Master Ramparte,

If you refuse to read this, I understand. In your position, I would have balled the unopened letter up and threw it in the waste bin. I'm sorry. You asked us to attend Kingdom Come for your retirement. We said that we would. And I lied. I lied to your face because I can't be there to watch it end.

I've become timid in my age. Time makes cowards of us all. It's an irrevocable truth. As you sit there in your dressing room, applying the cosmetics that change a young man into a wizened cowboy, maybe you have tapped into that sincerity yourself. The horrors of knowing such finalities. It clouds the mind, that underlying fear that screams how this is the last time the lights will shine on you. Whatever advice I can give that might prove useful - keep that fear. Fear births conviction. Conviction is courage under fire.

Your opponent will know those pressures well. He's spent a lifetime in the ring, always riding the wave of victory and defeat. Always building to that last breadth of momentum. That valuable breadth. He's perhaps the most dangerous man in professional wrestling because of it. He thrives in the tempestuous nature of the sport like a boulder to a storm.

Your odds are not great. I am telling the truth on that front. You're his junior and veterans know the ways of treachery. Mayhem rules.

But there is another truth to be told, Ramparte. Whatever promos you may cut or stages you need to talk about Tastic, it's useless now. Just window dressing. He sees the humor in his opponents, drags them, even belittles them when desperate. You are not desperate, are you Ram? You know his game. You've fought him time and time again. What words can he use that he hasn't a hundred times against you? What words could you weaponize to win some imaginary victory against him? Talking is filler tonight. It is not about words anyways, but the spaces between them. I will not wax poetic on passion and desire and those other pretty emotions others would, and neither should you. You know who you are. You are more than what the cameras capture. So fight, goddammit. Fight because you have nothing left to give but your wrath.

Do not worry about your secret. You've known me all of your life, sir. I am not a whistleblower. Neither is Batti for that matter (Yes, the tension in the room was great and I don't believe you two will ever be on the same page again, but there is a mutual respect I feel there). It's funny really. I retired from my services with her one Kingdom Come, and she retired from wrestling the next. Now you shall follow suit. The more things change the more they stay the same. But this time there is nobody to take up the mantle. You've created a saga that begins and ends with you. Full circle. What is left of Tastic's own I wonder? Reminiscing on past glories? Those achievements mean fair little when the lights stop shining.

What matters is you fought. No simpler way to state it. You fought and win or lose you fought to yours and your opponent's end. That is no small thing. That is a heavy endeavor. This is the biggest event you've yet to experience. Experience it fully and without regret. Grab a bat. Use a table. Make them all remember who you are years from now when wrestling itself is forgotten.

I am thankful to have known you. To teach you in your youth. To be there when life felt lifeless. Something tells me I will not see you again. Perhaps for the best. You must make your own way in the world now. Go forward in all your beliefs, and prove to me I am not mistaken in mine.

Humbly Yours,

Morley




P.S. I am so proud of you. I have always been proud of you.