I can see through you, see you're true colors. Cause inside your ugly, ugly like me. - Staind, Outside.




I can see the looks they give me, hateful glares that could piece through the toughest armor and kill the strongest of men. They sneer at me, growl, curse me and damn me to Hell and hope that I never come back.

I know they don't want me here. The fans may want me here, but they're blinded. I know a majority of people out there do not want me here. They'd rather see me dead, buried, and gone.

I'm called a wannabe, a man who tried to take away the spotlight of another during the Monday Night wars. I'm a so-called joke. No one likes me. No one would care if I would ever die. They'd probably celebrate.

Tonight they're crying for a man that they loved and hated. Enemies, fans, friends, family -- they're all crying for him. For Steve Austin.

He's the true legend, they sneer at me. He's the real tough SOB they growl at me. The others mock me, call me a has-been, a person that will never make it over the top, a stupid idiot used during the wars back then.

They say I'm not needed. No one befriended me when I came into the WWE. They were all so distant, wary of me, not trusting me because of who I was.

I'm Bill Goldberg. I was undefeated in WCW for the longest time. I ended Bret Hart's career. I was called the "Austin wannabe." Everyone thought that when I came into the WWE, it would begin it's downfall.

No one cared for me. I think they still want me dead.

But right now, no one cares about what I think. I'm lost in the shadows, my status overtaken by the death of one man. The man that I supposedly "copied." The legend.

The man I was best friends with.

Yeah, weird isn't it?

I was friends -- really good friends with Stone Cold Steve Austin, the man I supposedly copied and wanted to be like.

When I first came into the business, I was actually afraid of him. I mean, I was the biggest draw of the company that tried to drag him under. But it all died when he smiles at me and greeted me like a human being.

Out of the other people here, Steve was the only person who treated me real. He taught me things, told me how to work my way with the politics in the back, work my away around the writers, how to approach the others, and he was blunt in front of me when he said he was pissed that I ended Bret's career.

He was honest, and it hurt at times, but I felt reassured and safe with Steve. He was true, real, and he actually cared for me. Concerned for me and my career. He was a great guy.

I really have nothing to say. We didn't bond as much as he did with the others. I'm standing here, in the stairway near the parking lot, and in the distance I can see the crying form of the Rock. Damn, those two really were close. Always did put on the greatest matches.

I heard the outbursts Hunter made earlier on, and watched the interaction between Taker and Kane. And then, earlier today, I saw someone that I thought I would never see again.

He walked in front of my face. He looked at me straight in the eye. He didn't greet me, he just gave me this cold... unforgivening... icy stare. And I publicly shivered in front of him.

"Bill?" Bret Hart asked softly in my face.

I gulped and looked into his eyes. "Yeah Bret?"

"Do you feel pain?" he asked gently.

I stood there, and I couldn't deny the truth. "I do. Cause of his death."

Bret's a smart man. He smirked, and brushed against my shoulder, pushing me away from his path on purpose. I looked behind me, and I saw him walking away towards the hunched form of another man.

And I knew why he was going there. I didn't know why he showed up here for Wrestlemania, but I knew where he was going.

I walked away from the evident conversation between Mick Foley and Bret Hart, walking into the corridor where the stairs are, and I haven't left here since then. I hear nothing but the distant sobs of the Rock, and I close my eyes.

Tears form against my wishes, and I release a few. I just had to, only for Steve.

I guess I deserved this. No wonder Bret smirked. I caused him pain, and now I feel pain myself. His pain will always haunt him, as my pain always will.

I always did like poetic justice. Even now, when I'm a blunt receiver of it.

So I'm standing here, in silence, relaxing against the wall, and crying with no sound. I'm waiting for Wrestlemania to start, so I can leave, and go far away until I can numb away this pain.

I won't be able to run away from it forever, I know it. But sometimes... sometimes it's good to pretend.

Thanks, Steve, for the time we had.

I stand in silence, and I can hear the sorrow of the world.