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Behind the Curtain

Behind the Curtain

I once toured with a guy who told the world he was the greatest magician to have lived. He claimed to perform the greatest trick ever.

He would get his assistant to tie him up from head to toe, ropes and chains, the whole nine yards. She’d then lock him in a clear glass prison.

Lights would flash, smoke would billow and the assistant would pull up a great big curtain which covered the prison box for only a mere moment. When the curtain dropped, every time, the audience were wowed as the beautiful assistant was now tied up within the prison. The magician would be standing atop the box, bowing to the applause.

Every night, the fucking trick killed.

But when you see the trick from the side of the stage, waiting for your turn to compete for the audience’s adoration, you begin to notice a few things.

When you peek behind the damned curtain, the magic trick becomes just that. A trick. An illusion. The magician becomes just another Tom, Dick or Harry with a winning smile and a pocket of lies.

For the more you look at the places the magician doesn’t want you to see, the more you see just how full of shit he really is.

Old School Wrestling has had its fair share of folk who tell the world they are the greatest. Some have even had the charisma to convince the world that their claim is true.

But you, Dante, are not that guy.

You’re just another magician wishing he was Houdini performing his Metamorphosis. Another guy with a great trick or two. As impressive as you are, when you peek behind your curtain, you see what truly lies beneath.

That you’re a fraud.

No matter how you stack the deck, you still don’t measure up.

Because as soon as people see how the trick is played out, it’s no longer magic, is it? It’s just another act dying on a stage somewhere in Vegas.

I am not a magician.

I am the real fucking deal.

I toured with the magician for one reason only. Because he warmed the crowd up perfectly for me, the main event. Each night, I’d follow his sorry excuse for an act and give him a Crash Course in what it means to be a true performer.

When you peek behind my curtain, you see nothing but elephant sized testicles and genuine skill. I hide nothing, I leap tall buildings in a single bound and push the human body past limits that others think impossible.

Unlike the magician and his assistant, I want you to look closely. Watch my every fucking move.

Because the more you look, the more your jaw drops to the ground.

The more you see.

The more impressive I am.

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape, Xavier. You don’t piss in the wind and tell me it’s magic.

Because when your curtain comes crashing down, and it will, I’ll be standing tall taking a bow on my stage.

Not magicjust better than you in every way.