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Oh, Shit - Shah's bit.
Last January, that mate of Colt Cabana with the 'skinny fat ass' took a bit of time off. As time has told, there were a couple of underlying reasons for this; but at the time, Vince McMahon simply commented, “He's taking a sabbatical, let's just put it that way.".
Listeners to the Wrestling 20 Years Ago podcast - in particular, ECW - may have noticed your writer's under-radar status. He's taking a sabbatical, let's just put it that way. However, there are some moments in time that require raising your head from the shadows, if only for brief second.
Hack Meyers was fuck all special. From memory, I can't quite recall his placing in GQ's Man of the Year running order or how many Sports Illustrated covers he graced; but one thing that can never be forgotten is the man's unrivalled connection with Philadelphia's avid congregation.
ECW's Shah-man never had the verbal nuances of a Cactus Jack, the mystique of a Sabu or the dollar-bill-printing ability of a Paul E Dangerously; but when Cactus, Sabu & Paul E were already there, he didn't need to. If there was a young guy looking to make a name for himself, give him to Hack. If there was a show that needed a strong opener to warm the crowd up, best book Hack. Or if there was just a big, nasty, bastard who needed a dance partner to trade haymakers with, yep - Hack was your guy.
These days, you hear alot about your 'ECW Originals'. Your Dudleys, your Van Dams, your Ravens. Undoubtedly, all made their marks - but Hack Meyers, whilst perhaps not their equal at the time, could well have been their superior in retrospect. Let alone the fact he truly was an original.
In the cartoon era of the New Generation and the Dungeon of Doom, few were able to carry his sense of realness. Where the national companies never quite battered his door down with the delivery of a blank cheque; it was true architects, mechanics and carpenters like Hack that built not only a house, but a revolution. Plus, he saw it through from the Eastern days with Todd Gordon & Eddie Gilbert to Heyman's dream of Extreme.
It's often said life's not about the destination, but the journey. Tommy Dreamer's long road to redemption by finally defeating Raven. ECW evading the bankruptcy courts for so long before finally being unable to get out of the red and into the black ("...they give you this, but you pay for that" - Neil Young); but Hack's greatest battle in-ring was his quest to finally get a big-name scalp. Unfortunately, his biggest fight outside of Extreme would lead to his biggest loss - his battle with brain surgery.
Hack Meyers was 41. Forty-one. It wasn't a car crash under the influence of drink or drugs. It wasn't a heart attack brought on by years of steroid abuse. It was a man who had been dealt a shit hand and went down dying as he always did living - fucking fighting.
Two days would see Hack reach his 42nd birthday. Like so many before him, it's a milestone he'll never see.
Hack Meyers was not a standout athlete. Shit. Hack Meyers was not a household name. Shit. Hack Meyers was a good man. Shah. A valuable man. Shah. A strong man. Shah. He became a man at a time when others his age were only a boy. He was special. In a remarkably un-special way. He was too young. Shit. It was too soon. Shit. But he won't be forgotten. Shah. He will be remembered. Shah. And so he fucking should.