Sins of our Fathers: Part One
Nov 7, 2016 19:08:59 GMT -5
Jason J Hunter, Melissa, and 1 more like this
Post by Misha LeCavalier on Nov 7, 2016 19:08:59 GMT -5
Entry #1
Early 2011
My name is Ethan LeCavalier, one of the many heirs to the mighty LeCavalier Dynasty. Since the moment my father’s sperm entered the egg, I was destined for greatness...
Now yes, I’m fully aware of how arrogant and foolish that statement sounds. However, that is the mentality of most of my family. It is not out of the norm; in fact, most of my cousins and elders would relay the very same message in a much more aggressive manner. Therefore, I make no apologies about what I said—I’m going to let it fly.
It is no secret that the surname LeCavalier has been traditionally synonymous with two things—professional wrestling and success. Therefore, let’s begin with the wrestling portion.
The easiest way to peak a child’s interest is make them comfortable; you must show them that there is nothing at all to fear. This is how the LeCavaliers foster and fortify the next generation of stars. Therefore, as a young tike, I was ushered into the world of professional wrestling, just my father (and his father) was. My father often took me to the gym with him. The facility that he enjoyed training in had two rings. The first was of standard size; the second was truncated (for us youngsters).
When I was of age, me and my cousin (Norman) trained together. And, when we both ready, we went out and conquered the world. Norman stuck to North America, primarily Canada and the United States. I decided to travel over to Europe. There, I blazed a trail in England, the U.K., and parts of Germany. I garnered a great deal of respect and recognition over there, and a fair amount of money to boot.
In short, I suppose I excelled in both professional wrestling and being successful. As I said before, that is the LeCavalier way, after all.
So, when my oldest child, Misha, was born, I did everything I could to instill those virtues into her. Although, even as child, she seemed to picked up on the success portion all by herself.
Misha was always a scholar. She loathed cartoons and children’s shows; give her a book, or turn the television to the Discovery Channel, and then you had made her day. Unlike the majority of her peers, Misha enjoyed school (she must have gotten that from her mother); therefore, she excelled at it. She was able to graduate both high school and undergraduate a year or so ahead of schedule.
I guess what I mean to say is this—based upon her academic prowess, she was going to be successful no matter what. I didn’t have to teach her that. So, as you can imagine, my task was to instill that wrestling portion into her.
And, sometimes, I regret doing that...
To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that Misha never wanted to become a wrestler. In fact, I know she didn’t. As a child, her greatest desire was to become a doctor. She had every intention of blowing past undergrad and heading directly to medical school…
That was, until I stepped into her path.
As a young child, I scooped her up and brought her to the gym with me at every opportunity. That is how my father peaked my interest; so naturally, I assumed that would be true in Misha’s case. But, it really wasn’t.
There’s something that you’ve got to understand about us LeCavaliers as a whole. This explanation does not excuse my actions; however, it will provide some context as why I pushed her so hard in the direction of the sport. We LeCavaliers are not just another “wrestling family.” There seem to be a bunch of them popping up nowadays. We don’t just participate in the sport. No—ever since it’s creation, professional wrestling has run through our blood. Simply put, professional wrestling is part of our heritage; it is apart of our lineage.
Maintenance of said lineage requires that members from each generation step forward and uplift the family name.
My daughter’s generation is considered by most people in our family to be “thin and fragile.” This is because, honestly, there aren’t many people that fall into that generation; there are less than ten. It’s mostly comprised of my daughter Catalina, Misha, their cousin Ryan, and couple others. And at the time, Ryan has the only member of said generation who had taken that fateful step forward; and, that’s a great burden to bear alone. Misha is my first born. So, of course, I encouraged her to wrestle as well.
At first, she was reluctant…
Hell, she was more than reluctant. I believe Misha started training maybe two years after Ryan. She fought instruction every step of the way. Eventually, after getting her to train consistently for a period of time, she began to develop some type of connection with the sport. It definitely wasn’t love; it was more akin to a sense of like.
I’m not going to sit here and lie to myself. Yes, I essentially hassled her into wrestling. Yes, I forced her to forego her dreams of being a doctor. Yes, I forced her to pick up a mantel that she never had any desire to carry…
However, I did have my reasons. Were they sound? Likely not. Where they justifiable? Perhaps, perhaps not.
One of the major reasons I pushed for Misha to wrestle is because I had this grand assumption that she’d be mystifying in the ring. All of her life, I’d seen her thrive at various tasks when she set her mind to it. Therefore, I knew that if she gave wrestling an honest chance, and put her whole heart into, then she’d be amazing.
That theory was confirmed the first time I gave her instruction.
Misha wasn’t just “pretty good” in the ring—she was absolutely stunning. I’m not saying that simply because she is my daughter; I’m saying that because I’ve worked with and seen thousands of people run through this sport. Hell, my daughter was more talented with an ounce of training than people I had seen who had been working for years. So, even though she wanted to stop, I wouldn’t allow her to do so.
Back then, Misha was referred as a wrestling prodigy by most a great deal of veterans in Canada and Europe. Yeah, she was just that good. Her brain absorbed and soaked in wrestling knowledge at an alarming rate. Within a few months, there’s wasn’t much of gap between Ryan and Misha, as far as skills go.
She was destined for greatness.
About a month or so ago, I decided to call Misha. When she was working over in Europe I did my best to give her space; there’s nothing worse than trying to perfect your craft while your father is constantly breathing down your neck, right? However, maybe once a week or so, I’d give her a call just to check in with her. On this particular occasion, I found her frustrated and crying.
—Before I go on, there’s something you must understand. There are two things that are vital to Misha’s existence:
One, Misha is always in control of her emotions. Therefore, when she picked up her cell phone in tears, my mind immediately began to race. Honestly, I can’t even recall the last time I had seen or heard her cry. As a father, my heart began to break because I knew she was in pain. And number two, Misha is a perfectionist. Well, to state things more accurately, Misha is a perfectionist, and she has OCD. Coupled with professional wrestling, those two attributes can be particularly dangerous.
Over in Adica PRO, Misha was actually doing well. I’d often get phone calls from the promoter and other veterans. Sometimes they’d even send me her matches. They were good—hell, considering that amount she had been in the business, they were great.
To her though, they weren’t up to par. And because they weren’t up to par, she put a lot of pressure on herself. She trained harder than she should have; she wrestled harder than she should have. In short, she over exerted herself.
It may sound like I’m blaming her for that, I’m not. Once again, the blame is on me.
Misha internalized things, and she put a lot of pressure on herself, this much is true. But the reasoning, that’s what’s important. Like I said previously, Misha enjoyed wrestling back then, but she wasn’t in love with it. She did it because she knew it would make the family proud, and to make me proud. The weight of the entire world was on her shoulders, and it wasn’t because she wanted to be the very best—she did it because of me. She was killing her body and mind five days week because she was afraid disgracing the legacy that I had established over in Europe.
...I’m not too stupid or arrogant to see the writing on the wall. All the anguish, all the pain, this whole ordeal—it’s my fault, and mine alone. That is something that I’ll remember until the day I die; and who knows, it will likely follow me into the afterlife as well.
Of course, I’m referring to the reason why she called me that night—the incident.
A combination of the pressure and the amount of punishment she had taken in the ring caused her to resort to drugs. In particular, she began using Hydrocodone. I’m not even sure how she got a bottle of it in Europe without a prescription, but she did.
The night she called me was the culmination of a week of hell. Her tag team partner went back to Japan, she had just lost her first championship belt, and she had been attacked and injured. She took took Hydrocodone to cope with all the pain—but she needed up taking too much.
Misha was quickly rushed to the hospital. Neva and I were notified, so, we flew out and met with her. In the hospital, she was distressed, disorientated, and off kilter. And, instead of focusing on her safety and well-being, I remember being overly concerned about her finishing her tour…
God, am I an ass-hole.
There is more to the entire story. However, I suppose I don’t have to share everything in this first entry.
Now, I realize that this is a bit of cliff-hanger. And hell, I also realize that all this might sound jumbled and jagged to you, doctor. However, hopefully you can see why all this has been particularly difficult for me to deal with as well.
I feel ashamed…
I feel guilty…
I feel regretful...
Jason Hunter, I’m not going sit here and lie to you. I’m not extremely familiar with you, or your work. Nonetheless, since you’ve received employment from Code Red Wrestling, then I can confidently assume one of two things: (1) you are insanely talented, or (2) you’ve been wrestling long enough that people in high places have laid eyes upon you.
I’ll withhold my judgement on assumption number one; your talent remains to be seen, to me at least. However, given what little I do know about you, assumption number two seem to hold a bit of weight. You’ve worked for a number of promotions. So, it appears that you garnered the attention of the right people—congrats.
Now, you are young Jason. And me? Well, I’ve been in this industry for a decent amount of time. So, let me give you pro tip, alright? To survive and have a long-lasting career, you’ve got find that perfect balance between professional wrestling and your personal life…
Yes, that’s it; that’s the entirety of the tip. I bet you thought I was going to give you the standard “pay your dues” bullshit, didn’t you?
But in all seriousness, finding that balance is crucial; it’ something I struggled with early on in my career. But now I’ve found it. And, in all honesty, things have gone a lot more smoothly.
And yes, I’m aware this may seem like rambling, but a clear point will be made shortly. Follow along please.
With that being said, how did I find that balance? When I’m not out jogging to improve my cardio, when I’m not training my ass off in the ring, I’m at home relaxing. I enjoy leisurely longing about my apartment, I enjoy munching on pizza and Chinese food, I enjoy bonding with my close friends and family. And of course, I enjoy watching a bit of TV. Given the fact that I don’t get to view it much, TV calms me down.
Now, one of my favorite shows on television today happens to be Game of Thrones. Yes, just like all the millions of people out there, I drop whatever I’m is doing (if I’m not working, of course) and line up with the other droves of fans to view that fifty minutes of awesomeness.
Some viewers are fans of the book; they want see if the show-runners will stick to the canon of the literature. Others simply find the story, plot, and scenery to be utterly fascinating.
Myself?
Well, in particular, I myself enjoy the bloodshed, the carnage, the violence of it all. There’s nothing more satisfying than a savage sword fight. There might be a deep rooted reason for my love of violence, but that’s a bridge that we don’t need to cross today...
Jason, you may not be privy to the show. Therefore, allow me to key you in on one of it’s nuances. Throughout the show, you will often hear the phrase “bend the knee,” or some other variation of it.
What does that mean exactly?
Well, the phrase “bend the knee” is an external show of power. Commoners, peasants, and people hailing from lesser houses were required to bow down in order to show respect, reverence, and submissiveness towards kings, higher ranked lords, and figures of authority.
...At this point in time, Mr. Hunter, you’re probably curious as to why I’m bring all of this up, and what it has to do with our upcoming match. Don’t fret, I’m going to spell it out for you right now.
It’s kind of humorous. I did happen to unearth a few tidbits about you, such as the fact that you take pleasure in referring to yourself as the “Prince of Wrestling.” Hmm, how about that…
I’ve seen many a person run to Twitter, or stand behind a GoPro and falsely proclaim to be the “Best in the World.” That line has been ran through more than Vegas hooker on a Friday night.
Nonetheless, to refer to yourself as the “prince” of all professional wrestling, well well, that’s a whole another level of elevated arrogance, sir.
The world prince implies that you are wrestling royalty, that you are on a higher level than everyone else. The world prince implies that you are the cream of the crop, a cut above the rest. The world prince implies that you are superior to all, minus the king himself...
And I for one, take offense to every single one of those implications. What even warrants you to make such an outlandish claim? Hmm?
You claim to be a prince, and yet, no one is bowing to you. They did not bow to you at Future Stars of Wrestling. They did not bow to you at Extreme Wrestling Corporation. And they shall not be bowing to you at Code Red Wrestling—that I can assure you.
Jason, you and I will meet at Face Off Night One. And while we are not scheduled or slated as the main event, some are anticipating that our bout will be the match of the night.
And, I know exactly what you thinking...
You’re thinking that your height and weight are going to give you distinctive advantage. You’re thinking that you are going to waltz into this match and vanquish me. You’re thinking that this match is your chance to make it big, your opportunity to sky-rocket to the top of CRW. Which, in term, means that you foolishly expect me to bend the knee and suffer defeat. You expect me to merely roll over and die. But most importantly, you want me to stand by the wayside while you valiantly march on and claim all the glory for yourself.
However Jason, I can tell you this—without a shadow of a doubt, Misha LeCavalier will NEVER bow down. Not you, and not to anyone else.
Knowledge is a two-way street. I’m willing to bet that you don’t know who I am. Furthermore, you don’t know who my family is. Oh sure, you might have done a meger search on the Googles to find a few facts. Or, perhaps you’ll try to bullshit me and say something disingenuous like you, such “I respect you.” Lord knows how many times I’ve been told that lie...
However, if you truly knew me, if you truly knew my family, then you’d know that masquerading as a prince in my presence is utterly insulting.
Jason, if there is anything that you need to remember from this audio log, then it’s this solitary fact—the name LeCavalier is synonymous with success and professional wrestling. And at Face Off, you are going to learn that first principle hand.
I’m not a mere peasant in this industry, Mr. Hunter. I’m not some hapless woman that you can beat down and mistreat. I am woman who was born and bred to be a professional wrestler. I am a woman who has overcome unimaginable pain in order to stand in front of you on November Nineteenth.
Jason, you aren’t above me, nor are you my superior—you never will be.
That’s something you need to get through your brain before you meet me in the ring. And, I’m not saying all this to be rude or nasty. I’m trying to shield you from any shame or disappointment you might feel after this impending defeat.
But if you fail to heed my words, that’s fine as well. I have no issue whatsoever in shattering your ambitions.
Early 2011
My name is Ethan LeCavalier, one of the many heirs to the mighty LeCavalier Dynasty. Since the moment my father’s sperm entered the egg, I was destined for greatness...
Now yes, I’m fully aware of how arrogant and foolish that statement sounds. However, that is the mentality of most of my family. It is not out of the norm; in fact, most of my cousins and elders would relay the very same message in a much more aggressive manner. Therefore, I make no apologies about what I said—I’m going to let it fly.
It is no secret that the surname LeCavalier has been traditionally synonymous with two things—professional wrestling and success. Therefore, let’s begin with the wrestling portion.
The easiest way to peak a child’s interest is make them comfortable; you must show them that there is nothing at all to fear. This is how the LeCavaliers foster and fortify the next generation of stars. Therefore, as a young tike, I was ushered into the world of professional wrestling, just my father (and his father) was. My father often took me to the gym with him. The facility that he enjoyed training in had two rings. The first was of standard size; the second was truncated (for us youngsters).
When I was of age, me and my cousin (Norman) trained together. And, when we both ready, we went out and conquered the world. Norman stuck to North America, primarily Canada and the United States. I decided to travel over to Europe. There, I blazed a trail in England, the U.K., and parts of Germany. I garnered a great deal of respect and recognition over there, and a fair amount of money to boot.
In short, I suppose I excelled in both professional wrestling and being successful. As I said before, that is the LeCavalier way, after all.
So, when my oldest child, Misha, was born, I did everything I could to instill those virtues into her. Although, even as child, she seemed to picked up on the success portion all by herself.
Misha was always a scholar. She loathed cartoons and children’s shows; give her a book, or turn the television to the Discovery Channel, and then you had made her day. Unlike the majority of her peers, Misha enjoyed school (she must have gotten that from her mother); therefore, she excelled at it. She was able to graduate both high school and undergraduate a year or so ahead of schedule.
I guess what I mean to say is this—based upon her academic prowess, she was going to be successful no matter what. I didn’t have to teach her that. So, as you can imagine, my task was to instill that wrestling portion into her.
And, sometimes, I regret doing that...
To be perfectly honest, I don’t feel that Misha never wanted to become a wrestler. In fact, I know she didn’t. As a child, her greatest desire was to become a doctor. She had every intention of blowing past undergrad and heading directly to medical school…
That was, until I stepped into her path.
As a young child, I scooped her up and brought her to the gym with me at every opportunity. That is how my father peaked my interest; so naturally, I assumed that would be true in Misha’s case. But, it really wasn’t.
There’s something that you’ve got to understand about us LeCavaliers as a whole. This explanation does not excuse my actions; however, it will provide some context as why I pushed her so hard in the direction of the sport. We LeCavaliers are not just another “wrestling family.” There seem to be a bunch of them popping up nowadays. We don’t just participate in the sport. No—ever since it’s creation, professional wrestling has run through our blood. Simply put, professional wrestling is part of our heritage; it is apart of our lineage.
Maintenance of said lineage requires that members from each generation step forward and uplift the family name.
My daughter’s generation is considered by most people in our family to be “thin and fragile.” This is because, honestly, there aren’t many people that fall into that generation; there are less than ten. It’s mostly comprised of my daughter Catalina, Misha, their cousin Ryan, and couple others. And at the time, Ryan has the only member of said generation who had taken that fateful step forward; and, that’s a great burden to bear alone. Misha is my first born. So, of course, I encouraged her to wrestle as well.
At first, she was reluctant…
Hell, she was more than reluctant. I believe Misha started training maybe two years after Ryan. She fought instruction every step of the way. Eventually, after getting her to train consistently for a period of time, she began to develop some type of connection with the sport. It definitely wasn’t love; it was more akin to a sense of like.
I’m not going to sit here and lie to myself. Yes, I essentially hassled her into wrestling. Yes, I forced her to forego her dreams of being a doctor. Yes, I forced her to pick up a mantel that she never had any desire to carry…
However, I did have my reasons. Were they sound? Likely not. Where they justifiable? Perhaps, perhaps not.
One of the major reasons I pushed for Misha to wrestle is because I had this grand assumption that she’d be mystifying in the ring. All of her life, I’d seen her thrive at various tasks when she set her mind to it. Therefore, I knew that if she gave wrestling an honest chance, and put her whole heart into, then she’d be amazing.
That theory was confirmed the first time I gave her instruction.
Misha wasn’t just “pretty good” in the ring—she was absolutely stunning. I’m not saying that simply because she is my daughter; I’m saying that because I’ve worked with and seen thousands of people run through this sport. Hell, my daughter was more talented with an ounce of training than people I had seen who had been working for years. So, even though she wanted to stop, I wouldn’t allow her to do so.
Back then, Misha was referred as a wrestling prodigy by most a great deal of veterans in Canada and Europe. Yeah, she was just that good. Her brain absorbed and soaked in wrestling knowledge at an alarming rate. Within a few months, there’s wasn’t much of gap between Ryan and Misha, as far as skills go.
She was destined for greatness.
. . .
About a month or so ago, I decided to call Misha. When she was working over in Europe I did my best to give her space; there’s nothing worse than trying to perfect your craft while your father is constantly breathing down your neck, right? However, maybe once a week or so, I’d give her a call just to check in with her. On this particular occasion, I found her frustrated and crying.
—Before I go on, there’s something you must understand. There are two things that are vital to Misha’s existence:
One, Misha is always in control of her emotions. Therefore, when she picked up her cell phone in tears, my mind immediately began to race. Honestly, I can’t even recall the last time I had seen or heard her cry. As a father, my heart began to break because I knew she was in pain. And number two, Misha is a perfectionist. Well, to state things more accurately, Misha is a perfectionist, and she has OCD. Coupled with professional wrestling, those two attributes can be particularly dangerous.
Over in Adica PRO, Misha was actually doing well. I’d often get phone calls from the promoter and other veterans. Sometimes they’d even send me her matches. They were good—hell, considering that amount she had been in the business, they were great.
To her though, they weren’t up to par. And because they weren’t up to par, she put a lot of pressure on herself. She trained harder than she should have; she wrestled harder than she should have. In short, she over exerted herself.
It may sound like I’m blaming her for that, I’m not. Once again, the blame is on me.
Misha internalized things, and she put a lot of pressure on herself, this much is true. But the reasoning, that’s what’s important. Like I said previously, Misha enjoyed wrestling back then, but she wasn’t in love with it. She did it because she knew it would make the family proud, and to make me proud. The weight of the entire world was on her shoulders, and it wasn’t because she wanted to be the very best—she did it because of me. She was killing her body and mind five days week because she was afraid disgracing the legacy that I had established over in Europe.
...I’m not too stupid or arrogant to see the writing on the wall. All the anguish, all the pain, this whole ordeal—it’s my fault, and mine alone. That is something that I’ll remember until the day I die; and who knows, it will likely follow me into the afterlife as well.
Of course, I’m referring to the reason why she called me that night—the incident.
A combination of the pressure and the amount of punishment she had taken in the ring caused her to resort to drugs. In particular, she began using Hydrocodone. I’m not even sure how she got a bottle of it in Europe without a prescription, but she did.
The night she called me was the culmination of a week of hell. Her tag team partner went back to Japan, she had just lost her first championship belt, and she had been attacked and injured. She took took Hydrocodone to cope with all the pain—but she needed up taking too much.
Misha was quickly rushed to the hospital. Neva and I were notified, so, we flew out and met with her. In the hospital, she was distressed, disorientated, and off kilter. And, instead of focusing on her safety and well-being, I remember being overly concerned about her finishing her tour…
God, am I an ass-hole.
There is more to the entire story. However, I suppose I don’t have to share everything in this first entry.
Now, I realize that this is a bit of cliff-hanger. And hell, I also realize that all this might sound jumbled and jagged to you, doctor. However, hopefully you can see why all this has been particularly difficult for me to deal with as well.
I feel ashamed…
I feel guilty…
I feel regretful...
Jason Hunter, I’m not going sit here and lie to you. I’m not extremely familiar with you, or your work. Nonetheless, since you’ve received employment from Code Red Wrestling, then I can confidently assume one of two things: (1) you are insanely talented, or (2) you’ve been wrestling long enough that people in high places have laid eyes upon you.
I’ll withhold my judgement on assumption number one; your talent remains to be seen, to me at least. However, given what little I do know about you, assumption number two seem to hold a bit of weight. You’ve worked for a number of promotions. So, it appears that you garnered the attention of the right people—congrats.
Now, you are young Jason. And me? Well, I’ve been in this industry for a decent amount of time. So, let me give you pro tip, alright? To survive and have a long-lasting career, you’ve got find that perfect balance between professional wrestling and your personal life…
Yes, that’s it; that’s the entirety of the tip. I bet you thought I was going to give you the standard “pay your dues” bullshit, didn’t you?
But in all seriousness, finding that balance is crucial; it’ something I struggled with early on in my career. But now I’ve found it. And, in all honesty, things have gone a lot more smoothly.
And yes, I’m aware this may seem like rambling, but a clear point will be made shortly. Follow along please.
With that being said, how did I find that balance? When I’m not out jogging to improve my cardio, when I’m not training my ass off in the ring, I’m at home relaxing. I enjoy leisurely longing about my apartment, I enjoy munching on pizza and Chinese food, I enjoy bonding with my close friends and family. And of course, I enjoy watching a bit of TV. Given the fact that I don’t get to view it much, TV calms me down.
Now, one of my favorite shows on television today happens to be Game of Thrones. Yes, just like all the millions of people out there, I drop whatever I’m is doing (if I’m not working, of course) and line up with the other droves of fans to view that fifty minutes of awesomeness.
Some viewers are fans of the book; they want see if the show-runners will stick to the canon of the literature. Others simply find the story, plot, and scenery to be utterly fascinating.
Myself?
Well, in particular, I myself enjoy the bloodshed, the carnage, the violence of it all. There’s nothing more satisfying than a savage sword fight. There might be a deep rooted reason for my love of violence, but that’s a bridge that we don’t need to cross today...
Jason, you may not be privy to the show. Therefore, allow me to key you in on one of it’s nuances. Throughout the show, you will often hear the phrase “bend the knee,” or some other variation of it.
What does that mean exactly?
Well, the phrase “bend the knee” is an external show of power. Commoners, peasants, and people hailing from lesser houses were required to bow down in order to show respect, reverence, and submissiveness towards kings, higher ranked lords, and figures of authority.
...At this point in time, Mr. Hunter, you’re probably curious as to why I’m bring all of this up, and what it has to do with our upcoming match. Don’t fret, I’m going to spell it out for you right now.
It’s kind of humorous. I did happen to unearth a few tidbits about you, such as the fact that you take pleasure in referring to yourself as the “Prince of Wrestling.” Hmm, how about that…
I’ve seen many a person run to Twitter, or stand behind a GoPro and falsely proclaim to be the “Best in the World.” That line has been ran through more than Vegas hooker on a Friday night.
Nonetheless, to refer to yourself as the “prince” of all professional wrestling, well well, that’s a whole another level of elevated arrogance, sir.
The world prince implies that you are wrestling royalty, that you are on a higher level than everyone else. The world prince implies that you are the cream of the crop, a cut above the rest. The world prince implies that you are superior to all, minus the king himself...
And I for one, take offense to every single one of those implications. What even warrants you to make such an outlandish claim? Hmm?
You claim to be a prince, and yet, no one is bowing to you. They did not bow to you at Future Stars of Wrestling. They did not bow to you at Extreme Wrestling Corporation. And they shall not be bowing to you at Code Red Wrestling—that I can assure you.
Jason, you and I will meet at Face Off Night One. And while we are not scheduled or slated as the main event, some are anticipating that our bout will be the match of the night.
And, I know exactly what you thinking...
You’re thinking that your height and weight are going to give you distinctive advantage. You’re thinking that you are going to waltz into this match and vanquish me. You’re thinking that this match is your chance to make it big, your opportunity to sky-rocket to the top of CRW. Which, in term, means that you foolishly expect me to bend the knee and suffer defeat. You expect me to merely roll over and die. But most importantly, you want me to stand by the wayside while you valiantly march on and claim all the glory for yourself.
However Jason, I can tell you this—without a shadow of a doubt, Misha LeCavalier will NEVER bow down. Not you, and not to anyone else.
Knowledge is a two-way street. I’m willing to bet that you don’t know who I am. Furthermore, you don’t know who my family is. Oh sure, you might have done a meger search on the Googles to find a few facts. Or, perhaps you’ll try to bullshit me and say something disingenuous like you, such “I respect you.” Lord knows how many times I’ve been told that lie...
However, if you truly knew me, if you truly knew my family, then you’d know that masquerading as a prince in my presence is utterly insulting.
Jason, if there is anything that you need to remember from this audio log, then it’s this solitary fact—the name LeCavalier is synonymous with success and professional wrestling. And at Face Off, you are going to learn that first principle hand.
I’m not a mere peasant in this industry, Mr. Hunter. I’m not some hapless woman that you can beat down and mistreat. I am woman who was born and bred to be a professional wrestler. I am a woman who has overcome unimaginable pain in order to stand in front of you on November Nineteenth.
Jason, you aren’t above me, nor are you my superior—you never will be.
That’s something you need to get through your brain before you meet me in the ring. And, I’m not saying all this to be rude or nasty. I’m trying to shield you from any shame or disappointment you might feel after this impending defeat.
But if you fail to heed my words, that’s fine as well. I have no issue whatsoever in shattering your ambitions.
Fin.