JM: From the Diaries of Drew McIntyre

It makes me sick to my stomach.

Every single one of you chanting his name, cheering his victories, worshipping the very ground he walks on. Acting like he’s God’s gift to wrestling when he’s nothing but a fraud. As if that wasn’t enough, you’ve got the gall to boo me? It was my story first, and I didn’t need a second chapter; I got the job done first time around.

Let me tell you about stories.

A man enters WWE with the whole world at his feet. He’s being groomed for stardom, pushed to the top at a very young age, winning championships and opportunities left right and centre… And then the wheels start to fall off. Slowly, at first; a loss here, a match further down the card there, until without even realising it he’s a glorified jobber in a gimmick that makes no sense. The positivity that once followed him everywhere is deafening in its silence. And then, before you know it… he’s gone. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

All the best for your future endeavors, kid.

Do you know what that’s like? To have your dream, that you’ve held onto since you were a wee boy, ripped from your hands in a heartbeat? Everything you’ve worked for, all the blood, sweat and tears you’ve poured into your career, and it’s gone. Unlike your lying hero I didn’t choose to walk away from the WWE, I wasn’t given a choice. “Thanks very much for your service, Drew, but you’re not welcome here anymore.” He left you of his own volition; I was pushed.

Unlike Cody Rhodes, I didn’t even have a name to fall back on. “McIntyre” was a WWE creation and they kept it for themselves. While Cody prostituted his family’s legacy all across America, Drew Galloway went back to The Barrowlands, across the Atlantic and home to Scotland. Thousands and thousands of miles away from the WWE. I didn’t have a legacy, I didn’t have a Club around me; I was tired, I was hurting, and I was alone. That’s the side of the story you don’t see because you can’t be bothered to look. Cody Rhodes was a man on a mission. I was a man with nothing.

But I picked myself up. I got back on the horse. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was not the end of my story.

I worked harder than I’ve ever worked in my life. In the gym, in the ring, on myself, whatever I was doing I gave it every fibre of my being. For three years I toiled on the independent circuit, wrestling anyone, anywhere, anytime, with one singular goal in mind: to get back. I didn’t need six years, a famous name or the ear of a billionaire’s good-for-nothing son, I got back on my terms, by myself, and I deserved it.

Did I walk back into Wrestlemania to a hero’s welcome? Oh no, not Drew McIntyre. Off to NXT with you son, let’s see if you’re serious about working from the ground up. And I did it. I proved myself. NXT Champion, Dolph Ziggler’s sidekick, tag team champion, I did it all. I worked my way to Wrestlemania to face Roman Reigns, I didn’t take shortcuts. And then it started to change, didn’t it?

Slowly but surely, you people started to see what I’d done, I mean really, properly see. Drew McIntyre was dumped by the side of the road, stripped of the keys to the kingdom and left for dead, and he worked his way back again, the long way round. An unstoppable monster held the WWE Championship and there was nobody who could stand in his way. Except for me. When I kicked the beast in the skull and dumped his arse out of the Royal Rumble you could hear the landscape shifting beneath our feet. Lesnar’s time was numbered; McIntyre’s time was now. And then the world turned upside down.

Nobody saw me finish my story. In the first pre-taped main event in Wrestlemania history, in front of an empty arena, Drew McIntyre vanquished the beast and took his place at the top of the mountain. From the chosen one to the rejected one, I’d worked my way back from the depths of desolation and despair, but nobody saw! The greatest story in wrestling history, and nobody saw.

During the hardest months WWE had ever faced, I carried this company on my back and kept us going. I took down giants, vanquished visionaries and vipers, wrestled week after week after week, just to give you ungrateful pricks something to distract you from your pathetic little lives. And what did it get me? My championship was ripped away from me by some reality TV has-been weeks before I should’ve been carried aloft into Wrestlemania as the saviour of the wrestling world.

Wouldn’t you be pissed off?

Wouldn’t you be pissed off if some second-generation, silver-spoon-fed “champion of the people” spent six years away and came back to a hero’s welcome? Wouldn’t you be pissed off if he claimed to be writing some incredible story that you’d already lived, breathed, and finished? Wouldn’t you be pissed off if he kept claiming the WWE title was his family’s destiny? Only a spoiled brat like Cody Rhodes would claim it was his destiny to win the title. It wasn’t my destiny, it was my dream, and I worked my arse off to get there. I didn’t lean on a legacy, I built one for myself.

And the worst part is, you’re all buying into this nonsense. Cody Rhodes didn’t vanquish the Bloodline, the Bloodline is still here. Cody Rhodes didn’t end the tyranny of Roman Reigns, he teamed up with Roman Reigns. Cody Rhodes is the reason Roman Reigns is still here, still the “tribal chief”, and still fighting. He could’ve put that bastard down for good, and instead he gave him a helping hand. He pulls the wool over your eyes time and time again, and you thank him for it. Because his last name is Rhodes.

Wouldn’t you be pissed off?

Wouldn’t you be pissed off if, after all the hard work you put in to get back to the top and win the world title at Wrestlemania, you had it ripped away from you again, by a Money in the Bank cash-in again, while another so-called saviour sat back and laughed in your face? If, after well over a decade, this arrogant bastard waltzed back into the WWE like nothing, and took your spot at the top of the card without lifting a finger? Wouldn’t you be pissed off?

Time and time again I have carried this company, no, this entire industry on my back, and I’ve never heard so much as a simple “thank you, Drew. Thank you for working your arse off to keep us going. Thank you for giving us someone to believe in. Thank you for beating Brock Lesnar. Thank you for standing up to The Bloodline. Thank you for telling the goddamn truth, unlike the rest of these lying pricks!”

Wouldn’t you be pissed off?

Which brings us to now. I carried CM Punk on my back for half a year, took him to the limit of his verbal and physical powers, delivered the most captivating story and matches since his unwelcome return to wrestling, and what do I get as my reward? A triple threat match with the other also-rans of 2024. Thanks for delivering main event after main event Drew, but now that the big dance is here we’re going to go with Cody. With Punk. With Reigns. With John Cena, of all people. Another man who “loved” it here and left of his own volition.

What’s happening to Drew McIntyre is nothing short of a travesty. I deserve better than this, I have earned better than this, and I will have better than this. Maybe not this year, maybe not next year, but someday you will look back on this as the golden age of wrestling because of me. I took out Brock Lesnar, I made CM Punk relevant again, I gave you every piece of my soul and you gave me nothing back… But unlike every single one of my peers, I didn’t walk away. I didn’t choose to leave you. I chose to stay.
And none of you care.

Wouldn’t you be pissed off?