Post by Deleted on Apr 22, 2018 1:48:36 GMT
“Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory, tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.”
As Nighthawk puts his suitcase together in the bedroom of his row house in the Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago for a “working” vacation to Los Angeles to challenge Angel Blake for the IWF World Heavyweight Championship one can’t help but notice the tension in the room that is so thick, and so potent, that the air is almost crackling with it.
While he is quite obviously looking forward to another chance to become the IWF World Champion the biggest question on everyone’s mind is whether or not the Chicago native can keep his mind on that particular task long enough to ensure that he is able to complete it, or if his desire to ensure that his student Jayson Matthews returns to the fold will distract him at a critical moment.
Despite his obvious distractions, however, anyone who believes the “American Samurai” doesn’t have the tools necessary to defeat any opponent that is put in front of him could rather safely be considered a fool.
And considering the massive groundswell of fan support that is coming his way as he prepares to make his title challenge one could reasonably believe that any lack of focus that he might happen to enter that match with could be counterbalanced by the absolute will of that sold-out crowd to see him humble the IWF Imperial Champion, and win the major singles title that has eluded him.
But as Nighthawk finishes putting his suitcase together, leaving extra room for the IWF World Championship, the door to the bedroom pops open and his wife Sin walks in and lovingly wraps her arms around her husband before heading to her closet and wordlessly begins to prepare her own suitcase.
(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Nighthawk, raising an eyebrow in confusion: “Honey, what exactly are you doing?”
Sin, packing up multiple dresses and smoothing wrinkles with her hands as she goes: “The last time you did this, against Alex Jones, you were all alone. No one knew who you were, or the sort of man that you wanted to become. That night, you had no one to rally behind you. But, this time, that’s not going to be the case. This time, when you step in the ring, you’re going to have 21,000 people behind you. And they’re all going to believe that you can do this, that you can humble Angel Blake and take his championship away from him. But if, in the moment, you forget that’s true I’ll be at ringside to make sure you remember.”
Nighthawk, tears coming to his usually impassive face as a smile follows right behind: “Trust me, honey, I’m not going to forget. This is too important to forget something like that.”
Sin: “You’re not thinking about Jayson, are you? Because you can’t worry your head about him, Tristan. That’s going to be the one card Angel’s going to play, and he’s going to draw it over and over again until you take the bait.”
Nighthawk: “I’m not thinking about that. The day is going to come when I get the chance to finally sit down and talk with Jayson, and figure out what in the world Angel has over him to make him act this way. But not that night. This is about winning the single most important singles championship in North America, if not the world, and I would be disrespecting the lineage of that belt, and every champion who held it, if I went into that contest with anything less than my full attention on Angel. He may be a man with a messianic complex as big as Kobe Bryant’s ego, but he is still a world-class competitor. Disrespecting him by allowing myself to think about anything else is a fool’s errand, and I’m not planning on going on one.”
Sin: “Just what I wanted to hear. Knock him dead.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk waits in the departures gate at O’Hare International Airport to head on a flight to Los Angeles, he decides to get up and purchase a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine before sitting back down.
At that moment, Nighthawk’s wife Sin appears next to him and wraps her arms around his waist. Clad in a three-piece jet-black gabardine suit, and professional black loafers, the “Master of 1000 Holds” closes his eyes as his wife Sin nestles her head on his shoulder. Clad in a red cocktail dress, and tasteful black mule-style shoes, the “Dark Princess” leans forward as both husband and wife turn deadly serious.
Nighthawk: “I know your games, Angel. You may think yourself special, a demi-god, but the truth is this. There are always men like you. As long as men will wrestle and fight other men for money, there will always be men like you. But while your distinctiveness is vastly and clearly overstated, I do want you to know one thing in all of your preparations for this title defense you are so obviously confident for. As many tricks as you try to play, I will answer each one. And when the night is over, and the bell rings, you will learn two things. And the 1st lesson will be more painful than the 2nd. So, Angel, allow me the privilege of taking you to school. Because this week, that’s where you’re going.”
Sin: “And every lesson, every bit of knowledge we plan on imparting, is going to hurt in a way that is almost biblical.”
Nighthawk: “See, Angel, you and I have done this before. At the height of your powers, and when everyone told me I was supposed to be scared to death to step in the ring with you, I did so. And do you know what I saw when I was in the ring with you, the supposed immortal demi-god of IWF? I saw a man, just like any other opponent. Your greatest advantage, Angel, is and has always been fear. You rely on it. You attempt to stoke it in any way you can, and with any tactics you can think to use. But, Angel, I am not afraid of you. And, beneath the bluster and the confidence, you know this to be true. And that, dear Mr. Blake, is the 1st lesson we have to teach. Sometimes, every once in a great while, even a man who builds his reputation on fear has to battle someone who is not scared.”
Sin: “And we’ve been through enough hard times to not be scared by some smoke, a few parlor tricks, and a big cat.”
Nighthawk: “I watched my father die, Angel. I stayed with him all through the night as he hacked up blood, and vomited on me, and I never left. Do you think I was more scared that night, or when I see you feeding a panther? I went through knee surgery, and back surgery, and I’ve stayed in the sport that caused both those injuries. Angel, you don’t scare me. What’s worse for you, and better than me, is that you can’t. And without fear, and without the power that gives you, what are you? I’ll answer, Angel. You’re a champion looking up at a clock that is just about to hit midnight.”
Sin: “The sun is setting on your empire, Angel. We’ll be there to take it over when the sun comes up.”
Nighthawk: “And so what does that leave you, Angel? It leaves you having to outwrestle me, and outfight me, when your biggest advantage is gone. And that, my dear boy, is the 2nd lesson. While you’ve relied on fear all this time, your skills have atrophied. We all hear the stories, Angel, and the gossip. The trainers in this company, we all talk. Sometimes over steaks and a beer at a local bar at a show, or on one of those training grounds house show. The conversation can be simple and lighthearted, like the continued Sisyphean incompetence of James Gilmore. But for you, we all talk about all the flaws we notice and the openings that you’re leaving. Someday, someday soon, you’re going to get caught Angel. And this week, you’re stepping in the ring with someone who knows how to make you pay for every mistake.”
Sin: “I’m not a trained wrestler, Angel, but even I can see your flaws. What does it say about you that I can notice it?”
Nighthawk: “So this week, Angel, bring all your tricks. Bring all the ‘atmosphere’ you can summon up. Because when all your games are over, you’ll have to wrestle me. And you don’t have the skills to beat me. Not anymore.”
Nighthawk and Sin: “Goodnight Angel. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
As Nighthawk puts his suitcase together in the bedroom of his row house in the Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago for a “working” vacation to Los Angeles to challenge Angel Blake for the IWF World Heavyweight Championship one can’t help but notice the tension in the room that is so thick, and so potent, that the air is almost crackling with it.
While he is quite obviously looking forward to another chance to become the IWF World Champion the biggest question on everyone’s mind is whether or not the Chicago native can keep his mind on that particular task long enough to ensure that he is able to complete it, or if his desire to ensure that his student Jayson Matthews returns to the fold will distract him at a critical moment.
Despite his obvious distractions, however, anyone who believes the “American Samurai” doesn’t have the tools necessary to defeat any opponent that is put in front of him could rather safely be considered a fool.
And considering the massive groundswell of fan support that is coming his way as he prepares to make his title challenge one could reasonably believe that any lack of focus that he might happen to enter that match with could be counterbalanced by the absolute will of that sold-out crowd to see him humble the IWF Imperial Champion, and win the major singles title that has eluded him.
But as Nighthawk finishes putting his suitcase together, leaving extra room for the IWF World Championship, the door to the bedroom pops open and his wife Sin walks in and lovingly wraps her arms around her husband before heading to her closet and wordlessly begins to prepare her own suitcase.
(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Nighthawk, raising an eyebrow in confusion: “Honey, what exactly are you doing?”
Sin, packing up multiple dresses and smoothing wrinkles with her hands as she goes: “The last time you did this, against Alex Jones, you were all alone. No one knew who you were, or the sort of man that you wanted to become. That night, you had no one to rally behind you. But, this time, that’s not going to be the case. This time, when you step in the ring, you’re going to have 21,000 people behind you. And they’re all going to believe that you can do this, that you can humble Angel Blake and take his championship away from him. But if, in the moment, you forget that’s true I’ll be at ringside to make sure you remember.”
Nighthawk, tears coming to his usually impassive face as a smile follows right behind: “Trust me, honey, I’m not going to forget. This is too important to forget something like that.”
Sin: “You’re not thinking about Jayson, are you? Because you can’t worry your head about him, Tristan. That’s going to be the one card Angel’s going to play, and he’s going to draw it over and over again until you take the bait.”
Nighthawk: “I’m not thinking about that. The day is going to come when I get the chance to finally sit down and talk with Jayson, and figure out what in the world Angel has over him to make him act this way. But not that night. This is about winning the single most important singles championship in North America, if not the world, and I would be disrespecting the lineage of that belt, and every champion who held it, if I went into that contest with anything less than my full attention on Angel. He may be a man with a messianic complex as big as Kobe Bryant’s ego, but he is still a world-class competitor. Disrespecting him by allowing myself to think about anything else is a fool’s errand, and I’m not planning on going on one.”
Sin: “Just what I wanted to hear. Knock him dead.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk waits in the departures gate at O’Hare International Airport to head on a flight to Los Angeles, he decides to get up and purchase a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine before sitting back down.
At that moment, Nighthawk’s wife Sin appears next to him and wraps her arms around his waist. Clad in a three-piece jet-black gabardine suit, and professional black loafers, the “Master of 1000 Holds” closes his eyes as his wife Sin nestles her head on his shoulder. Clad in a red cocktail dress, and tasteful black mule-style shoes, the “Dark Princess” leans forward as both husband and wife turn deadly serious.
Nighthawk: “I know your games, Angel. You may think yourself special, a demi-god, but the truth is this. There are always men like you. As long as men will wrestle and fight other men for money, there will always be men like you. But while your distinctiveness is vastly and clearly overstated, I do want you to know one thing in all of your preparations for this title defense you are so obviously confident for. As many tricks as you try to play, I will answer each one. And when the night is over, and the bell rings, you will learn two things. And the 1st lesson will be more painful than the 2nd. So, Angel, allow me the privilege of taking you to school. Because this week, that’s where you’re going.”
Sin: “And every lesson, every bit of knowledge we plan on imparting, is going to hurt in a way that is almost biblical.”
Nighthawk: “See, Angel, you and I have done this before. At the height of your powers, and when everyone told me I was supposed to be scared to death to step in the ring with you, I did so. And do you know what I saw when I was in the ring with you, the supposed immortal demi-god of IWF? I saw a man, just like any other opponent. Your greatest advantage, Angel, is and has always been fear. You rely on it. You attempt to stoke it in any way you can, and with any tactics you can think to use. But, Angel, I am not afraid of you. And, beneath the bluster and the confidence, you know this to be true. And that, dear Mr. Blake, is the 1st lesson we have to teach. Sometimes, every once in a great while, even a man who builds his reputation on fear has to battle someone who is not scared.”
Sin: “And we’ve been through enough hard times to not be scared by some smoke, a few parlor tricks, and a big cat.”
Nighthawk: “I watched my father die, Angel. I stayed with him all through the night as he hacked up blood, and vomited on me, and I never left. Do you think I was more scared that night, or when I see you feeding a panther? I went through knee surgery, and back surgery, and I’ve stayed in the sport that caused both those injuries. Angel, you don’t scare me. What’s worse for you, and better than me, is that you can’t. And without fear, and without the power that gives you, what are you? I’ll answer, Angel. You’re a champion looking up at a clock that is just about to hit midnight.”
Sin: “The sun is setting on your empire, Angel. We’ll be there to take it over when the sun comes up.”
Nighthawk: “And so what does that leave you, Angel? It leaves you having to outwrestle me, and outfight me, when your biggest advantage is gone. And that, my dear boy, is the 2nd lesson. While you’ve relied on fear all this time, your skills have atrophied. We all hear the stories, Angel, and the gossip. The trainers in this company, we all talk. Sometimes over steaks and a beer at a local bar at a show, or on one of those training grounds house show. The conversation can be simple and lighthearted, like the continued Sisyphean incompetence of James Gilmore. But for you, we all talk about all the flaws we notice and the openings that you’re leaving. Someday, someday soon, you’re going to get caught Angel. And this week, you’re stepping in the ring with someone who knows how to make you pay for every mistake.”
Sin: “I’m not a trained wrestler, Angel, but even I can see your flaws. What does it say about you that I can notice it?”
Nighthawk: “So this week, Angel, bring all your tricks. Bring all the ‘atmosphere’ you can summon up. Because when all your games are over, you’ll have to wrestle me. And you don’t have the skills to beat me. Not anymore.”
Nighthawk and Sin: “Goodnight Angel. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
Well howdy there pardner.