Post by Nighthawk on Dec 15, 2012 10:08:15 GMT -6
“You can’t build a reputation on what you are going to do.” Henry Ford
As Nighthawk gets out of his truck outside the parking lot of the Wrestle Factory in downtown Chicago as he prepares for his matchup with Cliff Clinton, his ice-blue eyes the only sign of his existence as cold freezing rain falls down around him while he is swaddled in a thick leather trenchcoat with a hood and a balaclava, we see in those eyes something new. perhaps for the first time since he has arrived in NCW the thing behind the eyes of the Chicago native isn’t the kind of sharp confidence that has served him well throughout his career, or even the determination that he felt during his last two matches.
Rather what we’re seeing, for the first time perhaps, is doubt. Now while most men would not feel any kind of shame at consecutive losses to opponents the caliber of Captain Howdy and Caleb Lockwood, Nighthawk is not most people. It is this almost crazed need to never be satisfied with a victory, to always be seeking out the next first-rate performance, that has made him the man, and the champion, that he is.
So now, we ask the uncomfortable question, the same one he’s been asking himself. Is the “Wrestling Machine” past it? Is the man who became the tangible, flesh-and-blood representation of technical excellence, now no longer able to compete at the standards he holds himself to? Whether or not this cruel irony is true, the fact remains: For the sake of his own career, the “Man of 1000 Holds” needs to stir the echoes one more time and figure out a way to handle the Cliff Clinton problem before he no longer can.
But as the “Man of 1000 Holds” walks into his gym, doubt still evident in his eyes, his long-time friend, sparring partner, and associate trainer Santos comes up to give him a bear hug.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Santos, looking into his friend’s eyes: “What’s wrong Tristan? You shouldn’t even try to hide it from me. it’s not like we haven’t been friends for years, Tristan. What’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself all week.”
Nighthawk: “It’s odd, Santos. Before I got to NCW, I never doubted myself. Never thought I couldn’t beat an opponent. No matter how big they were, how fast, how strong, I knew that if I had the chance to study them I could figure a way in. I built my entire professional life on knowing that I could do that. now, though? I'm not sure that I can do that anymore. I tried to do it with Caleb Lockwood, and I couldn’t figure him out. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much tape I study, I can’t help but shake this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that maybe this is my body’s subtle way of telling me that it’s over. That I've had a good run, better than a man of my size could have ever hoped for, but it’s time for me to get out. I just don’t know what to do, Santos.”
Santos, displeasure evident in his face: “Tristan, how long have we been friends? How long have I supported you? when your back was broken, and doctors told you that the mere thought of you continuing to wrestle was such a foolish risk that they couldn’t countenance it, who was there to tell you to keep going, and who helped you rehab? I did. When you opened this gym, who was the first person who called you offering his help in whatever way you needed? I was. I have always been here for you, Tristan. So it’s with that in mind that I tell you this: You still have it. trust me, my friend. I've seen it with my own eyes, so I know that what I am telling you is the truth. Don’t let losing to the two guys you’ve lost to get you down. A lot of people have lost to Caleb and Captain Howdy, Tristan. A lot of people. And to think that you’re past it just because you lost to them, it’s an insult to what you have achieved. You can find your way out of this, trust me. And this week is just the place to start.”
Smiling Nighthawk hugs his friend and then walks back into the gym, the smile fading as he sees his students goofing off. As we head out of the Wrestle Factory we see Nighthawk contorting one of his students into some horrifyingly ugly ball, the smile on his face evident as he tries to instruct his student the best way to escape the knot he has been tied into.
A few hours later…..
As Nighthawk sits alone in his basement watching tape of Cliff Clinton, his hands busily sketching down openings and plans of attack, he slowly closes his eyes. Clad in a white slightly threadbare Gundan RTO t-shirt, blue jeans, and black work-boots, the “Man of 1000 Holds” opens his eyes and exhales.
Nighthawk: “I've done this a few times in my life. And no matter how many times I do it, no matter how many times I tape up my wrists and head into the ring to battle an opponent everyone is thinking should beat me, it never gets any less thrilling. Not because I take pleasure in being thrown around the ring like the toy of a bored child, but because I take pleasure in that moment right when my opponent’s hand taps the mat. At the exact moment when the Hangman’s Clutch does the work I know it can do, and has done many times in the past, a thrill goes through me that words can’t do justice to. It lets me know that all the work I put myself through, all of the toil and pain, meant something. This week, Cliff Clinton, I show you what that work means.
I saw what you did to Caleb Lockwood, Cliff. We all did. And, under normal circumstances, I might be impressed. But this isn’t a normal match you find yourself in, and I hope that you can understand that. You find yourself in a match where you’re facing someone who would rather die than lose one more time, and that’s something you need to come to grips with. I will not lose again, Cliff. I promise you that. And I always keep my promises.
Goodnight, Cliff. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
As Nighthawk gets out of his truck outside the parking lot of the Wrestle Factory in downtown Chicago as he prepares for his matchup with Cliff Clinton, his ice-blue eyes the only sign of his existence as cold freezing rain falls down around him while he is swaddled in a thick leather trenchcoat with a hood and a balaclava, we see in those eyes something new. perhaps for the first time since he has arrived in NCW the thing behind the eyes of the Chicago native isn’t the kind of sharp confidence that has served him well throughout his career, or even the determination that he felt during his last two matches.
Rather what we’re seeing, for the first time perhaps, is doubt. Now while most men would not feel any kind of shame at consecutive losses to opponents the caliber of Captain Howdy and Caleb Lockwood, Nighthawk is not most people. It is this almost crazed need to never be satisfied with a victory, to always be seeking out the next first-rate performance, that has made him the man, and the champion, that he is.
So now, we ask the uncomfortable question, the same one he’s been asking himself. Is the “Wrestling Machine” past it? Is the man who became the tangible, flesh-and-blood representation of technical excellence, now no longer able to compete at the standards he holds himself to? Whether or not this cruel irony is true, the fact remains: For the sake of his own career, the “Man of 1000 Holds” needs to stir the echoes one more time and figure out a way to handle the Cliff Clinton problem before he no longer can.
But as the “Man of 1000 Holds” walks into his gym, doubt still evident in his eyes, his long-time friend, sparring partner, and associate trainer Santos comes up to give him a bear hug.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Santos, looking into his friend’s eyes: “What’s wrong Tristan? You shouldn’t even try to hide it from me. it’s not like we haven’t been friends for years, Tristan. What’s wrong? You haven’t been yourself all week.”
Nighthawk: “It’s odd, Santos. Before I got to NCW, I never doubted myself. Never thought I couldn’t beat an opponent. No matter how big they were, how fast, how strong, I knew that if I had the chance to study them I could figure a way in. I built my entire professional life on knowing that I could do that. now, though? I'm not sure that I can do that anymore. I tried to do it with Caleb Lockwood, and I couldn’t figure him out. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much tape I study, I can’t help but shake this nagging feeling at the back of my mind that maybe this is my body’s subtle way of telling me that it’s over. That I've had a good run, better than a man of my size could have ever hoped for, but it’s time for me to get out. I just don’t know what to do, Santos.”
Santos, displeasure evident in his face: “Tristan, how long have we been friends? How long have I supported you? when your back was broken, and doctors told you that the mere thought of you continuing to wrestle was such a foolish risk that they couldn’t countenance it, who was there to tell you to keep going, and who helped you rehab? I did. When you opened this gym, who was the first person who called you offering his help in whatever way you needed? I was. I have always been here for you, Tristan. So it’s with that in mind that I tell you this: You still have it. trust me, my friend. I've seen it with my own eyes, so I know that what I am telling you is the truth. Don’t let losing to the two guys you’ve lost to get you down. A lot of people have lost to Caleb and Captain Howdy, Tristan. A lot of people. And to think that you’re past it just because you lost to them, it’s an insult to what you have achieved. You can find your way out of this, trust me. And this week is just the place to start.”
Smiling Nighthawk hugs his friend and then walks back into the gym, the smile fading as he sees his students goofing off. As we head out of the Wrestle Factory we see Nighthawk contorting one of his students into some horrifyingly ugly ball, the smile on his face evident as he tries to instruct his student the best way to escape the knot he has been tied into.
A few hours later…..
As Nighthawk sits alone in his basement watching tape of Cliff Clinton, his hands busily sketching down openings and plans of attack, he slowly closes his eyes. Clad in a white slightly threadbare Gundan RTO t-shirt, blue jeans, and black work-boots, the “Man of 1000 Holds” opens his eyes and exhales.
Nighthawk: “I've done this a few times in my life. And no matter how many times I do it, no matter how many times I tape up my wrists and head into the ring to battle an opponent everyone is thinking should beat me, it never gets any less thrilling. Not because I take pleasure in being thrown around the ring like the toy of a bored child, but because I take pleasure in that moment right when my opponent’s hand taps the mat. At the exact moment when the Hangman’s Clutch does the work I know it can do, and has done many times in the past, a thrill goes through me that words can’t do justice to. It lets me know that all the work I put myself through, all of the toil and pain, meant something. This week, Cliff Clinton, I show you what that work means.
I saw what you did to Caleb Lockwood, Cliff. We all did. And, under normal circumstances, I might be impressed. But this isn’t a normal match you find yourself in, and I hope that you can understand that. You find yourself in a match where you’re facing someone who would rather die than lose one more time, and that’s something you need to come to grips with. I will not lose again, Cliff. I promise you that. And I always keep my promises.
Goodnight, Cliff. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”