I’m going to take you back to a very deciding point in my life - a time when I believed in something. A time when I thought that my face and my name made a difference. Do you remember the night, Tommy Dreamer, because it’s embedded in my skull, it’s embedded in my heart, and it’s embedded in every nightmare that I will ever have again. As Terry Funk took a broken bottle and began slicing and dicing Cactus Jack, the pain was so much that I’ll be honest with you Tommy… the pain was so much that I wanted to say “I quit, Terry Funk, I give, I wave the flag, and I’m a coward - just please don’t hurt me anymore”.
Then I saw my saving grace.
You see, Tommy, I looked out in that audience, my adoring crowd, and I saw two simple words that changed my life. “Cane Dewey”. Somebody had taken the time and the effort and the thought to make a sign that said “Cane Dewey”, and I saw other people around, as every moment in my life stopped and focused in on that sign and the pain that shot through my body became a distant memory, replaced by a thought which will be embedded in my skull until my dying day!
Cane Dewey. Cane Dewey.
Dewey Foley is a three-year-old boy, you sick sons of bitches. You ripped out my heart, you ripped out my soul, you took everything I believed in and you flushed it down the damn toilet. You flushed my heart, you flushed my soul, and now it sickens me to see other people making the same mistake. You see, Tommy Dreamer I have to listen to my little boy say everyday “Daddy, I miss Georgia”, and I say, “That’s too bad son, because your dad traded in the victorian house for a sweatbox on Long Island. Your Dad traded in a hundred-thousand dollar contract, guaranteed, money, insurance, respect and the name on the dotted line for the greatest man in the world - to work for a scumbag who operates out of a little piss-ant pawn shop in Philadelphia.”
You don’t expect me to be bitter? Tommy, when you open your heart, when you open you soul, and it gets shat on, it tends to make Jack a very mean boy. And so, I say to you, before I take these aggressions out on you, look at your future and realise that the hardcore life is a lie, that these letters behind me are a blatant lie, that those fans who sit there and say “He’s Hardcore! He’s Hardcore! He’s Hardcore!” wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, you selfish son of a bitch!
But, I want you to understand Tommy, though he’s hurt you time and time again, Raven wants you to understand that the hatred I have in here is not for you. No, no, far removed. You see, Tommy, I’m not doing this because I hate you. I love you, man! I only want the best for you… but when I hear that WCW called up your number and you said, “No thank you”… well, it makes my blood run cold. As cold as that night in the ECW arena. And so I have got moral obligation- you see Tommy, I’m on the path of the righteousness and righteous men wield a lot of power. So if I’ve got to drag you by your face to telephone and dial collect and say, “Hello Eric, it’s me, Cactus, and though I know I’ve burned my bridge, and I’ll never be taken back with open arms, I’ve got a wrestler who would glady trade in his ECW shirt for a pair of green suspenders”.
And Tommy, just think of that sound in your ear when Eric says, “Welcome home, Tommy Dreamer, welcome home.”
