Punked is right, Cowboy muttered, soft enough Otto and most of the boys crowded around him couldn’t hear, but I could. A year ago I’d be the one whooping him.
Two years ago, Cowboy may have been right, before his hip surgery, before he visibly lost a step. Before the leg drop he hit wrong—the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back—Cowboy was a top guy. But when he did get back, he had become the old guy who young guys beat up to build their own legends. Me and Cowboy started tag teaming sometimes, occupying a similar spot on the on the card, he on his way down, me on my way up, both of us recognizable names, but neither of us to be taken seriously in a big match scenario.
Otto went on. Talking about Karl Gotch, the original German superstar who had invented the German Suplex, albeit on Japanese soil. How Gotch was the ideal German wrestlers aspired to, the way Americans looked up to Hulk Hogan or Steve Austin.
Remember this, kid, Cowboy said. When you’re on top, there’s going to be a fall. There’s always someone coming up behind you.
It was the first time anyone ever said I might be on top one day.