Post by jamesedwards on Sept 19, 2016 22:48:10 GMT -5
A fighter doesn’t like to count his losses. He is never thankful for them or attempts to find a lesson in them besides humility or a shift in tactics, but for once a fighter was grateful for defeat.
James Edwards, professional wrestler, and current haggard traveler fought with his landlord in Wilkes-Barre for weeks about paying out the rest of the lease on the studio apartment he’d rented in January. Apparently, there had to be more than a few days notice. Something about giving him time to clean and get the place in proper order before he turned the keys over.
It was one of the dumbest things James had ever heard. Here he was willing to fork over a few thousand dollars in cash, and his landlord was sticking to her archaic rituals. He cursed her in the past, but as he presently stumbled into space after a late night flight from Puerto Rico, he praised her foresight.
Even better he lost another battle, this one with the city over leaving his mattress on the curb for the trash truck to pick up. A grizzled voice had informed James that a municipal ordinance forbade it. He would either have to bring the object in question to the dump or sell it privately. Of course, the dump only accepted mattresses during the summer months. What was once an inconvenience now provided James with a soft place to rest for the night.
While some of life’s small defeats turned out to be a blessing in disguise, James refused to allow that mindset to poison his competitive edge. He needed a reminder of why refused to lose in the ring, especially this week. A pep talk was needed, hence why he eyed his phone lying on the bare carpet floor.
He crossed the room, scooped it up and found his recording app of choice. It was time to talk and remind not only himself but his opponents of the stakes this week's fight carried for the man known as the Burning Heart.
_____________________
“If I’ve learned anything from the little company that can in Scranton, Pennsylvania aka North Atlantic Wrestling it is to expect the unexpected. My fight with Noah Hanson two weeks ago on Meltdown was supposed to be a one-time deal. Win, lose or draw I was gonna walk out of the arena satisfied with my performance. I didn’t and still don’t think that was much to ask for, especially since with the exception of Noah and maybe the Mid-South Syndicate nobody on the roster should have a problem with me. But dumb on me because that is an easy way of thinkin’ and wrestling is anything but simple.
Cause’ there I was layin’ on my back in the middle of the ring staring up at the lovely metal girders high up in the arena and thinking about what I had to do to put Hanson to bed. Then a funny thing happened on the way to a conclusion: two pieces of pig shit parading around like grown men arrived on the scene and interrupted my fight. I don’t give a damn about the attack or the justification for it because Phoenix and Hollywood took a very simple wish of mine and made it fuckin’ beyond complicated.
I’ve made my reason for coming back crystal clear and it ain’t to fool around. Guys like Hollywood and Phoenix are nothing but distractions. They get off on that shit. Nobody knows why but them, and it is a waste of time trying to figure it out. Real fighters don’t have a chance to dedicate themselves to jerkin’ off at their perceived greatness like Rocky does or fightin’ some vague revolution like Phoenix. We love to compete and don’t like it when our pride is bruised. Rocky and Jason don’t get that. They are flawed individuals lookin’ for a pat on the back in a sport that is finally starting to pull its way off of the carnie circuit. Take away their side show acts and the spotlight wouldn’t be on them long at all.
When I look at the situation from that perspective it is obvious why those two couldn’t respect a beautiful thing like a fight for pride. They don’t understand, and it scares them. So they had to try to destroy because neither of em’ knows what to do with any sensation outside of hubris. That’s the same reason I know that they don’t get what kind of hornet’s nest they kicked.
I ain’t some dog chasin’ a car in circles, and I fuckin’ hate it when people force me to do that. Wars of personal attrition have taken a toll on my mental health. They make a man hate for no damn reason and take the best parts of him and feed them to the wolves. Having to go through Rocky and Phoenix are putting me on the cusp of walkin’ that kinda trail again. I don’t gotta a choice though. If I want my one-on-one with Noah Hanson, then I’ve got to get through my next two matches unscathed and to get through this one I have to depend on the man who despises me as much as I despise him.
Contrary to what Noah Hanson thinks, I don’t have any intention of screwin’ him over during the match. I’m not into that petty shit. I want to finish my issue with him in the ring like a man. Why else would I put myself through all of this if I wasn’t dedicated to that idea? I’m sticking around NAW purely for that reason. It is why I re-signed. I don’t want titles or accolades, at least not yet. I just wanna finish the fight I started two weeks ago.
Something tells me Noah wants the same thing. So for one week and one week only, I’m willing to put our differences aside so we can get Hollywood and Phoenix out of the way because that is the kind of man that I am. I hope Noah can do the same, which is a real possibility in a place where I've come to expect the norm not to apply."
_____________________
James felt an odd sensation as he cut the recording off--he’d prepare it for mass consumption the morning--and slunk down on the to bare mattress. The notion swirled in his head for a bit before its birth as a question: was the attack by Hollywood and Phoenix really a bad thing?
If it weren't for them, he would never have stormed into Alex Morgan’s office with the intent of demanding a rematch and then accepted a new deal with NAW. Without the deal he wouldn’t be in this bare apartment, feeling gratitude for the first time in ages.
He was sure he could never respect either of them as people or competitors, but their short-sighted actions proved to be a personal boon for him.
The last month hadn’t been easy on James. With Fight One’s closure and his break with the UWL, his professional life felt shaky at best. His new homes in Texas, and Atlantic City still felt like Martian soil. NAW didn’t feel as barren to him. He had a rich past in the company. Management still thought he was an asset. The place felt cozy. It felt like...home.
Home, that was a word he hadn’t used in a good long while. He would not let himself say it. It was dangerous for a person who plied their trade on the road. Yet he didn’t care as he lay his head down and surrendered himself to the Sandman’s song.
This apartment, the city, and even the promotion were his home, an idea he very much liked.
James Edwards, professional wrestler, and current haggard traveler fought with his landlord in Wilkes-Barre for weeks about paying out the rest of the lease on the studio apartment he’d rented in January. Apparently, there had to be more than a few days notice. Something about giving him time to clean and get the place in proper order before he turned the keys over.
It was one of the dumbest things James had ever heard. Here he was willing to fork over a few thousand dollars in cash, and his landlord was sticking to her archaic rituals. He cursed her in the past, but as he presently stumbled into space after a late night flight from Puerto Rico, he praised her foresight.
Even better he lost another battle, this one with the city over leaving his mattress on the curb for the trash truck to pick up. A grizzled voice had informed James that a municipal ordinance forbade it. He would either have to bring the object in question to the dump or sell it privately. Of course, the dump only accepted mattresses during the summer months. What was once an inconvenience now provided James with a soft place to rest for the night.
While some of life’s small defeats turned out to be a blessing in disguise, James refused to allow that mindset to poison his competitive edge. He needed a reminder of why refused to lose in the ring, especially this week. A pep talk was needed, hence why he eyed his phone lying on the bare carpet floor.
He crossed the room, scooped it up and found his recording app of choice. It was time to talk and remind not only himself but his opponents of the stakes this week's fight carried for the man known as the Burning Heart.
_____________________
“If I’ve learned anything from the little company that can in Scranton, Pennsylvania aka North Atlantic Wrestling it is to expect the unexpected. My fight with Noah Hanson two weeks ago on Meltdown was supposed to be a one-time deal. Win, lose or draw I was gonna walk out of the arena satisfied with my performance. I didn’t and still don’t think that was much to ask for, especially since with the exception of Noah and maybe the Mid-South Syndicate nobody on the roster should have a problem with me. But dumb on me because that is an easy way of thinkin’ and wrestling is anything but simple.
Cause’ there I was layin’ on my back in the middle of the ring staring up at the lovely metal girders high up in the arena and thinking about what I had to do to put Hanson to bed. Then a funny thing happened on the way to a conclusion: two pieces of pig shit parading around like grown men arrived on the scene and interrupted my fight. I don’t give a damn about the attack or the justification for it because Phoenix and Hollywood took a very simple wish of mine and made it fuckin’ beyond complicated.
I’ve made my reason for coming back crystal clear and it ain’t to fool around. Guys like Hollywood and Phoenix are nothing but distractions. They get off on that shit. Nobody knows why but them, and it is a waste of time trying to figure it out. Real fighters don’t have a chance to dedicate themselves to jerkin’ off at their perceived greatness like Rocky does or fightin’ some vague revolution like Phoenix. We love to compete and don’t like it when our pride is bruised. Rocky and Jason don’t get that. They are flawed individuals lookin’ for a pat on the back in a sport that is finally starting to pull its way off of the carnie circuit. Take away their side show acts and the spotlight wouldn’t be on them long at all.
When I look at the situation from that perspective it is obvious why those two couldn’t respect a beautiful thing like a fight for pride. They don’t understand, and it scares them. So they had to try to destroy because neither of em’ knows what to do with any sensation outside of hubris. That’s the same reason I know that they don’t get what kind of hornet’s nest they kicked.
I ain’t some dog chasin’ a car in circles, and I fuckin’ hate it when people force me to do that. Wars of personal attrition have taken a toll on my mental health. They make a man hate for no damn reason and take the best parts of him and feed them to the wolves. Having to go through Rocky and Phoenix are putting me on the cusp of walkin’ that kinda trail again. I don’t gotta a choice though. If I want my one-on-one with Noah Hanson, then I’ve got to get through my next two matches unscathed and to get through this one I have to depend on the man who despises me as much as I despise him.
Contrary to what Noah Hanson thinks, I don’t have any intention of screwin’ him over during the match. I’m not into that petty shit. I want to finish my issue with him in the ring like a man. Why else would I put myself through all of this if I wasn’t dedicated to that idea? I’m sticking around NAW purely for that reason. It is why I re-signed. I don’t want titles or accolades, at least not yet. I just wanna finish the fight I started two weeks ago.
Something tells me Noah wants the same thing. So for one week and one week only, I’m willing to put our differences aside so we can get Hollywood and Phoenix out of the way because that is the kind of man that I am. I hope Noah can do the same, which is a real possibility in a place where I've come to expect the norm not to apply."
_____________________
James felt an odd sensation as he cut the recording off--he’d prepare it for mass consumption the morning--and slunk down on the to bare mattress. The notion swirled in his head for a bit before its birth as a question: was the attack by Hollywood and Phoenix really a bad thing?
If it weren't for them, he would never have stormed into Alex Morgan’s office with the intent of demanding a rematch and then accepted a new deal with NAW. Without the deal he wouldn’t be in this bare apartment, feeling gratitude for the first time in ages.
He was sure he could never respect either of them as people or competitors, but their short-sighted actions proved to be a personal boon for him.
The last month hadn’t been easy on James. With Fight One’s closure and his break with the UWL, his professional life felt shaky at best. His new homes in Texas, and Atlantic City still felt like Martian soil. NAW didn’t feel as barren to him. He had a rich past in the company. Management still thought he was an asset. The place felt cozy. It felt like...home.
Home, that was a word he hadn’t used in a good long while. He would not let himself say it. It was dangerous for a person who plied their trade on the road. Yet he didn’t care as he lay his head down and surrendered himself to the Sandman’s song.
This apartment, the city, and even the promotion were his home, an idea he very much liked.