It’s 5am. I just got home from playing a show with a Grammy-award winning badass who is going to be inducted into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame next month as a member of Guns n Roses.
How did I get here?
I embraced something tonight. I’m a heel. I don’t want to be, and in “real life” the people who know me and care about me understand that I’m not. I’ve struggled with this for a decade, and I think I’ve finally come to grips with it.
When I was wrestling full-time – I was “over” with the crowd, but the guys in the back hated me. At the time I was even more brash and annoying as I am now. It’s hard to believe – what you see before you today is actually a dramatic improvement from the attention-seeking dork I was in high school, or the attention-seeking dork I was when I was traveling all over the country getting dropped on my head for a living. Now as an attention-seeking dork who drinks Jagerbombs and sings “Jessie’s Girl” – I have better perspective.
Sometimes when I wrestled, I played the babyface. I could embrace the role – do the things that the “good guy” was supposed to do and go through the motions. At the heart of it, I always thought I was a better “bad guy”. Not the type of villain who would blow up your car or cheat really – just a cocky, arrogant, “I’m better than you” type of heel. Kinda of a smart ass.
Now I’m in this band. There are lots of bands. The first thing that anyone thinks of when you say “I’m in a band” is some guy smoking a lot of weed living in his mom’s basement with a GED thinking he’s going to make it.
Think about it – When you hear the phrase, “Oh, I’m in a band – you should come check us out sometime.” or ,”Hey I’m going to check out this awesome band – wanna go?” your heart sinks and you immediately start thinking of when the last time you washed your hair was, and if that’s a viable excuse.
… it’s not.
That’s not the point. I’m not your typical “guy in a band” – I’m a former Executive Vice President who woke up one day and decided not to have to wake up at 7am anymore. I decided that I was no longer going to work for “The Man”. I decided that days where I didn’t put pants on were better than putting a suit and tie on. I decided to take more naps.
I made those choices.
So now I’m in an industry that respects and acknowledges pure talent. I’ve repeatedly said that I am BY FAR the worst “musician” in my band. I’m a smart enough businessman to surround myself with some of the most talented artists walking the Earth. In essence I pay them to cover for me. I’m not a guy who walks around thinking I’m the best at what I do. I don’t talk down about other bands. I’m generally pretty fucking grateful that for some reason venues pay me and my crew solid money to come out and throw parties.
That doesn’t mean haters aren’t gonna hate.
Since I’ve learned that musicians can be passive-aggressive cunts, let me indulge you. If you and I haven’t talked in months, and you may have played shows with me in the past – and every other Facebook status you write is a veiled reference to me – you are a fucking bitch. If you get together with other like-minded musicians and the topic of conversation is me and the success of the band that I front – well you are a fucking bitch. If you mask your obvious jealousy in personal attacks towards me or my band – well you are still a fucking bitch.
You know what you are not? On MY fucking mind. I’ve moved on. The reason I’m successful a year later and you are still hung up on bitter resentment of that success is because I’m a natural heel. You are supposed to hate me. You know why? Because I’m fucking better than you. I work harder that you. I’m more talented than you. I’m a better businessman than you. I build better relationships than you. I’m a better showman than you. I don’t generally think that: YOU think that. That’s what kills you – You feel it. You know it in your sad, envious heart that you can’t do what I do.
You can’t beat me.
You know it.
And it fucking consumes you.
On a personal note and kind of on topic – My thoughts go out to my brother Donte aka DDK who is fighting for his life after a horrible attack. Donte is the origin of the entire “Blame Spiffy” concept. In fact, his thoughts are the basis for an entire line of shirts bearing that caption. He was one of the very few wrestlers that took the time to get to know me, and have a conversation with me. He didn’t get why I got so much “heat” from the boys in the locker room, but it was comical to us. He came up with various other things that I could be blamed for – and we were off and running.
Hope to see you guys on Saturday. I didn’t realize that there were commercials on The X, 93.7, and a few other stations advertising Walk of Shame down in Station Square – but we’ll be there.
And to the people who know me, and care about me – and let me care about them back: Thank you. I don’t say it enough (ya know, since I’m a bad guy and all) but I really fucking love you, and I mean it.