Post by Nighthawk on Nov 2, 2012 21:55:22 GMT -6
“Chicago is a city of contradictions, of private visions haphazardly overlaid and linked together.”
As Nighthawk tapes up his hands and heads out towards his car in his modest neighborhood of Bridgeport on the south side of Chicago, one wonders how he feels about the prospect of facing Caleb Lockwood. Because while this contest came about as a direct result of an off-handed comment he made to an interviewer, there is a part of the Chicago native that craves a battle like this. However, while the warrior heart that beats inside him craves this chance to state his supremacy emphatically, there has to be some part of him that wonders if he would have reacted the same way in a similar situation. For if, you know nothing else about the “Wrestling Machine”, and are only now being introduced to him and what he can do inside a ring, it is clear to even these most new of observers the degree to which Nighthawk has respect and blatant admiration for the men who have played some role in sculpting his career. But while intimately understanding that he has to show the world just good he can be, will there be a part of the “Man of 1000 Holds” that holds something back out of respect for what he knows Caleb Lockwood is trying to do?
But as Nighthawk packs 2 bags up and throws them in the trunk of his car the door to his townhouse yawns open and out walks Nighthawk’s wife Sin, happiness beaming in her coffee-brown eyes as she hands her loving husband a pressed Cuban sandwich to take with him on his long trip.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Nighthawk: “Well, this ought to be interesting. I can’t believe that I am in this position after so many times where the shoe was on the other foot. The worst part of this is that I really don’t want to fight him, because I understand what it is that he wants to do and why it is that he wants to do it. However, every time that I think like that, I remember why it is that I am doing this. I have to defend my legacy, just as Caleb understands that he has to defend his. I just hate feeling this conflicted.”
Sin: “Honey, honestly, what did you think was going to happen? You know this better than anyone else does. Think of all of those people who insulted your trainers, and then try to remember how you responded to it. You cannot have honestly thought that he was going to respond to it in any other way than how he did. If I were you, I would not think about this thing in terms of hurting him or even fighting him, because that has never been you. You did not get to this point by brawling like some kind of mad berserker, so I would not start now. Instead, if I were you, I would think of this as an exhibition. Show him; show the world, what you can do. Just think of it like that, and you should be fine.”
Nighthawk, smiling: “Answer me this question, then. How did I get to be married to such a smart woman like you, who knows so very much about how my mind works and also the exact right thing to tell me?”
Sin: “What can I say? While you were traveling the world learning your craft, I had an epiphany. I could either be one of those wrestler’s wives who hated her husband’s profession and grew to eventually have contempt for it, and by extension him. On the other hand, I could do the best I could to make your job easier, and make you so fulfilled in your professional life that your personal life would be easy to handle. That’s what I did. Now go out and make me proud.”
And with that Nighthawk gets into his car and heads off on a long drive towards his appointed task of defeating Caleb Lockwood, looking somewhat like a samurai sent off to a battle on behalf of his lord.
A few hours later….
As Nighthawk finds himself sitting on the hood of his car eating the sandwich that his wife packed for him as he stares out at a particularly gorgeous section of the Ohio River, one can’t help but wonder what the “Wrestling Machine” is thinking about as he eats his sandwich in an almost monk-like silence. However, as he finishes his meal his cell phone rings with an insistence not unlike that of a bratty toddler. Stopping what he is doing Nighthawk picks up his cell phone.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Japanese.)
Voice, a deep rasp of a thing made even more intimidating by the fact that it appears to be filtered: “Everywhere I go, I hear your name. I hear tribute paid to your accomplishments, meager though they may be in comparison to my own. I hear praise for your talents, even though I am far superior in every way. And, and this is the most galling for me personally, I hear you called a man who lives by the codes my father and his fathers before him shed their blood to create. You are not a man of honor, Tristan, or even a man at all. You are a boy playing in a man’s game, and it is past time that someone opened not just your eyes but the eyes of the world to what you really are.”
Nighthawk: “I have heard these insults all of my life from men like you, men who cloaked themselves in shadow and covered themselves by saying they were defending what makes Japan special. If you want to truly prove that I am a boy playing a man’s game, come out from the darkness. Come into the light and challenge me as the honorable man you claim to be.”
Voice, refusing to fall for Nighthawk’s gambit: “Let me ask you this, Tristan. If you are as good of a man as you claim you are, why do you not admit your mistakes? Why do you still hold on to the lie that you even HAVE honor anymore, after what you’ve done? After what you’ve said? You disgust me. However, I did not call to tell you your dark secrets. The time for that will come. Rather, I came to tell you that your trainer in Japan, the man who you gave so much credit to, is ill. And he has demanded to see the man he calls his ‘American samurai’. However, will you come and see him? Will you dare to step foot in Japan knowing the damage that you have already done to a national hero? Or will you be what you have always been, protestations to the contrary? Will you be the coward you are?”
Nighthawk: “Mr. Tanahashi is sick? I will be on the first plane.”
Voice: “Aren’t you forgetting something, you impudent child? You have a match this week. How do you think your new employer would feel about his newest signee, the one he invested so much time in, deciding that he has to go to Japan just because his trainer is sick and near-death? Face it, Tristan; you are going to let your trainer down. Just accept it. There’s nothing that you are going to do about it.”
Nighthawk: “that’s not true, whoever you are. And you know it. I am still, despite what you have been told and what you may believe, a man who respects Mr. Tanahashi and what he did to help me in my career. I'll be in Tokyo to pay my respects. And if you want to find me, and handle whatever problem that you have with me in front of me like a man face-to-face, I will be there. But if you don’t, if you decide that spewing rhetoric from across the ocean is better than confronting the source of your problems face-to-face and man-to-man, I will understand. I eagerly await your decision.”
As Nighthawk hangs up his cell phone and gets back in his car, we see a literal tempest of emotions crossing his face almost all at once. But almost immediately, he takes one deep breath and returns to his impassive exterior, almost as if he is re-knitting the portions of his personality that allow him to express rage or anything that isn’t icy calculation.
The next morning….
As Nighthawk sits down outside his hotel room, his ice-blue eyes closed, we see that the stresses of the past few days have finally gotten to him more than he would be willing to admit. Clad in a sky-blue Super Delfin t-shirt, blue and white leather pants with a sunburst pattern up and down each leg, and black work boots, Nighthawk takes one deep breath and opens his eyes, wiping a stray tear from his face.
Nighthawk: “Recent events have gotten me thinking about Japan. Now while I could admittedly think of a million things when I think of the Land of the Rising Sun, there is one specific relationship that comes to mind every time that my eyes close. It’s a simple one, and it’s quite germane to the situation that I find myself in. It’s the relationship between a senpai, or what we might perceive to be a mentor in western culture, and his kohai, or his protégé. As many times as I have been in a relationship like this, I've been on both sides of this.
To this day, after all that I have done, I still am a kohai to my original trainer, and he has provided me with knowledge and guidance that I could not have possibly had on my own. But that relationship isn’t just about him telling me what to do.
It’s about my knowledge and faith that whatever he tells me, I can believe. It’s about knowing that he is guiding me and protecting me, because that’s what a senpai is supposed to do. It’s what a mentor is supposed to do for his protégé. And all of these thoughts have focused my attention on Caleb Lockwood.
Caleb, I understand what you’re trying to do. And I know what it means to step into a ring to stand up for your mentor, because I've been where you are. I've defended my trainers more times than I care to count. But the difference between what you’re doing now and what I did then is this: I knew, without even having to think about it or ask, that my mentor would have my back in a moment if the roles were reversed.
Would yours? Do you believe, for a second, that the Ace would do for you what you are doing for him? So this week Caleb, when you go to him looking for help after I give you a wrestling lesson, understand this: He’s not going to be able to help. Not because he’s not a brilliant technical wrestler, because he is. But rather, because helping you doesn’t help him.
Now you might take offense to the idea that I'm going to give you a wrestling lesson. Don’t. Do not waste your energy taking offense to destiny. I will stretch you. I will put you in holds you’ve only read about in books. I will make sure that you will have no idea whether it’s the day or the night, much less how to get out of the trouble that you will most definitely find yourself in. And when I'm done, when you hear my name announced as the winner, you’ll know what many before you have already come to understand: That I can and will wrestle circles around not just you, but everyone else in NCW.
I will unleash every weapon in my arsenal, every hold and pinning combination. And when it’s over, when you are screaming your submission, rest assured you’re going to know that I'm not just hype.
Goodnight, Caleb. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
As Nighthawk tapes up his hands and heads out towards his car in his modest neighborhood of Bridgeport on the south side of Chicago, one wonders how he feels about the prospect of facing Caleb Lockwood. Because while this contest came about as a direct result of an off-handed comment he made to an interviewer, there is a part of the Chicago native that craves a battle like this. However, while the warrior heart that beats inside him craves this chance to state his supremacy emphatically, there has to be some part of him that wonders if he would have reacted the same way in a similar situation. For if, you know nothing else about the “Wrestling Machine”, and are only now being introduced to him and what he can do inside a ring, it is clear to even these most new of observers the degree to which Nighthawk has respect and blatant admiration for the men who have played some role in sculpting his career. But while intimately understanding that he has to show the world just good he can be, will there be a part of the “Man of 1000 Holds” that holds something back out of respect for what he knows Caleb Lockwood is trying to do?
But as Nighthawk packs 2 bags up and throws them in the trunk of his car the door to his townhouse yawns open and out walks Nighthawk’s wife Sin, happiness beaming in her coffee-brown eyes as she hands her loving husband a pressed Cuban sandwich to take with him on his long trip.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Nighthawk: “Well, this ought to be interesting. I can’t believe that I am in this position after so many times where the shoe was on the other foot. The worst part of this is that I really don’t want to fight him, because I understand what it is that he wants to do and why it is that he wants to do it. However, every time that I think like that, I remember why it is that I am doing this. I have to defend my legacy, just as Caleb understands that he has to defend his. I just hate feeling this conflicted.”
Sin: “Honey, honestly, what did you think was going to happen? You know this better than anyone else does. Think of all of those people who insulted your trainers, and then try to remember how you responded to it. You cannot have honestly thought that he was going to respond to it in any other way than how he did. If I were you, I would not think about this thing in terms of hurting him or even fighting him, because that has never been you. You did not get to this point by brawling like some kind of mad berserker, so I would not start now. Instead, if I were you, I would think of this as an exhibition. Show him; show the world, what you can do. Just think of it like that, and you should be fine.”
Nighthawk, smiling: “Answer me this question, then. How did I get to be married to such a smart woman like you, who knows so very much about how my mind works and also the exact right thing to tell me?”
Sin: “What can I say? While you were traveling the world learning your craft, I had an epiphany. I could either be one of those wrestler’s wives who hated her husband’s profession and grew to eventually have contempt for it, and by extension him. On the other hand, I could do the best I could to make your job easier, and make you so fulfilled in your professional life that your personal life would be easy to handle. That’s what I did. Now go out and make me proud.”
And with that Nighthawk gets into his car and heads off on a long drive towards his appointed task of defeating Caleb Lockwood, looking somewhat like a samurai sent off to a battle on behalf of his lord.
A few hours later….
As Nighthawk finds himself sitting on the hood of his car eating the sandwich that his wife packed for him as he stares out at a particularly gorgeous section of the Ohio River, one can’t help but wonder what the “Wrestling Machine” is thinking about as he eats his sandwich in an almost monk-like silence. However, as he finishes his meal his cell phone rings with an insistence not unlike that of a bratty toddler. Stopping what he is doing Nighthawk picks up his cell phone.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Japanese.)
Voice, a deep rasp of a thing made even more intimidating by the fact that it appears to be filtered: “Everywhere I go, I hear your name. I hear tribute paid to your accomplishments, meager though they may be in comparison to my own. I hear praise for your talents, even though I am far superior in every way. And, and this is the most galling for me personally, I hear you called a man who lives by the codes my father and his fathers before him shed their blood to create. You are not a man of honor, Tristan, or even a man at all. You are a boy playing in a man’s game, and it is past time that someone opened not just your eyes but the eyes of the world to what you really are.”
Nighthawk: “I have heard these insults all of my life from men like you, men who cloaked themselves in shadow and covered themselves by saying they were defending what makes Japan special. If you want to truly prove that I am a boy playing a man’s game, come out from the darkness. Come into the light and challenge me as the honorable man you claim to be.”
Voice, refusing to fall for Nighthawk’s gambit: “Let me ask you this, Tristan. If you are as good of a man as you claim you are, why do you not admit your mistakes? Why do you still hold on to the lie that you even HAVE honor anymore, after what you’ve done? After what you’ve said? You disgust me. However, I did not call to tell you your dark secrets. The time for that will come. Rather, I came to tell you that your trainer in Japan, the man who you gave so much credit to, is ill. And he has demanded to see the man he calls his ‘American samurai’. However, will you come and see him? Will you dare to step foot in Japan knowing the damage that you have already done to a national hero? Or will you be what you have always been, protestations to the contrary? Will you be the coward you are?”
Nighthawk: “Mr. Tanahashi is sick? I will be on the first plane.”
Voice: “Aren’t you forgetting something, you impudent child? You have a match this week. How do you think your new employer would feel about his newest signee, the one he invested so much time in, deciding that he has to go to Japan just because his trainer is sick and near-death? Face it, Tristan; you are going to let your trainer down. Just accept it. There’s nothing that you are going to do about it.”
Nighthawk: “that’s not true, whoever you are. And you know it. I am still, despite what you have been told and what you may believe, a man who respects Mr. Tanahashi and what he did to help me in my career. I'll be in Tokyo to pay my respects. And if you want to find me, and handle whatever problem that you have with me in front of me like a man face-to-face, I will be there. But if you don’t, if you decide that spewing rhetoric from across the ocean is better than confronting the source of your problems face-to-face and man-to-man, I will understand. I eagerly await your decision.”
As Nighthawk hangs up his cell phone and gets back in his car, we see a literal tempest of emotions crossing his face almost all at once. But almost immediately, he takes one deep breath and returns to his impassive exterior, almost as if he is re-knitting the portions of his personality that allow him to express rage or anything that isn’t icy calculation.
The next morning….
As Nighthawk sits down outside his hotel room, his ice-blue eyes closed, we see that the stresses of the past few days have finally gotten to him more than he would be willing to admit. Clad in a sky-blue Super Delfin t-shirt, blue and white leather pants with a sunburst pattern up and down each leg, and black work boots, Nighthawk takes one deep breath and opens his eyes, wiping a stray tear from his face.
Nighthawk: “Recent events have gotten me thinking about Japan. Now while I could admittedly think of a million things when I think of the Land of the Rising Sun, there is one specific relationship that comes to mind every time that my eyes close. It’s a simple one, and it’s quite germane to the situation that I find myself in. It’s the relationship between a senpai, or what we might perceive to be a mentor in western culture, and his kohai, or his protégé. As many times as I have been in a relationship like this, I've been on both sides of this.
To this day, after all that I have done, I still am a kohai to my original trainer, and he has provided me with knowledge and guidance that I could not have possibly had on my own. But that relationship isn’t just about him telling me what to do.
It’s about my knowledge and faith that whatever he tells me, I can believe. It’s about knowing that he is guiding me and protecting me, because that’s what a senpai is supposed to do. It’s what a mentor is supposed to do for his protégé. And all of these thoughts have focused my attention on Caleb Lockwood.
Caleb, I understand what you’re trying to do. And I know what it means to step into a ring to stand up for your mentor, because I've been where you are. I've defended my trainers more times than I care to count. But the difference between what you’re doing now and what I did then is this: I knew, without even having to think about it or ask, that my mentor would have my back in a moment if the roles were reversed.
Would yours? Do you believe, for a second, that the Ace would do for you what you are doing for him? So this week Caleb, when you go to him looking for help after I give you a wrestling lesson, understand this: He’s not going to be able to help. Not because he’s not a brilliant technical wrestler, because he is. But rather, because helping you doesn’t help him.
Now you might take offense to the idea that I'm going to give you a wrestling lesson. Don’t. Do not waste your energy taking offense to destiny. I will stretch you. I will put you in holds you’ve only read about in books. I will make sure that you will have no idea whether it’s the day or the night, much less how to get out of the trouble that you will most definitely find yourself in. And when I'm done, when you hear my name announced as the winner, you’ll know what many before you have already come to understand: That I can and will wrestle circles around not just you, but everyone else in NCW.
I will unleash every weapon in my arsenal, every hold and pinning combination. And when it’s over, when you are screaming your submission, rest assured you’re going to know that I'm not just hype.
Goodnight, Caleb. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”