Post by jamesedwards on Oct 2, 2016 22:14:08 GMT -5
James knew he was damn lucky that one of the wrestlers on the show in Turks and Caicos hooked him up with a ticket on the last flight off the island before Hurricane Matthew made landfall. Reports on the local news emphasized words like “catastrophic damage” and “record-setting storm surge.” Terms that meteorologist back in Kentucky had no use for.
All day long he’d watched the trees move from a gentle sway when the wind blew to the occasional violent thrashing. The surf had become increasingly choppy as morning turned to evening and he had made his way to the venue.
Why he’d continued with a booking that offered low pay and little exposure escaped him as he dressed and made minor alterations to the kinesthetic tape on his wrist. While he walked to the ring, the sheer lunacy of being there almost made him smile in an ironic kind of way.
He was risking life and limb for one reason, it surprisingly comforted him, to get even with the piece of shit snarling at him in the ring. It wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t sane, but he needed it if he wanted any measure of calm in his life, even if that meant a date with the storm of the year.
_________________________
“I don’t kid myself when I look in the mirror every morning after I take a piss. My face ain’t an innocent one. Barely a year into this sport and I’m strugglin’ to deal with some of the shit that I’ve done to myself and other people. Yeah, I can say that I’m only human and trying to make a livin’ at the only thing I’m good at, and violence is an occupational hazard, but it doesn’t mean that I have to give blind service to it. All I can do is deal with it the best I can.
It’s a helluva lot better than the lie I used to tell myself.
When I was still green behind the ears, before reality threw a brick through my rose-colored view of the fightin’ world, I thought this sport was about honor. Every night, every match was a contest to see who the better man was. My dumb ass believed that merit was the only measuring stick in the business. It didn’t take me long to realize the error of my ways. At its core, this is a petty industry governed by a carnie code of honor, jealousy, and crooked backstage politics.
I ain’t gonna sit here and say I’m some kind of scion of virtue, though. Wrestling and I go together like peas and carrots because I’m as petty as they come.
There isn’t a drop of virtue in my reasoning for re-signing with NAW. I came back because Hanson kept duckin’ me in Fight One and the only way to finally staple his mouth shut was to corner him in the one place he couldn’t run. Once I had em’ in my sites, the plan was to beat him straight up on his home turf and walk away. Revenge like that is pure and so sweet. I still want it, even if though Noah ain’t such a bad guy once you get to know him, and I gotta know which one of us is the better man. The rematch would’ve satisfied my craving.
And now it ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen. Hanson is done for the foreseeable future. I don’t have a reason to be here anymore. Shit, the urge to skip town after Revenge is high, but I ain’t gonna do that. I walked away from this company once. Never again. What little decency I have won’t let me do it.
Still, though man, I’ve got that lust to get even with somebody and Jason Phoenix will do nicely. Jason if I can blame anybody for taking my shot at Hanson away it is you. You beat him before I did, and now you get the last match with him before he leaves. You and Hollywood had the fuckin’ nerve to crash a fight that wasn’t yours. Hollywood got his last week after I pinned him, and it doesn’t take a lot of thinkin’ to figure out who’s turn it is next.
With the throne at the top of the mountain about to be bare, something tells me that you think your win over Hanson automatically qualifies you for that spot, don’t ya Jason? Fuck, you’re undefeated, and nobody’s been able to touch your ass all summer. In a normal world, each of those might entitle you to a shot at the top, but this isn’t an ordinary reality in NAW anymore. The second you screwed me out of my revenge is the moment I decided to come back full time and with my return comes a record that not many people can top around here.
A few months ago, I beat both the Bible Belt Boys in separate fights, the same team that held the tag belts at one point. I smoked Trenton, who had a long reign as NAW Hardcore Champion. I knocked the Armenian Beast the fuck out; he’s the rightful Briefcase of Choice Holder. Last week you had a front row seat to me beatin’ the current Hardcore champ and one of the top contenders to the Legacy Championship. I beat you, and that’s another top name to my credit, then you go to the back of the fuckin’ line.
Ain’t any of that a good reason to fight but fuck logic. Direction, revenge, and the satisfaction of stompin’ on another man’s ambition is just fine for a petty man like me.”
___________________________
The wind and rain wrapped around him like the shawl of an old Gypsy woman he’d once seen on the cover of a book in the school library. It was a miserable sprint from the overhang of the loading dock to the bus that would take the wrestlers back to the hotel. A thorough soaking did little to dampen the dazzling smile James wore on his lips.
One kick to the bastard’s glass jaw, that’s all it took to keep him down. All the talk and all the taunts over social didn’t amount to a hill of beans. James did exactly what he had said he would do, win and win convincingly.
The hurricane could go to hell. His lifelong fear of storms could join it. On this night, he could enjoy the fruits of hunting a man all the way to the ends of what was once the New World and shutting him up for good.
As the bus lurched away into the dark horizon, one thought flickered into James’ mind, for once revenge was totally worth it.
All day long he’d watched the trees move from a gentle sway when the wind blew to the occasional violent thrashing. The surf had become increasingly choppy as morning turned to evening and he had made his way to the venue.
Why he’d continued with a booking that offered low pay and little exposure escaped him as he dressed and made minor alterations to the kinesthetic tape on his wrist. While he walked to the ring, the sheer lunacy of being there almost made him smile in an ironic kind of way.
He was risking life and limb for one reason, it surprisingly comforted him, to get even with the piece of shit snarling at him in the ring. It wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t sane, but he needed it if he wanted any measure of calm in his life, even if that meant a date with the storm of the year.
_________________________
“I don’t kid myself when I look in the mirror every morning after I take a piss. My face ain’t an innocent one. Barely a year into this sport and I’m strugglin’ to deal with some of the shit that I’ve done to myself and other people. Yeah, I can say that I’m only human and trying to make a livin’ at the only thing I’m good at, and violence is an occupational hazard, but it doesn’t mean that I have to give blind service to it. All I can do is deal with it the best I can.
It’s a helluva lot better than the lie I used to tell myself.
When I was still green behind the ears, before reality threw a brick through my rose-colored view of the fightin’ world, I thought this sport was about honor. Every night, every match was a contest to see who the better man was. My dumb ass believed that merit was the only measuring stick in the business. It didn’t take me long to realize the error of my ways. At its core, this is a petty industry governed by a carnie code of honor, jealousy, and crooked backstage politics.
I ain’t gonna sit here and say I’m some kind of scion of virtue, though. Wrestling and I go together like peas and carrots because I’m as petty as they come.
There isn’t a drop of virtue in my reasoning for re-signing with NAW. I came back because Hanson kept duckin’ me in Fight One and the only way to finally staple his mouth shut was to corner him in the one place he couldn’t run. Once I had em’ in my sites, the plan was to beat him straight up on his home turf and walk away. Revenge like that is pure and so sweet. I still want it, even if though Noah ain’t such a bad guy once you get to know him, and I gotta know which one of us is the better man. The rematch would’ve satisfied my craving.
And now it ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen. Hanson is done for the foreseeable future. I don’t have a reason to be here anymore. Shit, the urge to skip town after Revenge is high, but I ain’t gonna do that. I walked away from this company once. Never again. What little decency I have won’t let me do it.
Still, though man, I’ve got that lust to get even with somebody and Jason Phoenix will do nicely. Jason if I can blame anybody for taking my shot at Hanson away it is you. You beat him before I did, and now you get the last match with him before he leaves. You and Hollywood had the fuckin’ nerve to crash a fight that wasn’t yours. Hollywood got his last week after I pinned him, and it doesn’t take a lot of thinkin’ to figure out who’s turn it is next.
With the throne at the top of the mountain about to be bare, something tells me that you think your win over Hanson automatically qualifies you for that spot, don’t ya Jason? Fuck, you’re undefeated, and nobody’s been able to touch your ass all summer. In a normal world, each of those might entitle you to a shot at the top, but this isn’t an ordinary reality in NAW anymore. The second you screwed me out of my revenge is the moment I decided to come back full time and with my return comes a record that not many people can top around here.
A few months ago, I beat both the Bible Belt Boys in separate fights, the same team that held the tag belts at one point. I smoked Trenton, who had a long reign as NAW Hardcore Champion. I knocked the Armenian Beast the fuck out; he’s the rightful Briefcase of Choice Holder. Last week you had a front row seat to me beatin’ the current Hardcore champ and one of the top contenders to the Legacy Championship. I beat you, and that’s another top name to my credit, then you go to the back of the fuckin’ line.
Ain’t any of that a good reason to fight but fuck logic. Direction, revenge, and the satisfaction of stompin’ on another man’s ambition is just fine for a petty man like me.”
___________________________
The wind and rain wrapped around him like the shawl of an old Gypsy woman he’d once seen on the cover of a book in the school library. It was a miserable sprint from the overhang of the loading dock to the bus that would take the wrestlers back to the hotel. A thorough soaking did little to dampen the dazzling smile James wore on his lips.
One kick to the bastard’s glass jaw, that’s all it took to keep him down. All the talk and all the taunts over social didn’t amount to a hill of beans. James did exactly what he had said he would do, win and win convincingly.
The hurricane could go to hell. His lifelong fear of storms could join it. On this night, he could enjoy the fruits of hunting a man all the way to the ends of what was once the New World and shutting him up for good.
As the bus lurched away into the dark horizon, one thought flickered into James’ mind, for once revenge was totally worth it.