Post by Rick Majors on May 19, 2014 16:39:10 GMT -5
When I was about eight years old, I went to the circus with my mom and my aunt. It was an incredible experience for me. The sounds, the lights, the colours - all of it was magical. There was an energy in the air that, to this day, I cannot accurately describe. It was amazing. I had one of the best days of my life.
When you’re eight years old, you’re not jaded and you’re not bitter. You see things as they’re presented to you. To an eight-year-old, the circus is a magical place filled with wonder where the impossible happens and dreams come true. Of course, in reality, it’s a place filled with terrifying carnies and dishonest promoters. It’s a place where the performers are routinely lied to and the animals are frequently mistreated in horrible ways.
But to an eight-year-old, it truly is the Greatest Show on Earth.
My favourite circus acts were always the animals. Sure, I liked clowns and acrobats, but I've always been fond of animals so, to me, the animals acts were the best that he circus had to offer. As a child, I had no idea how many cases of animal cruelty occurred at the circus. All I knew was that elephants standing on balls and bears acting like people were entertaining, hilarious and fun. But my favourite animal act was the tigers. They looked so vicious, yet the human circus performers could seemingly tame them so easily.
I remember watching the tigers jump through hoops of fire. I asked my mom why this was such a difficult trick and I remember her responding that tigers are naturally afraid of fire, but that their trainers were able to get them to jump through the hoops despite this. I thought about this information for a long time after the circus ended. How did were the trainers able to convince the tigers to jump through the flaming hoops so effortlessly? Did they reward them with food? Did they show them that the fire wouldn’t actually hurt them? Were their trainers some sort of "tiger whisperers" that could speak to the animals? Whatever it was, I was impressed.
Years later I learned that the tigers were mostly trained through abuse. They were chained up, starved and shocked with electric prods. They were confined in cages for long periods of time until their spirits were broken and they’d do as they were told. Once I realized this, I felt terrible for enjoying the circus as much as I did. But I was able to plead ignorance. I was young. I had no idea. I wasn’t aware of how those animals were treated. I decided that I would never attend a circus again. I couldn’t, in good conscience, support that kind of treatment of animals.
As we grow older, we become disillusioned. We realize that the magical, exciting and enthralling things that we loved as children aren’t as they originally seemed. We learn that Santa isn’t real. We learn that the Easter Bunny isn’t really hiding eggs around our house. We learn that the He-Man cartoon was created entirely to sell kids toys. We learn about real life.
This is a good thing. We can’t live as children forever. We can’t ignore the truth for our entire lives. We have to see things as they truly are. We have to grow up. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a little sad. It’s fun believing that Santa brings you presents every year. It’s exciting looking for the Easter Bunny. He-Man was a good show. And the circus was an amazing event. It’s sad to lose the spirit of wonder and happiness that you have as a child. A little part of you dies when you realize that so many of the things that made your childhood great are actually tainted.
But you can’t hang on to those feelings forever.
I entered the wrestling industry with the sparkling wonder of a child. This business was my dream. When I was a young child I would watch wrestling on television with my grandparents and I always knew that, somehow, I would one day become a professional wrestler. But wrestling is exactly like the circus.
It looks shiny and wonderful on the outside. The spectacle impresses children. But, once you’re a part of it, you realize that it’s a place filled with terrifying carnies and dishonest promoters. It’s a place where the performers are routinely lied to and frequently mistreated in horrible ways. It’s where they make you jump through hoops for their own amusement.
"Fight Tyler Scott. You’ll be number one contender."
"Now fight Tyler Scott again. Seriously, you’ll be number one contender."
"Now team up with Michael Wryght, a man who you've had serious personal issues with."
"Now enter this tournament. If you win, you’ll be number one contender."
"Oh yeah, to enter the tournament, you'll need to fight Michael Wryght, even though you and him actually got along as a tag team. We need you to prove that you belong. But, don't worry, you'll be rewarded if you win. Really."
I’d rather be whipped and made to jump through fire. At least I would know what to expect.
The tigers in the circus can never return to the wild. They are permanently changed by their experiences. They are too broken emotionally and physically to ever live what was once a normal life for them. They remain circus animals until they day they die, which is much sooner in the circus than it would be in the jungle.
The wrestling industry does the same to its performers. It breaks them mentally. It harms them physically. It leaves them unable to have normal lives. You see it every time a wrestler has an emotional break down. You see it whenever a wrestler needs to have serious surgery. You see it whenever a wrestler needs a cocktail of prescription drugs just to get through the day.
Look at all of the divorces and drug addictions and drinking problems you find in the wrestling business. Look at all of the premature deaths. Pills and needles and bottles take the lives of so many wrestlers. Sometimes their lives end by accident and sometimes they end their own lives on purpose. The result is the same. The wrestlers die but the wrestling business lives. The circus buys a new tiger. The show must go on, remember?
It's sad when you realize that something you once enjoyed so much is actually responsible for so much destruction.
Michael Wryght knows what this industry can do to someone. He knows how the wrestling industry can change you. He was once a proud, confident movie star and celebrity. He appeared on talk shows and Hollywood red carpets. And now? Now look at his actions. Take a glimpse into his mind. He’s not the same. He’s damaged. He’s broken. He’s been tamed by this industry. He’s been taught that all that matters is doing as he’s told. He’s a lion walking up a step stool or an elephant spraying a clown with water. He’s a puppet of this business. Sure, it may look like Phineas Grimm is to blame, but the truth is that it’s this business that has done him in. This industry put him in a position where his mind could be taken advantage of. Like so many others before him, professional wrestling has ruined Michael Wryght.
And now, at Trauma, two fractured circus animals will meet inside the ring. We’ll drag our battered bodies and our damaged minds into the squared circle. We’ll fight each other as hard as we possibly can. And why? Because of empty promises. We’ve been told that if we win our next match, we’ll be a step closer to greatness. We've been sold the idea that glory and gold are in our futures if we can just win this ridiculous tournament. It’s all a lie. It's always a lie. We've given our lives - our bodies and our minds and our spirits and our souls - to a business that does nothing but take. It pretends to give back, but it never does. It keeps us around as long as we can make the promoter money and then it replaces us with a newer act.
The circus tigers probably get thrown a some big juicy steaks every so often. They probably devour those steaks quickly. They likely have a moment where they believe the person who gave them the steak actually cares about them. Then they get whipped again. And then, one day, when they can no longer summon the physical and mental strength to jump through a flaming hoop, they're tossed aside for a newer act. No one has teary funerals for circus tigers.
When you’re eight years old, you’re not jaded and you’re not bitter. You see things as they’re presented to you. To an eight-year-old, the circus is a magical place filled with wonder where the impossible happens and dreams come true. Of course, in reality, it’s a place filled with terrifying carnies and dishonest promoters. It’s a place where the performers are routinely lied to and the animals are frequently mistreated in horrible ways.
But to an eight-year-old, it truly is the Greatest Show on Earth.
My favourite circus acts were always the animals. Sure, I liked clowns and acrobats, but I've always been fond of animals so, to me, the animals acts were the best that he circus had to offer. As a child, I had no idea how many cases of animal cruelty occurred at the circus. All I knew was that elephants standing on balls and bears acting like people were entertaining, hilarious and fun. But my favourite animal act was the tigers. They looked so vicious, yet the human circus performers could seemingly tame them so easily.
I remember watching the tigers jump through hoops of fire. I asked my mom why this was such a difficult trick and I remember her responding that tigers are naturally afraid of fire, but that their trainers were able to get them to jump through the hoops despite this. I thought about this information for a long time after the circus ended. How did were the trainers able to convince the tigers to jump through the flaming hoops so effortlessly? Did they reward them with food? Did they show them that the fire wouldn’t actually hurt them? Were their trainers some sort of "tiger whisperers" that could speak to the animals? Whatever it was, I was impressed.
Years later I learned that the tigers were mostly trained through abuse. They were chained up, starved and shocked with electric prods. They were confined in cages for long periods of time until their spirits were broken and they’d do as they were told. Once I realized this, I felt terrible for enjoying the circus as much as I did. But I was able to plead ignorance. I was young. I had no idea. I wasn’t aware of how those animals were treated. I decided that I would never attend a circus again. I couldn’t, in good conscience, support that kind of treatment of animals.
As we grow older, we become disillusioned. We realize that the magical, exciting and enthralling things that we loved as children aren’t as they originally seemed. We learn that Santa isn’t real. We learn that the Easter Bunny isn’t really hiding eggs around our house. We learn that the He-Man cartoon was created entirely to sell kids toys. We learn about real life.
This is a good thing. We can’t live as children forever. We can’t ignore the truth for our entire lives. We have to see things as they truly are. We have to grow up. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t a little sad. It’s fun believing that Santa brings you presents every year. It’s exciting looking for the Easter Bunny. He-Man was a good show. And the circus was an amazing event. It’s sad to lose the spirit of wonder and happiness that you have as a child. A little part of you dies when you realize that so many of the things that made your childhood great are actually tainted.
But you can’t hang on to those feelings forever.
I entered the wrestling industry with the sparkling wonder of a child. This business was my dream. When I was a young child I would watch wrestling on television with my grandparents and I always knew that, somehow, I would one day become a professional wrestler. But wrestling is exactly like the circus.
It looks shiny and wonderful on the outside. The spectacle impresses children. But, once you’re a part of it, you realize that it’s a place filled with terrifying carnies and dishonest promoters. It’s a place where the performers are routinely lied to and frequently mistreated in horrible ways. It’s where they make you jump through hoops for their own amusement.
"Fight Tyler Scott. You’ll be number one contender."
"Now fight Tyler Scott again. Seriously, you’ll be number one contender."
"Now team up with Michael Wryght, a man who you've had serious personal issues with."
"Now enter this tournament. If you win, you’ll be number one contender."
"Oh yeah, to enter the tournament, you'll need to fight Michael Wryght, even though you and him actually got along as a tag team. We need you to prove that you belong. But, don't worry, you'll be rewarded if you win. Really."
I’d rather be whipped and made to jump through fire. At least I would know what to expect.
The tigers in the circus can never return to the wild. They are permanently changed by their experiences. They are too broken emotionally and physically to ever live what was once a normal life for them. They remain circus animals until they day they die, which is much sooner in the circus than it would be in the jungle.
The wrestling industry does the same to its performers. It breaks them mentally. It harms them physically. It leaves them unable to have normal lives. You see it every time a wrestler has an emotional break down. You see it whenever a wrestler needs to have serious surgery. You see it whenever a wrestler needs a cocktail of prescription drugs just to get through the day.
Look at all of the divorces and drug addictions and drinking problems you find in the wrestling business. Look at all of the premature deaths. Pills and needles and bottles take the lives of so many wrestlers. Sometimes their lives end by accident and sometimes they end their own lives on purpose. The result is the same. The wrestlers die but the wrestling business lives. The circus buys a new tiger. The show must go on, remember?
It's sad when you realize that something you once enjoyed so much is actually responsible for so much destruction.
Michael Wryght knows what this industry can do to someone. He knows how the wrestling industry can change you. He was once a proud, confident movie star and celebrity. He appeared on talk shows and Hollywood red carpets. And now? Now look at his actions. Take a glimpse into his mind. He’s not the same. He’s damaged. He’s broken. He’s been tamed by this industry. He’s been taught that all that matters is doing as he’s told. He’s a lion walking up a step stool or an elephant spraying a clown with water. He’s a puppet of this business. Sure, it may look like Phineas Grimm is to blame, but the truth is that it’s this business that has done him in. This industry put him in a position where his mind could be taken advantage of. Like so many others before him, professional wrestling has ruined Michael Wryght.
And now, at Trauma, two fractured circus animals will meet inside the ring. We’ll drag our battered bodies and our damaged minds into the squared circle. We’ll fight each other as hard as we possibly can. And why? Because of empty promises. We’ve been told that if we win our next match, we’ll be a step closer to greatness. We've been sold the idea that glory and gold are in our futures if we can just win this ridiculous tournament. It’s all a lie. It's always a lie. We've given our lives - our bodies and our minds and our spirits and our souls - to a business that does nothing but take. It pretends to give back, but it never does. It keeps us around as long as we can make the promoter money and then it replaces us with a newer act.
The circus tigers probably get thrown a some big juicy steaks every so often. They probably devour those steaks quickly. They likely have a moment where they believe the person who gave them the steak actually cares about them. Then they get whipped again. And then, one day, when they can no longer summon the physical and mental strength to jump through a flaming hoop, they're tossed aside for a newer act. No one has teary funerals for circus tigers.