The following editorial was written by Dominic DeAngelo and does not reflect the opinions of WrestleZone as a whole. We encourage you all to discuss Dominic’s thoughts in the comments section at the bottom of this post and follow him on Twitter @DominicDeAngelo.
I hate when writers do open letters to public figures. Hate it. Not only is it a crutch constructed out papier-mâché cliche, but it’s schlock is heightened when the odds are that the person it’s directed to isn’t even going to set eyes on “the letter” — let alone the headline. (I’ve seen popular paid subscription sites use the gimmick which is just bass ackwards).
However, for our former WWE Universal Champion, Brock Lesnar, I will gladly take hold of that crutch because I just know in my heart and soul that The Beast will feast eyes upon this fond farewell I’m about to bid him. Lesnar clearly vanity searches for his name across the world wide web because among the moose and isolation, Saskatchewan has impeccable Wi-Fi.
Please kind reader, cast no stone at my hypocrisy. After all, we’re all a bunch of contradictory dopes (just look at that petri dish called Twitter – chock full of two-faced bacteria it is) and I am no exception to that siren’s call. So wallow in the filth I shall with hypothetical ink on my fingers and tears on my parchment:
Goodbye To My Champion Of Outlaws
Dearest Brock,
I hope you don’t mind that I refer to you by your first name, I mean it as no disrespect. Despite only seeing you every four months I just feel a sense of closeness to you, which is strange because we come from different worlds. I, a bespectacled bald man that weighs 130 soaking wet who couldn’t shoot an animal without uncontrollably weeping and you with your 6’5” frame who likely strangles deer on the regular are very much akin to a Schwarzenegger and DeVito-type duo rather than a Bret & Jim “The Anvil” tag team.
What is it that draws me to you? Is it your infectious smile as you wipe the blood of your fallen opponents on your chest? The way you happily bounce in the ring while your advocate Paul Heyman pontificates your power? Perhaps it’s the way you struck the fear of God into said advocate several weeks back after he interrupted your intimate reading sessions of American Frontiersmen? Or maybe, just maybe, it’s your lack of presence on my television or my WWE Network.
Or maybe it’s all four.
Brock, despite what that dog Roman and the WWE Universe feels about you, you are a wrestling outlaw through and through. Years back, Triple H may have said he and The Undertaker were the last of the true gunslingers, but you sir, are the poster boy of rebels.
For starters, your person comes at a price. You’ll accept no less than your price tag to make the number of appearances you are scheduled for and you’ll jack up that price tag if any company exceeds those. Goodness, does absence ever make the heart grow fonder! Bruiser Brody is certainly smiling down upon you.
I want to thank you for being you. Many of the WWE Superstars should thank you too. They should thank you for not caring; for knowing your worth and realizing that your reckless brand is bigger than any three letters. Because for a lot of them, if given the gift your free will, could embrace the same ideals. They wouldn’t be forced into roles that they or the crowd (sorry “WWE Universe”) doesn’t see fit for them and could one day break the mold of scripted monotony. You, just like The Rocks, Austins and Batistas of old, have carved your own path of professional wrestling intrigue.
Goodbye for now, Beast. Your beauty is in the details.
Sincerely,
A Hypocrite.
