“You’re a disgrace to professional wrestling, Tommy!”

"Back in 1985 there was a program on 20/20 that challenged the wrestling industry, kind of portrayed it in negative light. Tommy, if you're listening, try to understand, I was about the world's biggest wrestling fan. [It wasn't easy] for me to stand in front of the television set and see people running down a business I loved and held dear, even though I knew very little about it. To see my friends laughing at me, saying, "That's what you want to get involved in?"

That night I went to bed not with visions of sugar plumbs dancing in my head, but of broken bones, of battered bodies, of bloodied corpses, saying to myself, "If it's the last thing I do, if I have to hold myself up for a human sacrifice, the world will respect professional wrestling." That dream came true as I've sacrificed myself for the past ten years and left the better part of my past lying on concrete floors, from Africa to Asia to South America to right into the middle of the ECW Arena.

What's it really done? Where have we really come to, lying in a hospital bed in Munich, Germany, watching my ear being thrown out into a garbage can, not being able to take it on the trip back because I don't know the German word for formaldehyde. And have the nurse walk into my room and look at that piece of my body looking at the bottom of the garbage can saying "Das ist doch alles gespielt.", meaning "It's all a big joke." Excuse me, (screams) I didn't know you open up the lungs of a smoker and say, "Oh my golly, I thought smoking was supposed to be good for you." Do you open up Terry Funk's non-functioning liver and go, "I didn't know four decades of heavy drinking took this kind of toll." So if they show that kind of respect to a patient, what made me any different?

Because I was a wrestler and professional wrestlers and professional wrestling will never be respected no matter how many teeth I lose, no matter how many ears I lose, no matter how many brain cells have to die. And so it comes down to the point where it's just not worth it. It's just not worth it. Tommy Dreamer, you just have to start looking realistically at wrestling as a way to make a living, nothing more and nothing less. And as long as it's strictly business, well, you might as well be cuddled in the welcoming arms of World Championship Wrestling because ECW fans will be the death of you. You see, they realize and they were smarter than any of us, that they rule ECW wrestling, not us.

What happened, Tommy, you came back from All Japan Wrestling with your trunks and your boots and said, "By golly I'm gonna wrestle." Did Giant Baba hand you a dozen eggs and say, "Ram these into Jumbo Tsuruta's head?" You're a disgrace to professional wrestling, Tommy. You're becoming a damn fool and I can't sit back there and take it. I have a moral obligation!

You see, when I survey the wasteland of professional wrestling, Tommy, try to understand, I am but a failed experiment in human sociology. And I can accept that. But never in my sickest dreams did I think there would be other people taking dives onto concrete floors, committing human suicide on my behalf, like I'm the patron saint of those sick sons of bitches. Is that all I stand for, Tommy? Is that all I stand for to sit in an arena where J.T. Smith lands head-first on the concrete to hear the fans chant, "You F'ed Up." Well, f' you! We're not a wrestling organization anymore. We're one of the world's damn biggest puppet shows. I'll be damned if I'll sit in the arena and let you call my match. "1, 2 ,3 jump, 1, 2, 3 jump." Well not me because I'm nobody's stooge.

If you had a little bit of pride or a little bit of common sense, you'd realize those people don't love you, they laugh at you. You took the worst beating this sport's ever seen and they still laughed in your face. Well, I stood there with my arm around you six months ago and endorsed you saying, "He's hardcore, he's hardcore.' Well, for that I deserve to die a terrible, painful death, Tommy, because I feel responsible. I go to bed at night and I'm not sure where I'm going to spend my eternity. And you, Tommy, you're my salvation because, you see, by delivering you to a better organization where you can be appreciated, loved, and held with just the littlest amount of respect within the Turner family, maybe there's a chance for me, too.

So think it over, because a yes to Cactus Jack would mean a great deal to me. And a no, well, I'd have to take that as your putting the okay stamp of approval on my eternal damnation. I'm counting on you, you little selfish prick. Don't make me hurt you, because I can. Don't make me do it, and if I do with God as my witness, it won't be in front of those little scumbags at the ECW Arena. It will just be me and you Tommy, and you don't know when it's coming and you don't know where. Unless you wish to damn me to the depths of hell, answer my call and say, "Okay, Cactus, you win, I'll put on the suspenders, I'll groom that mustache and I'll call Uncle Eric and say, 'Count me in.'"

Because not only would you be doing yourself a favor, not only would you be helping your life, you'd be saving mine. You'd be saving mine. You'd be saving mine."