Promo of the Year – To me, it’s Humanity
What makes a great promo?
To me, it’s Humanity. A great promo exemplifies the shared human experience. It also has an unforgettable delivery.
A great promo overcomes stigma. It drags truth out into the light and says the thing everyone else is too afraid to say out loud. A great promo sells you – on a match, a feud, or a ticket. It convinces you to invest your time, your attention, and your spirit.
CM Punk’s Promo before WrestleMania was a great example. It was delivered with passion. It bucked against authority like a bull in a china shop. He said things I didn’t expect a wrestler to say. But the promo of the year didn’t come from CM Punk.
It came from Rebel.
She doesn’t deliver her promo inside a wrestling ring. It’s not riddled with catch phrases, and it doesn’t have 10,000 in an arena listening live. It came from a woman, alone in her room, updating the world about fighting a battle no one else could see.
Recently here on NoDQ, Rebel’s story came to light in a vide she posted on Instagram. She revealed a terminal ALS diagnosis. A sentence more like a finish than a beginning. A countdown. A certainty. The kind of reality that strips the glamour away from life and leaves one alone with the hardest question there is: How do you face the end?
Her career? Over. Or so I thought. Yet somehow, Rebel dug deep into her soul, and spoke to the wrestling audience. Rebel took that death sentence and rebelled.
It is a hard watch. I recently lost my aunt to dementia, another curse, and the first time I saw Rebel’s video I couldn’t finish it. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There is a line that haunted me, something, like all great promos, spoke to the undeniably human in me and moved me.
Rebel does not beg for more time. She does not scream at fate, or curse God, or demand a miracle.
She wishes for a peaceful passing.
That was the line that broke me.
Rebel is the underdog standing across the ring from Death – not asking to win, not demanding immortality, but praying for peace. I don’t know why but my eyes water. I bite my lip. Because what she’s saying moves me. There is as much bravery, as much passion, and as much overcoming of adversity in her as is there in any promo that has ever been delivered.
So Rebel, I am cheering for you. I am on my feet, alone in my room, chanting your name. You have won your way into my heart, and into the heart of all wrestling fans. What you want has become what I want – I am chanting for your peaceful passing. Saying that out loud takes a strength I must confess I did not possess.
We can spend our lives pretending death is the finish to somebody else’s storyline. We can do everything except face it honestly. Or we can rebel.
Rebel, you lived up to your name in a way no wrestling character has before you. You rebelled against fear. You rebelled against the lie that courage means refusing to acknowledge the inevitable. “Rebel” no longer sounds like defiance for the sake of noise. It sounds like dignity. You gave that word a new meaning that will live on. And one day, when my own time comes — because it comes for every one of us — I will channel my inner Rebel. Not to rage. Not to deny. But to hold onto peace.
To me, it’s Humanity. A great promo exemplifies the shared human experience. It also has an unforgettable delivery.
A great promo overcomes stigma. It drags truth out into the light and says the thing everyone else is too afraid to say out loud. A great promo sells you – on a match, a feud, or a ticket. It convinces you to invest your time, your attention, and your spirit.
CM Punk’s Promo before WrestleMania was a great example. It was delivered with passion. It bucked against authority like a bull in a china shop. He said things I didn’t expect a wrestler to say. But the promo of the year didn’t come from CM Punk.
It came from Rebel.
She doesn’t deliver her promo inside a wrestling ring. It’s not riddled with catch phrases, and it doesn’t have 10,000 in an arena listening live. It came from a woman, alone in her room, updating the world about fighting a battle no one else could see.
Recently here on NoDQ, Rebel’s story came to light in a vide she posted on Instagram. She revealed a terminal ALS diagnosis. A sentence more like a finish than a beginning. A countdown. A certainty. The kind of reality that strips the glamour away from life and leaves one alone with the hardest question there is: How do you face the end?
Her career? Over. Or so I thought. Yet somehow, Rebel dug deep into her soul, and spoke to the wrestling audience. Rebel took that death sentence and rebelled.
It is a hard watch. I recently lost my aunt to dementia, another curse, and the first time I saw Rebel’s video I couldn’t finish it. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. There is a line that haunted me, something, like all great promos, spoke to the undeniably human in me and moved me.
Rebel does not beg for more time. She does not scream at fate, or curse God, or demand a miracle.
She wishes for a peaceful passing.
That was the line that broke me.
Rebel is the underdog standing across the ring from Death – not asking to win, not demanding immortality, but praying for peace. I don’t know why but my eyes water. I bite my lip. Because what she’s saying moves me. There is as much bravery, as much passion, and as much overcoming of adversity in her as is there in any promo that has ever been delivered.
So Rebel, I am cheering for you. I am on my feet, alone in my room, chanting your name. You have won your way into my heart, and into the heart of all wrestling fans. What you want has become what I want – I am chanting for your peaceful passing. Saying that out loud takes a strength I must confess I did not possess.
We can spend our lives pretending death is the finish to somebody else’s storyline. We can do everything except face it honestly. Or we can rebel.
Rebel, you lived up to your name in a way no wrestling character has before you. You rebelled against fear. You rebelled against the lie that courage means refusing to acknowledge the inevitable. “Rebel” no longer sounds like defiance for the sake of noise. It sounds like dignity. You gave that word a new meaning that will live on. And one day, when my own time comes — because it comes for every one of us — I will channel my inner Rebel. Not to rage. Not to deny. But to hold onto peace.
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