Post by jamesedwards on Apr 18, 2016 0:41:55 GMT -5
Two Weeks Ago in Wilkes-Barre, PA
The feeling of nausea snaked its way from the depths of his stomach to the tips of his digits to the edge of his cranium. He couldn’t look at them. The tights, the gloves or the jacket. They’d brought him nothing but bad luck for the last month.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A lovely deep breath always settled him when illogical thoughts threatened to occupy his mind.
The last month in North Atlantic had not been easy for him. He’d honestly thought he was ready for the top half of the card. Scratch that; he was confident that he would succeed.
Momentary flashes of Alice Harris’s groggy swinging STO and Noah Hanson’s elbow drop from above delivered with that creepy shit eating grin melted away any lingering the memories of his self-assurance stirred up. Sure, he thought, two losses didn’t define him, but it also didn’t bode well for the nightmare that awaited him in two weeks, the Prison Yard Match.
The contest would be a hell house created by an architect with a shallow well of sanity to draw from; the kind of match that you couldn’t walk into with blood oozing out of your side, even if was metaphorical.
There was no doubt in his mind that everyone in the match would be gunning for him. They saw him as the weak link. A pretender. The one who didn’t belong in the fray for the ten pounds of leather and gold. A pin or submission on him would serve as a morale boost to whoever was lucky enough to pounce on him first.
That couldn’t happen. He refused to allow his carcass to be held on high by some brute of an opponent just to scare the other warriors in the ring, but for that to that to happen something needed to change. The sickening feeling needed to be purged from his system, permanently.
He opened his eyes and stared at the pile of clothing in his locker. They had to burn. Specifically, the Burning Heart had to be set on ablaze forever, never to return.
_________________________________
“I don’t think that Alice White or anyone else in North Atlantic management could have asked for a perfect storm the caliber of the one that they are gonna’ get at Spring Breakdown. This Prison Yard match has people talkin’, and the eyes of the world will be set on our little corner of Pennsylvania. Not only are they talkin’ but they are askin’ all kinds of questions about the bloodbath that is inchin’ closer and closer with each tick of the clock.
People are askin’ this about Alice Harris.
Can Alice Harris defy the odds again? Can she put Corey Bull down one more time? Can she embarrass Rocky Hollywood for the umpteenth time?
Folks’ wanna’ know a few things about Rocky Hollywood.
Can Rocky Hollywood finally get the last laugh on Alice Harris? Can he prove is more than just bluster? Is he a man or just another spoiled athlete playin’ tough guy?
This is what is the on the public’s mind about Noah Hanson.
Can he make good on the opportunity he feels like he's been unjustly denied? Is he more than just Alice White’s lapdog? Is he the best that North Atlantic has to offer?
The North Atlantic Nation is wonderin’ these things about one of the South’s favorite sons, Bohannon.
Can he finally shut up Noah Hanson? Can he finally win the big one? Can he co-exist with James Edwards in this match?
Honestly, when it comes to Corey Bull, the only question on anyone’s mind is: who’s he gonna’ put in a pine box?
When it comes to me, I’m sorta’ in the same boat as Corey. There is only one question that the fans are askin’ about James Edwards, why is he even in this match?
Logic usually dictates that I’d be pissed about such a slight. Nobody wants to be seen as or called unworthily. I ain’t most people, though. I have no problem callin’ it as I see it, and I agree. I don’t belong in this match. Everyone has a reason to be in it but me.
Rocky is in it at the urgin’ of the Champ. Nobody is gonna’ deny Alice Harris a fight she craves. Noah, whether you like what the bastard fights for or not, has earned his shot the old fashioned way, by winnin’ seven straight matches. Bohannon has plenty of big wins to earn him a ticket to a title match. Corey has a rematch clause. Not one person should find fault for why those four men shouldn’t get a shot at the Champ.
What the hell have I done? The only chance I got face Alice I lost. I don’t care what the circumstances surrounding the finish are if a man doesn’t win he’s not a contender. If I’d gotten the pin during the main event two weeks ago maybe, just maybe I would’ve agreed that I had a case to be included. That didn’t happen. Noah dropped an elbow on my chest and pinned me cleaner than a Mormon’s conscious.
Two fuckin’ huge chances and I whiffed on both of em’.
Five, that’s how many matches I won in a row when I first came to this company. That’s the longest run I’ve had in my entire career. Trust me, none of em’ were easy fights. I had to go to war in each of them to earn the right to have my hand raised at the end of every single damn one of them. I let the wins go to my head, man. I wanted the biggest fight possible. So I called out the Champ before I was ready and in the process got myself involved in a battle for the soul of the company; one I’ve got no business being in. Here I am, though, on the precipice of my first pay-per-view main event in North Atlantic; my first chance at the Legacy Championship, even though I haven’t earned either. I should feel lucky, but all I can focus on is how much I have to lose.
Let’s step back for a moment. I know y’all watchin’ this at home must think I’m nuts for sayin’ I’m the one with everything to lose but shit look at the accomplishments of everyone else in this match. They are all decorated, competitors. Just look at their resumes. Winnin’ a match like this will just be another bullet point on said resumes. None of them need this win. They may think they do. Hell, I think most everybody else would agree with that. That ain’t the way it is, though. If any of those five other illustrious fuckers go down, they have tomorrow to look forward too. There will be other opportunities. When you have an established reputation though that is what happens; your world is full of tomorrows.
I don’t have that luxury. If I don’t win on Monday there might not be a tomorrow for me for a very long time. Or that’s the way I’ve been trained to think the recently.
For weeks now, despite what I’ve asked, I’ve been hyped up as this super rookie; the man who might carry North Atlantic to greater heights. My recent performances have done little to vindicate that hype. One more loss and I will be just another victim of the hype machine. One more loss and I will be deported back down to the opening match. One more loss and I will be another guy who flew too close to the sun only for his wings to melt because his ambitions grew too quickly. That’s no way to think about your life. No wonder everybody in wrestling ends up going crazy. They spend all their damn time trying to prove someone wrong or trying to be something they are not. I don’t want that to happen to me. Fuck man, I was happier when nobody knew my name in North Atlantic.
Life in the lower card is much simpler. Nobody gives a shit about you. They aren’t gonna’ waste their time planning to beat the shit of you or talkin’ weeks worth of trash leading up to the fight. Everybody's just tryin’ to get by. I like that. The peace of mind and the hunger to succeed. Not having to prove myself with every match. There is no damn pressure. You feel free. That’s a good life in my humble opinion.
I just wanna’ be free. These last few I’ve been bound by expectations to make a splash in main event matches, to prove that sport is not dead in professional wrestling and to represent the Mid-South Syndicate. I don’t like having these obligations and shit thrust on me. man. I just wanna’ fight. That’s what has gotten me this far, fightin’ like I have nothing left. I like that. I’ve never needed another day to fight for. I don’t see why people do. I tried that the last few weeks and it hasn’t worked. So fuck it, I’m doing things my way again.
There is no tomorrow for me after the Prison Yard Match. That’s the way I want it though. One fight at a time. No questions asked or needing to be answered. No grudges needing to be settled. Just five people in front of me waitin’ to thrown down. That’s my life and I think that it is a damn good one, even if I don’t have anything to prove. I prefer it that way.
I’m not Alice Harris. I don’t need to prove that I need to defy the odds or that I’m worthy to be a champion. I’m not Noah Hanson. I don’t think I’ve been screwed at every turn and need to remind the world every five seconds. I’m not Corey Bull. You won’t see me entering a fight just to hurt people. I’m not Rocky Hollywood. I don’t give a damn about proving that Alice Harris is a paper champion. Hell, I’m not Bohannon. My past failures don’t matter to me.
When you start trying to answer those questions you are never gonna’ find the answers and your performance in the ring suffers. My last month would’ve gone so much smoother if I hadn’t cared about tryin’ to maintain an impossible to keep image. It’s time to just be me again. Fuck this whole gatecrasher gimmick. Fuck the Burning Heart mantra. All I wanna’ do is fight and become the North Atlantic Legacy Champion. Nothing more and nothing less. If I can do that then I’ll be happy even if I don’t walk away with the belt.”
The feeling of nausea snaked its way from the depths of his stomach to the tips of his digits to the edge of his cranium. He couldn’t look at them. The tights, the gloves or the jacket. They’d brought him nothing but bad luck for the last month.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A lovely deep breath always settled him when illogical thoughts threatened to occupy his mind.
The last month in North Atlantic had not been easy for him. He’d honestly thought he was ready for the top half of the card. Scratch that; he was confident that he would succeed.
Momentary flashes of Alice Harris’s groggy swinging STO and Noah Hanson’s elbow drop from above delivered with that creepy shit eating grin melted away any lingering the memories of his self-assurance stirred up. Sure, he thought, two losses didn’t define him, but it also didn’t bode well for the nightmare that awaited him in two weeks, the Prison Yard Match.
The contest would be a hell house created by an architect with a shallow well of sanity to draw from; the kind of match that you couldn’t walk into with blood oozing out of your side, even if was metaphorical.
There was no doubt in his mind that everyone in the match would be gunning for him. They saw him as the weak link. A pretender. The one who didn’t belong in the fray for the ten pounds of leather and gold. A pin or submission on him would serve as a morale boost to whoever was lucky enough to pounce on him first.
That couldn’t happen. He refused to allow his carcass to be held on high by some brute of an opponent just to scare the other warriors in the ring, but for that to that to happen something needed to change. The sickening feeling needed to be purged from his system, permanently.
He opened his eyes and stared at the pile of clothing in his locker. They had to burn. Specifically, the Burning Heart had to be set on ablaze forever, never to return.
_________________________________
“I don’t think that Alice White or anyone else in North Atlantic management could have asked for a perfect storm the caliber of the one that they are gonna’ get at Spring Breakdown. This Prison Yard match has people talkin’, and the eyes of the world will be set on our little corner of Pennsylvania. Not only are they talkin’ but they are askin’ all kinds of questions about the bloodbath that is inchin’ closer and closer with each tick of the clock.
People are askin’ this about Alice Harris.
Can Alice Harris defy the odds again? Can she put Corey Bull down one more time? Can she embarrass Rocky Hollywood for the umpteenth time?
Folks’ wanna’ know a few things about Rocky Hollywood.
Can Rocky Hollywood finally get the last laugh on Alice Harris? Can he prove is more than just bluster? Is he a man or just another spoiled athlete playin’ tough guy?
This is what is the on the public’s mind about Noah Hanson.
Can he make good on the opportunity he feels like he's been unjustly denied? Is he more than just Alice White’s lapdog? Is he the best that North Atlantic has to offer?
The North Atlantic Nation is wonderin’ these things about one of the South’s favorite sons, Bohannon.
Can he finally shut up Noah Hanson? Can he finally win the big one? Can he co-exist with James Edwards in this match?
Honestly, when it comes to Corey Bull, the only question on anyone’s mind is: who’s he gonna’ put in a pine box?
When it comes to me, I’m sorta’ in the same boat as Corey. There is only one question that the fans are askin’ about James Edwards, why is he even in this match?
Logic usually dictates that I’d be pissed about such a slight. Nobody wants to be seen as or called unworthily. I ain’t most people, though. I have no problem callin’ it as I see it, and I agree. I don’t belong in this match. Everyone has a reason to be in it but me.
Rocky is in it at the urgin’ of the Champ. Nobody is gonna’ deny Alice Harris a fight she craves. Noah, whether you like what the bastard fights for or not, has earned his shot the old fashioned way, by winnin’ seven straight matches. Bohannon has plenty of big wins to earn him a ticket to a title match. Corey has a rematch clause. Not one person should find fault for why those four men shouldn’t get a shot at the Champ.
What the hell have I done? The only chance I got face Alice I lost. I don’t care what the circumstances surrounding the finish are if a man doesn’t win he’s not a contender. If I’d gotten the pin during the main event two weeks ago maybe, just maybe I would’ve agreed that I had a case to be included. That didn’t happen. Noah dropped an elbow on my chest and pinned me cleaner than a Mormon’s conscious.
Two fuckin’ huge chances and I whiffed on both of em’.
Five, that’s how many matches I won in a row when I first came to this company. That’s the longest run I’ve had in my entire career. Trust me, none of em’ were easy fights. I had to go to war in each of them to earn the right to have my hand raised at the end of every single damn one of them. I let the wins go to my head, man. I wanted the biggest fight possible. So I called out the Champ before I was ready and in the process got myself involved in a battle for the soul of the company; one I’ve got no business being in. Here I am, though, on the precipice of my first pay-per-view main event in North Atlantic; my first chance at the Legacy Championship, even though I haven’t earned either. I should feel lucky, but all I can focus on is how much I have to lose.
Let’s step back for a moment. I know y’all watchin’ this at home must think I’m nuts for sayin’ I’m the one with everything to lose but shit look at the accomplishments of everyone else in this match. They are all decorated, competitors. Just look at their resumes. Winnin’ a match like this will just be another bullet point on said resumes. None of them need this win. They may think they do. Hell, I think most everybody else would agree with that. That ain’t the way it is, though. If any of those five other illustrious fuckers go down, they have tomorrow to look forward too. There will be other opportunities. When you have an established reputation though that is what happens; your world is full of tomorrows.
I don’t have that luxury. If I don’t win on Monday there might not be a tomorrow for me for a very long time. Or that’s the way I’ve been trained to think the recently.
For weeks now, despite what I’ve asked, I’ve been hyped up as this super rookie; the man who might carry North Atlantic to greater heights. My recent performances have done little to vindicate that hype. One more loss and I will be just another victim of the hype machine. One more loss and I will be deported back down to the opening match. One more loss and I will be another guy who flew too close to the sun only for his wings to melt because his ambitions grew too quickly. That’s no way to think about your life. No wonder everybody in wrestling ends up going crazy. They spend all their damn time trying to prove someone wrong or trying to be something they are not. I don’t want that to happen to me. Fuck man, I was happier when nobody knew my name in North Atlantic.
Life in the lower card is much simpler. Nobody gives a shit about you. They aren’t gonna’ waste their time planning to beat the shit of you or talkin’ weeks worth of trash leading up to the fight. Everybody's just tryin’ to get by. I like that. The peace of mind and the hunger to succeed. Not having to prove myself with every match. There is no damn pressure. You feel free. That’s a good life in my humble opinion.
I just wanna’ be free. These last few I’ve been bound by expectations to make a splash in main event matches, to prove that sport is not dead in professional wrestling and to represent the Mid-South Syndicate. I don’t like having these obligations and shit thrust on me. man. I just wanna’ fight. That’s what has gotten me this far, fightin’ like I have nothing left. I like that. I’ve never needed another day to fight for. I don’t see why people do. I tried that the last few weeks and it hasn’t worked. So fuck it, I’m doing things my way again.
There is no tomorrow for me after the Prison Yard Match. That’s the way I want it though. One fight at a time. No questions asked or needing to be answered. No grudges needing to be settled. Just five people in front of me waitin’ to thrown down. That’s my life and I think that it is a damn good one, even if I don’t have anything to prove. I prefer it that way.
I’m not Alice Harris. I don’t need to prove that I need to defy the odds or that I’m worthy to be a champion. I’m not Noah Hanson. I don’t think I’ve been screwed at every turn and need to remind the world every five seconds. I’m not Corey Bull. You won’t see me entering a fight just to hurt people. I’m not Rocky Hollywood. I don’t give a damn about proving that Alice Harris is a paper champion. Hell, I’m not Bohannon. My past failures don’t matter to me.
When you start trying to answer those questions you are never gonna’ find the answers and your performance in the ring suffers. My last month would’ve gone so much smoother if I hadn’t cared about tryin’ to maintain an impossible to keep image. It’s time to just be me again. Fuck this whole gatecrasher gimmick. Fuck the Burning Heart mantra. All I wanna’ do is fight and become the North Atlantic Legacy Champion. Nothing more and nothing less. If I can do that then I’ll be happy even if I don’t walk away with the belt.”