Post by jamesedwards on Feb 11, 2016 23:40:46 GMT -5
There’s something riveting about making a man quit. Everytime I collect a submission victory in the ring I get my mind or my body still. A primal feeling runs up and down my spine; I pace a lot backstage like a rodeo bull in a pen. It feel so damn good, maybe too good.
I’m dangerous when I’m in that state. I wanna’ put somebody else down. I’ll seek out an unneeded fight if need be. So I stay away from other fighters for half an hour. I pour water down my usually parched throat and on top of my head. I breathe in and out so hard a passerby would think I’m having a fucking asthma attack.
Here I am in the bowels of the venue where that North Atlantic Wrestling calls home. As I come down off my high I still feel good. I promised Trenton, no last name, that if he didn’t put take our fight seriously that either his head was going to get punted off or I would choke him out. I ended up choking the chickenshit out. For once, I was a man of my word. I think that’s a victory within itself.
What I didn’t expect tonight was to see a man walk away from his corporate captors and reclaim his freedom. That doesn’t happen very often in this business, well at least I haven’t seen it much in my short stay in it.
It ain’t easy to tell the boss to fuck off, but that’s exactly what Bohannon did. I don’t know much about the guy except that he has a shady reputation for doing the bidding of our promoter, Alice White.
I’d had that same reputation in my early days in Fight One. It’s not fun to be known as the boss’s pet. No one trusts you even if you reform ya’ ways. The locker room turns a blind eye if somebody kicks the shit out of you or steals your gear bag.
It’s a pretty fucking lonely existence.
While I’m strolling down that pathetic path of my memory I spy someone coming towards me. It’s Bohannon. He doesn’t see me. Good. I really don’t want to be fucked with, but by the looks of him he doesn’t want to be either.
The son of a bitch keeps sighing. Hell, I know what causes that kind of sigh. The motherfucker knows he’s in over his head. I reckon his decision wasn’t well thought. Any second now he is going to have second thoughts about what he did tonight. I hope to hell he ain’t. There is nothing worse than being a corporate slave--well being the promotion’s black sheep ain’t that great either. Maybe ole’ Bohannon needs a pep talk, he just doesn’t need it from me.
Ah hell, don’t tell me I’m gonna’ go over and say something to him. Fuck...I really wanna’ be a man of my word...I don’t wanna break the promise I made to myself that I’m gonna’ fuck around with anybody. That just brings me a helluva lot of pain and inconvenience. So why the fuck are my feet starting to move? Am I really gonna’ do this? Yep, looks like it. Fuck me.
Bohannon sees me walking his way. He shoots me a look that tells me I better say something quick or there is gonna’ be trouble.
“Hey brother, listen I ain’t here for trouble. I just wanted to say ya’ did the right damn thing tonight. That’s all”, I say.
I don’t even give the courtesy of letting him respond. I ain’t here or anywhere to make friends. Still, I don’t feel like shit. Hell, I may not be a man of my word but I feel like I did the right thing.
I smile as I walk into the shadows. Still, a thought eats away in the back of my head, is this gonna’ come back to bite me in the ass?
_______________________________________________________
“Aight, so last week didn’t go so well for me. Cross Recoba beat my ass up and down the ring in front of the good people of Shreveport. The beating and the loss don’t bother me that much. Those come and go. What kills me about last week is that I came across as a damn liar.
So far, y’all have just heard me banter about lovin’ to fight. I promise I’m not some one dimensional motherfucker. Wanna’ know something else about me? I hate to fuckin’ lie. I hate it when people think I lie. I’m an open book. I don’t need to hide who I am behind some shady motives. So what I’m about to say is the one hundred percent, Goddamn truth.
I wanted to beat Recoba’s ass last week. All that shit talkin’ he did about me, well I wanted him to remember little ole’ me. A couple of bruises here or there what of done it. Maybe a limp. Just enough damage to show him and anybody else that thinks I’m a Karate Kid wannabe that I’m damn real.
I didn’t do that at Wicked 3 but I sure as fuck am at Wicked 4.
I have no problem walking into this match blind. Actually, I fuckin’ love the idea that I don’t know a single damn person in it. I’m not gonna’ have time to strategize or any shit like that. I’m gonna have to fight in the moment and find a way to survive. That’s livin’ to me. Gettin’ thrown to the wolves and seein’ if you slaughter those assholes. It gives me goosebumps just thinkin’ about it.
I promise to whoever volunteers to fight in this match that your ass is gonna’ be an example. I’m at my most dangerous when people doubt me. Anything y’all accrue in this fight that’s gonna’ make you say ‘ouch’ is gonna’ help me back up that statement.
Here is something else about me: I’m an ambitious man. I wanted to be the first Pure Champion. That ain’t gonna happen. I’m fine with that. I do have a chance to be the first challenger for the new champion though. Now, I’m not stupid. I know that I’m in the back of the line for that. Again, I’m fine with that. I have no problem clawin’ my way to the top of the heap. Going through however many fighters in this match is a damn good way to embark on that journey.
Whether either of the things I wanna’ happen in this match actually do or not is unknown, but by the end of this fight every fan and every member of the PAW locker room is gonn’a find out that I’m not liar; I’m a man of my fuckin’ word.”
I’m dangerous when I’m in that state. I wanna’ put somebody else down. I’ll seek out an unneeded fight if need be. So I stay away from other fighters for half an hour. I pour water down my usually parched throat and on top of my head. I breathe in and out so hard a passerby would think I’m having a fucking asthma attack.
Here I am in the bowels of the venue where that North Atlantic Wrestling calls home. As I come down off my high I still feel good. I promised Trenton, no last name, that if he didn’t put take our fight seriously that either his head was going to get punted off or I would choke him out. I ended up choking the chickenshit out. For once, I was a man of my word. I think that’s a victory within itself.
What I didn’t expect tonight was to see a man walk away from his corporate captors and reclaim his freedom. That doesn’t happen very often in this business, well at least I haven’t seen it much in my short stay in it.
It ain’t easy to tell the boss to fuck off, but that’s exactly what Bohannon did. I don’t know much about the guy except that he has a shady reputation for doing the bidding of our promoter, Alice White.
I’d had that same reputation in my early days in Fight One. It’s not fun to be known as the boss’s pet. No one trusts you even if you reform ya’ ways. The locker room turns a blind eye if somebody kicks the shit out of you or steals your gear bag.
It’s a pretty fucking lonely existence.
While I’m strolling down that pathetic path of my memory I spy someone coming towards me. It’s Bohannon. He doesn’t see me. Good. I really don’t want to be fucked with, but by the looks of him he doesn’t want to be either.
The son of a bitch keeps sighing. Hell, I know what causes that kind of sigh. The motherfucker knows he’s in over his head. I reckon his decision wasn’t well thought. Any second now he is going to have second thoughts about what he did tonight. I hope to hell he ain’t. There is nothing worse than being a corporate slave--well being the promotion’s black sheep ain’t that great either. Maybe ole’ Bohannon needs a pep talk, he just doesn’t need it from me.
Ah hell, don’t tell me I’m gonna’ go over and say something to him. Fuck...I really wanna’ be a man of my word...I don’t wanna break the promise I made to myself that I’m gonna’ fuck around with anybody. That just brings me a helluva lot of pain and inconvenience. So why the fuck are my feet starting to move? Am I really gonna’ do this? Yep, looks like it. Fuck me.
Bohannon sees me walking his way. He shoots me a look that tells me I better say something quick or there is gonna’ be trouble.
“Hey brother, listen I ain’t here for trouble. I just wanted to say ya’ did the right damn thing tonight. That’s all”, I say.
I don’t even give the courtesy of letting him respond. I ain’t here or anywhere to make friends. Still, I don’t feel like shit. Hell, I may not be a man of my word but I feel like I did the right thing.
I smile as I walk into the shadows. Still, a thought eats away in the back of my head, is this gonna’ come back to bite me in the ass?
_______________________________________________________
“Aight, so last week didn’t go so well for me. Cross Recoba beat my ass up and down the ring in front of the good people of Shreveport. The beating and the loss don’t bother me that much. Those come and go. What kills me about last week is that I came across as a damn liar.
So far, y’all have just heard me banter about lovin’ to fight. I promise I’m not some one dimensional motherfucker. Wanna’ know something else about me? I hate to fuckin’ lie. I hate it when people think I lie. I’m an open book. I don’t need to hide who I am behind some shady motives. So what I’m about to say is the one hundred percent, Goddamn truth.
I wanted to beat Recoba’s ass last week. All that shit talkin’ he did about me, well I wanted him to remember little ole’ me. A couple of bruises here or there what of done it. Maybe a limp. Just enough damage to show him and anybody else that thinks I’m a Karate Kid wannabe that I’m damn real.
I didn’t do that at Wicked 3 but I sure as fuck am at Wicked 4.
I have no problem walking into this match blind. Actually, I fuckin’ love the idea that I don’t know a single damn person in it. I’m not gonna’ have time to strategize or any shit like that. I’m gonna have to fight in the moment and find a way to survive. That’s livin’ to me. Gettin’ thrown to the wolves and seein’ if you slaughter those assholes. It gives me goosebumps just thinkin’ about it.
I promise to whoever volunteers to fight in this match that your ass is gonna’ be an example. I’m at my most dangerous when people doubt me. Anything y’all accrue in this fight that’s gonna’ make you say ‘ouch’ is gonna’ help me back up that statement.
Here is something else about me: I’m an ambitious man. I wanted to be the first Pure Champion. That ain’t gonna happen. I’m fine with that. I do have a chance to be the first challenger for the new champion though. Now, I’m not stupid. I know that I’m in the back of the line for that. Again, I’m fine with that. I have no problem clawin’ my way to the top of the heap. Going through however many fighters in this match is a damn good way to embark on that journey.
Whether either of the things I wanna’ happen in this match actually do or not is unknown, but by the end of this fight every fan and every member of the PAW locker room is gonn’a find out that I’m not liar; I’m a man of my fuckin’ word.”