Post by jamesedwards on Feb 3, 2016 22:33:02 GMT -5
What are you loyal to, Cross Recoba? Family? Money? Your own sense of self-importance?
Something tells me that even you did answer my question it would be a fuckin’ lie. I don’t think anybody I asked would give me an honest answer.
I know that is a pretty damn cynical way to the see the world, but that’s just the way it is. Nobody wants to admit to be real; nobody wants to reveal their true colors anymore.
What I think is pretty goddamn funny is that the harder people try the easier it is to read them like a menu from the Waffle House.
________________________________________________________
Loyalty is encoded in the Edwards’ family DNA. My great-grandfather got a bullet put in his head for not snitching on his buddies. My daddy stood up to a no good woman in the name of friendship. Now I was back in Lowell, Massachusetts to support my friend and tag partner despite everything that happened to me there.
All that sounds swell until the shine wears off the story and you realize they the Edwards’ legendary loyalty is coated in cow shit. My great grandfather was in the pockets,or a crooked sheriff and ended up dead because he lied on the stand for a bastard deputy who raped some poor guy’s wife. I don't blame the husband for wanting justice when the courts failed him. Daddy verbally beat down my mom when she kicked his gang of drunk losers out of the house. As much as I hate her for abandoning me, I understand she left to get away from him.
So I bet you are wondering where is the shit on my shine?
The answer to that question: I’m a fucking coward who didn't have the balls to say goodbye to one of the only friends I made in Fight One.
It’s why I was in the crowd instead of in Vic’s corner.
_________________________________________
If you wanna’ know where a man’s loyalties lie, then you gotta’ watch him like a hawk.
I’ve been watchin’ you, Cross. I know that sounds fuckin’ creepy but oh well, who the fuck cares?
It was really damn easy for me to see where your loyalty is. You bow down to your own image and expect other people to do the same. Shit man, you must really think you walk on water if you expect to go out in front of a crowd of people and humiliate a kid without a thought of repercussion. Hell, you must think your balls are made of steel to get yourself disqualified and still proclaim you’re the real deal.
I’ve fought your type before; I’ve won and lost to em’ plenty of times over the course of my career. All of ya’ are the same. You talk shit, and if you lose then it is a fuckin’ travesty and by god you won’t let us forget it. If you win it’s a victory worthy of comparison to Gettysburg.
I really don’t give a damn how you want to act because if you carry that attitude into our fight then, I’ll just do what I’ve always done.
You can ask a long list of vain motherfuckers what it was like to try and fool around with James Edwards in the ring. Most of them will tell you they had blender a gas station burrito for a week. Wanna’ know why? Because there is only one thing I’m loyal to, the Fight.
____________________________________________________________
This isn’t a story about two lost men that find meaning in their friendship with one another. Victor Wylde and I each wanted something the other could offer.
In my case, I was tired of having someone jump me from behind every week. I had two choices, quit Fight One or find someone to watch my back. Honestly, at that point in my career, I was better off quitting. My mouth and willingness to do jobs for the crooked boss of the promotion, Aidan Morag, hadn’t won me many admirers in the locker room.
Vic’s reasoning was different. He’s a former amateur boxing star and made a slight dent fighting overseas in Thailand. When he decided to wrestle it would seem logical promoters would be beating down his door to sign him. They didn’t and that’s where the other side of Vic’s story begins.
“The Wylde Thing” spent a number of years in Japan as a Yakuza enforcer under the direction of Tommy Fujita. Of course, no one could prove the rumors were true, but that didn’t stop Vic from seeing himself as tainted goods. He craved legitimacy the only way a wrestler knows how to get it and that is by winning gold.
I sought him out and offered to help bring him tag team glory in exchange for watching my back. He agreed. Neither of us thought we would end up as friends.
__________________________________________________
The Fight is what I live,by it’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a god. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. It is not hard to understand.
Life outside the Fight is complicated as fuck. People hurt and lie to you. The folks you give a fuck about die and leave you alone. I don’t get why that has to happen but in the Fight the world is simple. There is some fuck across the ring from you and the only way to survive is to defeat him.
Whatever hurts me on the outside I take into the ring with me. I use it as fuckin’ gasoline and just when the time is right I light a match and set my opponent on fire.
That’s the kind of man you are gonna’ be facing soon, Cross. An arsonist with a lot of hate in his heart. You respect me and you respect the Fight you have nothing to worry about. You disrespect me and my creed, and I’ll burn that hollow house you call an existence to the ground.
__________________________________________________________________________
It turns out that the “Strike Team”, our terrible but catchy name, was a hit in and out of the ring. We rarely lost and when we did the other team came out of the fight black and blue. When we weren't on the clock Tommy and Victor were the family I wished I’d had in my teenage years.
Did they have shady pasts? Yes. Where we as different as night and day? Yes. Did I care? Fuck no, I didn’t.
Tommy always lent me an ear when I needed one and shared my love of late night trips to 24 hour diners.
Vic was like an older brother...he kicked my ass when we spared and dished out tough love advice.
Things were great until I lost my head.
The differences in our personalities aligned themselves well with how Fight One viewed each of us.
Brash, confident and handsome, the backstage brass viewed Vic as a future star. If he kept his mouth shut that is.
Me, well the company really didn’t have any plans for me. I’m quiet and keep my trap shut---for the most part---so it’s easy to see why the whispers in the back indicated I’d be a company man but nothing else.
I knew then and still think I’m better than that. I wanted to prove it. So, like an idiot, I called out some of the biggest names in the company on Twitter. The folks on my hit list were not amused and complained to management. Or, I think they did. Either way I pissed someone off.
I had two options, apologize or quit; so I left without a word to Tommy or Vic.
I’ve ignored so many texts, voice mails and direct messages on social media from the, two each one stored on my phone feels like another step towards fulfilling the self destructive prophecies common in my family.
As a sit here in a terrible seat I bought off a scalper on the corner, I can’t help but think what a coward I am. A man that let me into his life is in a fight against the company’s resident monster, Damion Darkside, and I am here to support him but I’m just too much of a chicken shit to let him know. I’m too ashamed to admit that my pride got the best of me and I bailed on him for purely selfish reasons. I can’t face him, what will I tell him? That I’m just being an Edwards and am following the family tradition: one bad choice after another, fueled by my own narcissism.
What a good, loyal fucking friend I am.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/216/cross-recoba-james-edwards#ixzz3zAO9IWus
Something tells me that even you did answer my question it would be a fuckin’ lie. I don’t think anybody I asked would give me an honest answer.
I know that is a pretty damn cynical way to the see the world, but that’s just the way it is. Nobody wants to admit to be real; nobody wants to reveal their true colors anymore.
What I think is pretty goddamn funny is that the harder people try the easier it is to read them like a menu from the Waffle House.
________________________________________________________
Loyalty is encoded in the Edwards’ family DNA. My great-grandfather got a bullet put in his head for not snitching on his buddies. My daddy stood up to a no good woman in the name of friendship. Now I was back in Lowell, Massachusetts to support my friend and tag partner despite everything that happened to me there.
All that sounds swell until the shine wears off the story and you realize they the Edwards’ legendary loyalty is coated in cow shit. My great grandfather was in the pockets,or a crooked sheriff and ended up dead because he lied on the stand for a bastard deputy who raped some poor guy’s wife. I don't blame the husband for wanting justice when the courts failed him. Daddy verbally beat down my mom when she kicked his gang of drunk losers out of the house. As much as I hate her for abandoning me, I understand she left to get away from him.
So I bet you are wondering where is the shit on my shine?
The answer to that question: I’m a fucking coward who didn't have the balls to say goodbye to one of the only friends I made in Fight One.
It’s why I was in the crowd instead of in Vic’s corner.
_________________________________________
If you wanna’ know where a man’s loyalties lie, then you gotta’ watch him like a hawk.
I’ve been watchin’ you, Cross. I know that sounds fuckin’ creepy but oh well, who the fuck cares?
It was really damn easy for me to see where your loyalty is. You bow down to your own image and expect other people to do the same. Shit man, you must really think you walk on water if you expect to go out in front of a crowd of people and humiliate a kid without a thought of repercussion. Hell, you must think your balls are made of steel to get yourself disqualified and still proclaim you’re the real deal.
I’ve fought your type before; I’ve won and lost to em’ plenty of times over the course of my career. All of ya’ are the same. You talk shit, and if you lose then it is a fuckin’ travesty and by god you won’t let us forget it. If you win it’s a victory worthy of comparison to Gettysburg.
I really don’t give a damn how you want to act because if you carry that attitude into our fight then, I’ll just do what I’ve always done.
You can ask a long list of vain motherfuckers what it was like to try and fool around with James Edwards in the ring. Most of them will tell you they had blender a gas station burrito for a week. Wanna’ know why? Because there is only one thing I’m loyal to, the Fight.
____________________________________________________________
This isn’t a story about two lost men that find meaning in their friendship with one another. Victor Wylde and I each wanted something the other could offer.
In my case, I was tired of having someone jump me from behind every week. I had two choices, quit Fight One or find someone to watch my back. Honestly, at that point in my career, I was better off quitting. My mouth and willingness to do jobs for the crooked boss of the promotion, Aidan Morag, hadn’t won me many admirers in the locker room.
Vic’s reasoning was different. He’s a former amateur boxing star and made a slight dent fighting overseas in Thailand. When he decided to wrestle it would seem logical promoters would be beating down his door to sign him. They didn’t and that’s where the other side of Vic’s story begins.
“The Wylde Thing” spent a number of years in Japan as a Yakuza enforcer under the direction of Tommy Fujita. Of course, no one could prove the rumors were true, but that didn’t stop Vic from seeing himself as tainted goods. He craved legitimacy the only way a wrestler knows how to get it and that is by winning gold.
I sought him out and offered to help bring him tag team glory in exchange for watching my back. He agreed. Neither of us thought we would end up as friends.
__________________________________________________
The Fight is what I live,by it’s the closest thing I’ll ever have to a god. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me. It is not hard to understand.
Life outside the Fight is complicated as fuck. People hurt and lie to you. The folks you give a fuck about die and leave you alone. I don’t get why that has to happen but in the Fight the world is simple. There is some fuck across the ring from you and the only way to survive is to defeat him.
Whatever hurts me on the outside I take into the ring with me. I use it as fuckin’ gasoline and just when the time is right I light a match and set my opponent on fire.
That’s the kind of man you are gonna’ be facing soon, Cross. An arsonist with a lot of hate in his heart. You respect me and you respect the Fight you have nothing to worry about. You disrespect me and my creed, and I’ll burn that hollow house you call an existence to the ground.
__________________________________________________________________________
It turns out that the “Strike Team”, our terrible but catchy name, was a hit in and out of the ring. We rarely lost and when we did the other team came out of the fight black and blue. When we weren't on the clock Tommy and Victor were the family I wished I’d had in my teenage years.
Did they have shady pasts? Yes. Where we as different as night and day? Yes. Did I care? Fuck no, I didn’t.
Tommy always lent me an ear when I needed one and shared my love of late night trips to 24 hour diners.
Vic was like an older brother...he kicked my ass when we spared and dished out tough love advice.
Things were great until I lost my head.
The differences in our personalities aligned themselves well with how Fight One viewed each of us.
Brash, confident and handsome, the backstage brass viewed Vic as a future star. If he kept his mouth shut that is.
Me, well the company really didn’t have any plans for me. I’m quiet and keep my trap shut---for the most part---so it’s easy to see why the whispers in the back indicated I’d be a company man but nothing else.
I knew then and still think I’m better than that. I wanted to prove it. So, like an idiot, I called out some of the biggest names in the company on Twitter. The folks on my hit list were not amused and complained to management. Or, I think they did. Either way I pissed someone off.
I had two options, apologize or quit; so I left without a word to Tommy or Vic.
I’ve ignored so many texts, voice mails and direct messages on social media from the, two each one stored on my phone feels like another step towards fulfilling the self destructive prophecies common in my family.
As a sit here in a terrible seat I bought off a scalper on the corner, I can’t help but think what a coward I am. A man that let me into his life is in a fight against the company’s resident monster, Damion Darkside, and I am here to support him but I’m just too much of a chicken shit to let him know. I’m too ashamed to admit that my pride got the best of me and I bailed on him for purely selfish reasons. I can’t face him, what will I tell him? That I’m just being an Edwards and am following the family tradition: one bad choice after another, fueled by my own narcissism.
What a good, loyal fucking friend I am.
Read more: officialpurepro.boards.net/thread/216/cross-recoba-james-edwards#ixzz3zAO9IWus