Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Feb 16, 2013 21:01:35 GMT -6
”Déjà vu. Xander Famularo and goons laying into me and a partner when our backs are turned. I’m not surprised. I’m just angry. I’m pissed off that here I am, all these months, all these YEARS later, and NCW is still run on the principle that those in favor can run the show. I feel like Sisyphus…no matter how hard I push, no matter how much of myself I sacrifice to change things, I end up back at the bottom of the hill with that boulder staring me in the face. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to endure…and to think, I was starting to come to terms with not looking over my shoulder all the time.”
“Paranoia is a disease of the mind. It eats away at even the most logical and rational man, leaving him a twisted, bitter shell of his former self. I dream of the day when I can wrestle a match and sincerely believe that it’ll just be a match. My opponent this week is a good start. Someone I respect. Someone I know won’t take cheap shots or the easy way out…a true champion, no matter how long he held the World Title. Because there’s more to a champion than days with the belt…but we both know that, don’t we Jack?”
“Hammond, you’ve been one of my dream returns for a long time. A proper return, kicking things back into Top Gear. I’ve wanted a proper one-on-one with you for a long time, because I know that…oh, who the hell am I kidding?”
“I could spew empty platitudes about how great I think you are all night long, and it wouldn’t change anything when we stepped into the ring. You’re good, Jack, and I don’t need to blow smoke up your ass for you to know it. Unlike Xander Famularo, unlike Alex Jones, your hype job is all you and all in perspective. If you screw up, you admit it. And frankly, we’ve both screwed up many times in our lives. Our careers, at least. I don’t know what your personal life’s like and I’m not going to guess at it. All I care about is the challenge.”
“It’s being made abundantly clear to me that the people on top don’t see me as one of their stars anymore. I used to be the future of NCW, touted as the next big thing. But their attention spans grew a little too short, their expectations a bit too large, and because I didn’t go on a path of destruction they moved on to another hope, expecting me to be a flavor of the month. But I persisted. I kept on fighting, because I wasn’t going to let something like that kill my dream. I’ve worked all my life to be here. It’ll take more than a lack of corporate faith to stop me.”
“But this is more than that. This isn’t neglect. This isn’t apathy. This is them hearing the fans reject their hand-picked champions, their representatives, and squashing those who the crowd cares about because they don’t fit the mold of what THEY want representing them. Because we won’t toe the party line, because we won’t take orders like a legion of drones…we get buried deep. And maybe we’re not always successful despite ourselves. But men like Nathan Webb, men like Seth Evans…they work their asses off week in and week out, and the only reason corporate gives them ANYTHING…is because they knew they’d have a riot on their hands otherwise.”
“Jack Hammond is one of a lost breed of wrestler. He fights with integrity and honor every week, not for the fame and the fortune, but for the adrenaline and the glory of victory. A title to a man like him isn’t just a bigger paycheck and your name on the marquee. It’s indisputable proof that you are an elite among the elite. It’s the pinnacle of our game. The rush that being in that ring provides…the thrill of victory…you can’t buy that, you can’t find it anywhere but NCW. And that’s why I respect him. Because of why he fights.”
“Jack, I wish you the best of luck. And who knows? Maybe one of us is just a few heartbeats from claiming the gold. Maybe I’ll knock off Alex Jones. Maybe you’ll do what I couldn’t and take out The Ace. Or maybe one of us will be the next man to call themselves NCW World Champion. God only knows…so many possibilities. Bring your best, Jack. I’ll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
I knew I would find him here. Whenever Andrew’s frustrated, he goes to the nearest gym, finds a punching bag, and starts laying in. Still, as I walk in, I can’t help but notice the frustration etched across his face even more acutely than normal. He’s taking this one hard. But what the hell can I do? If I try to offer advice or consolation, he’ll brush me off, snarl something about not being good enough, and keep torturing himself. There’s not a damn thing that gets through his skull when he’s in one of these moods. So I suppose I won’t try to be the soothing influence this time. What he needs now is a splash of water to wake him up out of this little self-pitying nightmare he’s locking himself back into. I walk over and grab his fist as he’s rearing back for another punch. He looks down at me, and in that instant I see all sorts of things in his eyes I wish I never had to see. He’s angry. Like I expected.
”What is it, Danielle?”
Okay. Business time. Better make this professional…or as close as you can get with him.
”I don’t want you beating your knuckles raw because you’re angry. You got jumped. That happens. It’s wrestling. Now get your ass out of the dirt, quit sulking, and do something more productive.”
Ow. That was a lot harsher than I wanted to be. The more I think about it, though…it’s right. Andy gets sorry for himself way too easily. And I can tell by the way his face starts contorting into all sorts of interesting shapes that it flipped some switch in his head. After a few seconds of this, he turns away and starts yanking his boxing tape off. He’s still sulking, but I got through to him. Just not sure how much.
”Alright. Not going to sulk. Wonderful. So what’s your brilliant plan? Match footage? Grappling practice? Getting a good meal and a full night’s sleep? All great ideas. Only one problem: none of that gets me out of the gutter I’m in. I’ve got zero credibility, Danielle, and we both know it.”
Oh, that son of a bitch. I’m not sure when the dam broke, but when my senses clear again I’m shouting at him like a Marine drill instructor, my hand stings like a bastard, and he’s got a bright handprint on his face. Must have slapped him one good, he’s still rubbing his jaw.
”And you won’t have any credibility if you keep whining and pissing and moaning like this, Andrew! You want to be taken seriously?! Then stop bitching, get off your ass, and win some matches! I don’t care if the 101st Airborne drops into the ring, you are going to keep fighting! You want to be indestructible? You want to be the face of the franchise, Andy? Then you had better grow a pair and stop moaning about this and that and how you’re getting screwed. Take a shower. Hit the weights. Get a clue.”
I shove him for the punctuation on that little rant, and I actually send him staggering back a few steps. Guess he really didn’t see that coming. I walk away, shaking my head. Maybe I’ll actually get through to that dumb bastard this time. Why do I keep coming back to him? He’s always disappointing me…always letting me down. I put all this faith into him, and he never returns anything. Why? Why am I wasting my time here?
…and then I look back at him. He’s not sulking, he’s not holding his jaw or fuming after me. He’s racking up a barbell and getting ready to lift. And that’s when it clicks. I keep coming back because he genuinely wants to be better. He has the potential, he has the heart, and he really won’t ever give up. Huh. Maybe that’s what I was missing all along. Can’t help but smile at a man like that.
Can’t help but believe.
“Paranoia is a disease of the mind. It eats away at even the most logical and rational man, leaving him a twisted, bitter shell of his former self. I dream of the day when I can wrestle a match and sincerely believe that it’ll just be a match. My opponent this week is a good start. Someone I respect. Someone I know won’t take cheap shots or the easy way out…a true champion, no matter how long he held the World Title. Because there’s more to a champion than days with the belt…but we both know that, don’t we Jack?”
“Hammond, you’ve been one of my dream returns for a long time. A proper return, kicking things back into Top Gear. I’ve wanted a proper one-on-one with you for a long time, because I know that…oh, who the hell am I kidding?”
“I could spew empty platitudes about how great I think you are all night long, and it wouldn’t change anything when we stepped into the ring. You’re good, Jack, and I don’t need to blow smoke up your ass for you to know it. Unlike Xander Famularo, unlike Alex Jones, your hype job is all you and all in perspective. If you screw up, you admit it. And frankly, we’ve both screwed up many times in our lives. Our careers, at least. I don’t know what your personal life’s like and I’m not going to guess at it. All I care about is the challenge.”
“It’s being made abundantly clear to me that the people on top don’t see me as one of their stars anymore. I used to be the future of NCW, touted as the next big thing. But their attention spans grew a little too short, their expectations a bit too large, and because I didn’t go on a path of destruction they moved on to another hope, expecting me to be a flavor of the month. But I persisted. I kept on fighting, because I wasn’t going to let something like that kill my dream. I’ve worked all my life to be here. It’ll take more than a lack of corporate faith to stop me.”
“But this is more than that. This isn’t neglect. This isn’t apathy. This is them hearing the fans reject their hand-picked champions, their representatives, and squashing those who the crowd cares about because they don’t fit the mold of what THEY want representing them. Because we won’t toe the party line, because we won’t take orders like a legion of drones…we get buried deep. And maybe we’re not always successful despite ourselves. But men like Nathan Webb, men like Seth Evans…they work their asses off week in and week out, and the only reason corporate gives them ANYTHING…is because they knew they’d have a riot on their hands otherwise.”
“Jack Hammond is one of a lost breed of wrestler. He fights with integrity and honor every week, not for the fame and the fortune, but for the adrenaline and the glory of victory. A title to a man like him isn’t just a bigger paycheck and your name on the marquee. It’s indisputable proof that you are an elite among the elite. It’s the pinnacle of our game. The rush that being in that ring provides…the thrill of victory…you can’t buy that, you can’t find it anywhere but NCW. And that’s why I respect him. Because of why he fights.”
“Jack, I wish you the best of luck. And who knows? Maybe one of us is just a few heartbeats from claiming the gold. Maybe I’ll knock off Alex Jones. Maybe you’ll do what I couldn’t and take out The Ace. Or maybe one of us will be the next man to call themselves NCW World Champion. God only knows…so many possibilities. Bring your best, Jack. I’ll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
I knew I would find him here. Whenever Andrew’s frustrated, he goes to the nearest gym, finds a punching bag, and starts laying in. Still, as I walk in, I can’t help but notice the frustration etched across his face even more acutely than normal. He’s taking this one hard. But what the hell can I do? If I try to offer advice or consolation, he’ll brush me off, snarl something about not being good enough, and keep torturing himself. There’s not a damn thing that gets through his skull when he’s in one of these moods. So I suppose I won’t try to be the soothing influence this time. What he needs now is a splash of water to wake him up out of this little self-pitying nightmare he’s locking himself back into. I walk over and grab his fist as he’s rearing back for another punch. He looks down at me, and in that instant I see all sorts of things in his eyes I wish I never had to see. He’s angry. Like I expected.
”What is it, Danielle?”
Okay. Business time. Better make this professional…or as close as you can get with him.
”I don’t want you beating your knuckles raw because you’re angry. You got jumped. That happens. It’s wrestling. Now get your ass out of the dirt, quit sulking, and do something more productive.”
Ow. That was a lot harsher than I wanted to be. The more I think about it, though…it’s right. Andy gets sorry for himself way too easily. And I can tell by the way his face starts contorting into all sorts of interesting shapes that it flipped some switch in his head. After a few seconds of this, he turns away and starts yanking his boxing tape off. He’s still sulking, but I got through to him. Just not sure how much.
”Alright. Not going to sulk. Wonderful. So what’s your brilliant plan? Match footage? Grappling practice? Getting a good meal and a full night’s sleep? All great ideas. Only one problem: none of that gets me out of the gutter I’m in. I’ve got zero credibility, Danielle, and we both know it.”
Oh, that son of a bitch. I’m not sure when the dam broke, but when my senses clear again I’m shouting at him like a Marine drill instructor, my hand stings like a bastard, and he’s got a bright handprint on his face. Must have slapped him one good, he’s still rubbing his jaw.
”And you won’t have any credibility if you keep whining and pissing and moaning like this, Andrew! You want to be taken seriously?! Then stop bitching, get off your ass, and win some matches! I don’t care if the 101st Airborne drops into the ring, you are going to keep fighting! You want to be indestructible? You want to be the face of the franchise, Andy? Then you had better grow a pair and stop moaning about this and that and how you’re getting screwed. Take a shower. Hit the weights. Get a clue.”
I shove him for the punctuation on that little rant, and I actually send him staggering back a few steps. Guess he really didn’t see that coming. I walk away, shaking my head. Maybe I’ll actually get through to that dumb bastard this time. Why do I keep coming back to him? He’s always disappointing me…always letting me down. I put all this faith into him, and he never returns anything. Why? Why am I wasting my time here?
…and then I look back at him. He’s not sulking, he’s not holding his jaw or fuming after me. He’s racking up a barbell and getting ready to lift. And that’s when it clicks. I keep coming back because he genuinely wants to be better. He has the potential, he has the heart, and he really won’t ever give up. Huh. Maybe that’s what I was missing all along. Can’t help but smile at a man like that.
Can’t help but believe.