Welcome to the third instalment in this series. Here, I’m sharing how the ‘confessional’ WWE storylines that form the academic side of my PhD project – 2005 Lita/Edge/Hardy love triangle, 2009 Jeff Hardy addiction storyline, and 2011 CM Punk Pipe Bomb – also appear in the creative side of my PhD, the WIP novel, Work, Shoot; Shoot, Work. If you fancy reading the rest of this series, click the following links: part 1 and part 2.
This part deals with how Jeff Hardy’s substance abuse issues have been represented on-screen. While these issues have formed part of Jeff Hardy’s on-screen character for nearly twenty years, in this extract I focus on the 2009 angle between Hardy and a straight-edge, heel CM Punk. Pro Wrestling Stories has a very good summary of all work and shoot events involved here.
As for the novel extract, some context for you: main characters Alf and Hera are still living together as friends in London. After meeting an American named Tori while wrestling in Japan, initially Alf kept their long distance relationship a secret from Hera – largely because his ex told him Hera would always be an obstacle in any relationship he had. Though Alf soon told Hera about Tori, Hera is harbouring some bitterness over his initial secrecy. Note, in this scene, Alf calls Hera by her birth name, Jackie. Finally, Dracula Dave is a wrestler from the same promotion as Alf and Hera, whom Hera has slept with on various occasions in the past but has no romantic interest in.
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On 11 July 2009, after a meal at the local Indian, Hera, Dracula Dave, Alf and a visiting Tori were watching an illegal download of SmackDown, which Alf had hooked up to the TV. They passed round a joint from Alf and Tori on the couch to Hera and Dave cross-legged below them. On screen, a smallish wrestler with stringy black hair made his way to the ring to face his rival, addressing an eye injury he’d suffered in their last match: “This is polymoxin B sulphate. I have to apply this to my eye three times a day. The only way you obtain this is with a prescription. From a doctor. Now, I know you know a thing or two about prescription medication, but what I don’t think you realise is that you have to go to a doctor to legally obtain some.”
“Fucking heavy,” Dave said.
Hera slapped him on the arm. “I don’t know about this CM Punk guy, I’m not having him. His look doesn’t say to me straight-edge, it says I’m on more upper and downers than the lot of you, and one day you’ll find me dribbling in a phone box. No, I’m not feeling all this with Jeff. I like Jeff. He seems cool.”
Tori said, “Jeff’s been in some real trouble, man. It’s no joke, but–”
Hera snatched the joint from Tori and barked, “Fucking Fed eh, Alf?”
“Fucking Fed.”
This was something they had taken to saying after their latest June try-out had returned the same result as the year before.
“But, Jackie,” Alf now slurred, his arm draped around Tori. “You weren’t arsed when it was Lita and her real-life shit.”
“Neither were you,” Hera replied. “What did you call her? Demonic cow. Something like that. Probably worse.”
Tori said, “I was saying, Masters told me Jeff’s buzzed to use his real shit in story. He’s a creative soul is Jeff.”
Hera: “Give it a rest, Dirtsheet Dorothy.” Alf couldn’t help chuckle until Tori glared at him. Meanwhile, Punk went on: “Unlike you, Jeff, this is the only foreign substance I will allow in my body, so if you want to imitate me, why don’t you try living a clean lifestyle? Why don’t you try living a straight edge lifestyle?”
Alf leaned forward, joint in mouth, smoke curling round his face, and studied the TV images. “Back in the day, Lita looked awkward as hell. Jeff does look fine with it, I’d say.”
“You can’t tell,” Dave said.
“I can, I can fucking spot the realness. It’s in their eyes. Can’t I, Jackie?”
“You say you can,” she said. “Anyway” – she rested her head on Dave’s shoulder – “I think it’s totally different. Using relationship shit in stories is one thing, but Jeff’s been in ‘real trouble, man’. Like Dirtsheet Dorothy says. And that’s real private shit.”
“You would say that,” Dave laughed, “popping them pills of yours like there’s no tomorrow.”
Hera pushed herself away from him. “Get fucked, Dave. No, I’m not laughing, mate. I’ve been with a fucked knee for over a year. Look at it.” Wearing denim shorts, she presented her bare knees to the room. “See how that one looks different to that one? Fucking cunt, Dave.”
“Christ, Jackie,” Dave said, “I was only jesting.” He offered her the joint but she refused. “I don’t give a shit how many pills you pop,” he said. “Who am I to fucking judge? I still owe Georgy for that gram the other night.”
Tori announced they should go to bed, and helped Alf to stand. As Punk spoke again, they all momentarily shifted focus back to the screen: “Jeff, you’ve got two strikes, you know how many I have? Zero. Jeff, you know how many times I’ve been suspended? Zero.”
A scratchy heat had been swarming Hera’s neck every time Tori spoke. Now, after Tori and Punk spoke in quick succession, she couldn’t control herself. “It’s like,” she said, “would I be okay with some grimy, scrawny looking punk going through my medical records on live TV? No, but would I drop into a promo that me and Alf fucked once, if it helped the angle? Sure.”
Tori looked at Alf. “What the fuck?” she mouthed to him. Alf closed his eyes. Silence took the room.
Tori stormed through to Alf’s bedroom, but he had something else to say before following her: “Cheers, Jackie. Fucking cheers for that. But you know what else? Fucking Fed. That’s the fucking Fed for you. They put in a wellness policy to stop any druggie shit, then straight away they’re using it in storylines. Fucking Fed.” He was swaying as he spoke. “Fucking Fed.” He raised a fist to continue his rant, but Tori returned, pulling him to the bedroom.
Work Shoot Confessional 
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