts I pull.
Maybe that's why I was fired. Maybe the people want more power rather than quick shots and turnbuckle moves, cuz I know alot of these guys can't do it.
Just as I reach my car, the music for Raw starts up, and I can hear the fireworks going off. I feel a tiny stab in my heart then, but I ignore it, not looking back as I sit down in the drivers seat, and close the door.
And damn it all to hell, I can STILL hear it.
A tear finally falls down my cheek then, and I start the engine up, cranking the radio up until the sounds of my past are drowned out. If only I could do so with my memories. Countless times holding the tag belts with my brother Matt, the Hardcore title, Intercontinental Champion, it's all in there in my mind, things that can't be erased.
I just hope the fans remember me for my better matches, not the shit I've been in the past 6 months or so. I want them to remember Team Extreme, the Tables, Ladders and Chairs matches the Dudley's, Edge and Christian, and Matt and I made infamous and were craved for in the WWE. But I also want them to remember one the greatest singles match of my life, the Ladder match the Undertaker had on Smackdown, the night I had the chance to feel the glory on my own. I felt that match was gonna skyrocket me to the top, but it seems that I myself was the victim of a vicious Twist of Fate (Pun not intended).
Whatever you remember me for five, maybe tens years down the road, just remember.
Then, I'll know I did my job, and did it well.
Fin.
*********************************************************
Thanks for everything Jeff. For the joy, laughter, tears, and damn near nervous breakdowns I felt in each match you took on. Thank you for helping to change the sport as we know it. Thank you for being you.
Just....Thank you.
Rebecky-mo, fan of the WWE(F) for over 10 years, whom has never been so distraught by the end of a career.
"WWE.com regrets to inform its fans that WWE has severed its relationship with Jeff Hardy effective today. We wish Jeff the best of luck."
Thats it. No mention of his accomplshments, how much he gave to the company. NOTHING. And to be blunt, it pissed me off. So, here is what I saw in my mind as I read these words. I have no clue what happened that day, so here is my take.
I would say that the WWE owns Jeff Hardy, but that would be lying. No one has EVER owned Jeff Hardy, never have, never could, and never will.
*********************************************
'END OF THE RAINBOW'
By Rebecky-mo
So, this is it. This is how it all ends for me, my career. Not with a match, but with silence, and frowning executives watching at me with emotionless eyes, money tearing away any sense of emotion in years gone by.
I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now. Anger? Confusion? Sadness? All of them are rolled into one, smearing together much like the body paint that's become one of my trademarks. I say nothing to them, because I know I can't change thier minds; I just face Vince, and for what seems like eternity, I look right into his eyes, letting him see what's inside me right now. And just as silently as I accept the news, I leave them and head off to my dressing room to get my things.
I was supposed to have a match tonight, it was set up that Trish and I would be taken out by the Dudley's in a 'Intergender match' and then Kane and Rob would come in and take them out. Now, it was Spike who'd be the one to take the fall.
God, I think that's what is ticking me off right now. This is the my final night as a Superstar, and I get nothing. if they had given me one more match-- TLC Handicap match, Ladder match....fuck, even a Goddamned Bra and Panties match!-- I would have showed them the real meaning of 'Extreme', cuz there's only one thing crazier than a Hardy in a match....
....And that's a Hardy that has no tommorow.
The fans would've loved it, they were the reason I did the stunts. The kick I got from the roar of the audience in the stands, the applause, that was what I lived for in this sport. I knew I'd probably have a short career, because of all the stunts Matt and I pulled. If I'd known it would be this short, I would've done twice as many psycho matches, rather than go out as a midcarder.
When I finally reach the locker room, Trish is already there, along with Rob, Glen, Spike, and the Dudley's. Damnit, Trish's eyes are red and puffy, meaning she's been crying. I HATE it when she cries. "So, you guys heard about the new plan then." Good work Jeff. A full sentence without losing it; much better than I thought I'd do.
"Morley filled us in half an hour ago." Says Rob, standing up from his seat. "It's hard to see ya go, man." He slowly comes over, and extends his hand to me. With a smile I practially have to super-glue on to keep it on my face, I take it, grasping his wrist as he does to mine. One by one, the other guys come up and do the same. It's pretty hard, considering how many of these people I've known since my Indy days before the WWE. I haven't known Glen as long, but he's a great guy, and about as loony as I am. After all, how many almost seven feet, 326 pound guys do you know who'd pull a Val Venis impression on live TV, mask or not? Trish couldn't say anything to me, she had started crying again as I pulled her into a hug. I swear, if anything made this girl upset on RAW, our rating would plummet; nobody would be able to take it.
D-von wants to know if I want some company while I pack up my stuff, but I refuse, making a joke about how I'm not so small that I can pick up a fifty-pound bag on my. That gets a small laugh outta them , even Trish, and they leave, having to go and rehearse the the new plan for the night again.
A quick 10 minute packing job soon turns into two hours, as more guys come in to say goodbye. Christian and Jericho, two other guys I've had some great matches with have a conversation with, along with Shawn Micheals, a guy that's been one of my idols for years. The way Christian was talking, I should probably expect a call from Adam later. Why not? I'm sure I'll have Matt calling me soon enough anyways. Finally, with the guys gone, I finish filling my bag, and head out, with only five minutes to spare until the show starts, this week in Atlanta.
As I walk away from the changing and wardrobe areas, I watch as some of the newer guys to the WWE are hanging around. Steiner, and the illustrious Goldberg are talking, and it finally strikes me as to how many guys around here are built like brick houses. I don't understand why they feel the need to be so buff all the time, the muscle slows them down an awful lot. Hell, even with his stats, Kane's probably one of the quickest guys on the roster. Not to mention they always seem to get hurt. Since Paul, or 'Triple H' bulked up, he's had nothing but injuries, while I've had next to nothing, even with all the stunts I pull.
Maybe that's why I was fired. Maybe the people want more power rather than quick shots and turnbuckle moves, cuz I know alot of these guys can't do it.
Just as I reach my car, the music for Raw starts up, and I can hear the fireworks going off. I feel a tiny stab in my heart then, but I ignore it, not looking back as I sit down in the drivers seat, and close the door.
And damn it all to hell, I can STILL hear it.
A tear finally falls down my cheek then, and I start the engine up, cranking the radio up until the sounds of my past are drowned out. If only I could do so with my memories. Countless times holding the tag belts with my brother Matt, the Hardcore title, Intercontinental Champion, it's all in there in my mind, things that can't be erased.
I just hope the fans remember me for my better matches, not the shit I've been in the past 6 months or so. I want them to remember Team Extreme, the Tables, Ladders and Chairs matches the Dudley's, Edge and Christian, and Matt and I made infamous and were craved for in the WWE. But I also want them to remember one the greatest singles match of my life, the Ladder match the Undertaker had on Smackdown, the night I had the chance to feel the glory on my own. I felt that match was gonna skyrocket me to the top, but it seems that I myself was the victim of a vicious Twist of Fate (Pun not intended).
Whatever you remember me for five, maybe tens years down the road, just remember.
Then, I'll know I did my job, and did it well.
Fin.
*********************************************************
Thanks for everything Jeff. For the joy, laughter, tears, and damn near nervous breakdowns I felt in each match you took on. Thank you for helping to change the sport as we know it. Thank you for being you.
Just....Thank you.
Rebecky-mo, fan of the WWE(F) for over 10 years, whom has never been so distraught by the end of a career.