Post by Hayleigh Blake on Sept 29, 2024 21:59:33 GMT
”As far as first impressions go, I think mine went pretty good.
Winning is definitely a step in the right direction.
But if being part of my family has taught me anything, you’re only as good as your last match. And my last match being my first match doesn’t really amount to anything.
Yeah, I battled hard against a tested competitor but the vocal minority are only saying one thing.
I didn’t earn this opportunity.
Daddy and mommy got me my shot.
And you know what?
You’re right. The IWC perverts who pretend to support women's wrestling while secretly hoping the bra and panties match makes a sudden and abrupt come back? You’re right.
Mommy and daddy did get me my shot.
In fact and I may be mistaken, daddy informed Mr, Verona of the contract he would offer me while he was blowing my dad under the dinner table.
That’s called sarcasm, people.
You can think and believe whatever you want. I’m not going to argue with you. I think someone once said arguing with idiots is like playing chess with a chicken or something, they'd knock over all the pieces, shit on the board and still think they're right.
Like Fiona.
Fact of the matter is that I haven’t earned this opportunity until I’ve earned it in the eyes of the beloved IWC. And I probably won’t earn it to them until some absolute deviant hacks my snap chat.
Well bad news, you won’t find anything there but go for it. I’m sure I’ve got some pretty sick Lamb of God lip syncing videos I sent my friends in there somewhere or maybe a couple of me doing the whole power ranger routine.
OG Green Ranger for Halloween, every Halloween.
Bottom line is I didn’t get into this business to prove myself to people to the neckbeards and the chronically online, I got into professional wrestling because I love it.
I’ve loved it from the moment I first saw it.
And I’m going to earn my keep.
Just like Amber.
I knew when I signed my 90 day deal I’d have to face some of the people I trained with but I didn’t expect to face them so soon.
I know the routine the world is expecting, me talking trash about Amber until she rolls over and dies but I can’t. I’ve spent time with her, worked with her, trained, partied and just hung out with her. Amber is a friend, a peer and someone I look up to.
I’m honestly a little nervous.
Amber was trained by Tara Fenix.
Trained to be a killer.
Then again…
Tara trained me too.
As did my father.
So what does that make me, Amber?
Let’s find out together.
I didn’t earn my place here in the traditional sense, like you did but you can rest assured I will earn it one match at a time.
One opponent at a time.”
Most people won’t believe this and that’s fine, I don’t care but I’ve been training to wrestle from the moment I learned to walk.
Yeah, ok, you’ve got people who’ve been in this business for two plus decades, who claim to know every move there is to know and every counter to every move because they’ve never accidentally got sucked into a binge watch of Stranger Things.
I’m on my third rewatch, btw.
But me?
I’ve been trained to be a professional wrestler from the moment I could hold my head up under my own power.
I know that isn’t exactly as impressive as toiling away in high school gyms, wrestling for your dinner but I feel like there’s just a tiny bit of street cred for learning how to correctly lock in a rear naked choke before you could eat solid foods.
That’s just me.
Mom and dad always had a dream for me.
I think dad saw me as the one who could carry on his legacy and mom saw me as the one who could create hers.
LMAO.
Obviously things didn’t play out that way 18 years later. Dad discovered, found or made more contenders for his legacy, that sounds like jealously but I love competition and mom went ahead and forged her own.
That left me in a pretty awkward place.
I went from the heir apparent to the Blake throne to a fifth string option after all my penis wielding siblings.
Fair enough.
At least I could still live up to my moms lofty ambitions, right?
Wrong.
She just had to go ahead and become arguably the best women’s wrestler in IWF history.
I know the whole boat match with Tara doesn’t count as canon but it did happen and mom did lose so I say the jury is still out.
I’m sorry, mom.
But her deciding to step into a ring left with me with an even bigger mountain to climb. My father is quite possibly the biggest star this company has ever known and my mother went from new comer to hall of famer in less than two years.
Not to mention my brothers.
Uncles.
And the people associated with them who also ascended to super stardom.
My road was never going to be easy, something that became perfectly clear when my mom showed me exactly how seriously she took her profession.
“Do I need to break your arm again before you take these training sessions seriously?”
Sometimes I wonder what a normal family feels like.
Uncle Rob showed me all the classics. Addams Family, the Munsters, the Partridge Family and a few other black and white tv shows that are light years better than the trash you find on tv now.
And I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a present father and… a loving mother is the wrong phrase… Someone slightly more caring?
Let’s move on.
“Someone ate their twatwheaties today.”
“Please spend less time with your Uncle Rob.”
“Why? Because I might develop a personality?”
Mom didn’t like that insult, which drew her in, which was the plan. She went for a tie up but I went for a go behind. I had the rear waist lock synched and she tried to sit out of it but my S grip was locked in firm.
“No. I’m just worried you’ll bite off more than you CAN CHEW!”
She caught me with a back head butt. Clever. But I went for her ankles. She’s pushing 40, I’ve seen her limp early in the morning, she’s got weaknesses.
“Nice try, kid.”
She stuffs my attempt.
“Nice try but tough luck. If you want to make it to my level then you’re going to need to be more aggressive than that.”
“What level is that, has been?”
I shoot for her ankles again but this time she drops an elbow across the back of my head so hard I think I’m seeing literal stars.
“I’m sorry. I missed the question.”
She goes for another elbow to the back of my head but I roll out of the way. I connect with a Genocide kick and take a step back as she sways on her knees. A sick grin spreads across my face before I run in with a Divine Justice knee strike, stopping just a millimeter or so from her forehead.
“I said, what level is that?”
She looks up at me with a smirk. A smirk I’d like to drive off her face.
“Let’s take five and run it again.”
Heh, I think I got under her skin again. Next time she won’t catch me with that elbow strike.
Yeah, ok, you’ve got people who’ve been in this business for two plus decades, who claim to know every move there is to know and every counter to every move because they’ve never accidentally got sucked into a binge watch of Stranger Things.
I’m on my third rewatch, btw.
But me?
I’ve been trained to be a professional wrestler from the moment I could hold my head up under my own power.
I know that isn’t exactly as impressive as toiling away in high school gyms, wrestling for your dinner but I feel like there’s just a tiny bit of street cred for learning how to correctly lock in a rear naked choke before you could eat solid foods.
That’s just me.
Mom and dad always had a dream for me.
I think dad saw me as the one who could carry on his legacy and mom saw me as the one who could create hers.
LMAO.
Obviously things didn’t play out that way 18 years later. Dad discovered, found or made more contenders for his legacy, that sounds like jealously but I love competition and mom went ahead and forged her own.
That left me in a pretty awkward place.
I went from the heir apparent to the Blake throne to a fifth string option after all my penis wielding siblings.
Fair enough.
At least I could still live up to my moms lofty ambitions, right?
Wrong.
She just had to go ahead and become arguably the best women’s wrestler in IWF history.
I know the whole boat match with Tara doesn’t count as canon but it did happen and mom did lose so I say the jury is still out.
I’m sorry, mom.
But her deciding to step into a ring left with me with an even bigger mountain to climb. My father is quite possibly the biggest star this company has ever known and my mother went from new comer to hall of famer in less than two years.
Not to mention my brothers.
Uncles.
And the people associated with them who also ascended to super stardom.
My road was never going to be easy, something that became perfectly clear when my mom showed me exactly how seriously she took her profession.
“Do I need to break your arm again before you take these training sessions seriously?”
Sometimes I wonder what a normal family feels like.
Uncle Rob showed me all the classics. Addams Family, the Munsters, the Partridge Family and a few other black and white tv shows that are light years better than the trash you find on tv now.
And I wonder what it would have been like to grow up with a present father and… a loving mother is the wrong phrase… Someone slightly more caring?
Let’s move on.
“Someone ate their twatwheaties today.”
“Please spend less time with your Uncle Rob.”
“Why? Because I might develop a personality?”
Mom didn’t like that insult, which drew her in, which was the plan. She went for a tie up but I went for a go behind. I had the rear waist lock synched and she tried to sit out of it but my S grip was locked in firm.
“No. I’m just worried you’ll bite off more than you CAN CHEW!”
She caught me with a back head butt. Clever. But I went for her ankles. She’s pushing 40, I’ve seen her limp early in the morning, she’s got weaknesses.
“Nice try, kid.”
She stuffs my attempt.
“Nice try but tough luck. If you want to make it to my level then you’re going to need to be more aggressive than that.”
“What level is that, has been?”
I shoot for her ankles again but this time she drops an elbow across the back of my head so hard I think I’m seeing literal stars.
“I’m sorry. I missed the question.”
She goes for another elbow to the back of my head but I roll out of the way. I connect with a Genocide kick and take a step back as she sways on her knees. A sick grin spreads across my face before I run in with a Divine Justice knee strike, stopping just a millimeter or so from her forehead.
“I said, what level is that?”
She looks up at me with a smirk. A smirk I’d like to drive off her face.
“Let’s take five and run it again.”
Heh, I think I got under her skin again. Next time she won’t catch me with that elbow strike.
Well howdy there pardner.