Post by Deleted on Jan 28, 2017 2:58:00 GMT
“If you believe in yourself and have dedication and pride - and never quit, you'll be a winner. The price of victory is high but so are the rewards”
As Nighthawk awakes, stiff-legged and looking something like a wild caveman, in a small hotel room on the outskirts of Tokyo as he prepares to head to the hospital to see his trainer and mentor Mr. Takahashi before flying back to the United States to battle Andrew Jacobsen one has to wonder if he is truly taking this match as seriously as you might have expected him to.
Despite the idea that he wants to prove himself against a man many believe to be his equal, if not his better, in technical ability one has to wonder if the chicagoan’s deep desire for honor and to do the right thing is going to make the victory he has sought and dreamt about harder than perhaps it needs to be.
Pulling himself up to his feet slowly, each step now coming easier and easier as the motherboard keeping him in fighting shape begins to come alive, the “Wrestling Machine” slowly walks to the mirror and takes one look at the ever-growing beard on his face as well as the now shoulder-length cherry bomb-red locks and seems to think about heading into the shower to shave before deciding against it.
Heading into the bathroom to start his morning ritual before heading to the hospital to see Mr. Takahashi, Nighthawk drops down to both knees and prays silently to himself.
Nighthawk: “I know that praying for someone is not something I have usually done, god. If we’re being honest, every time that I have asked for help, I have asked for it for myself. I have needed your guidance to see me through battles and wars, and there may come a time when I need to ask for your help in that way again.
But right now, in this moment, I am not asking for that. Instead, if I am being honest, I am asking you to defy someone else’s will. My trainer and mentor, the man I see almost like a 2nd father to me, is ill. He has lost more blood, and suffered more pain and agony, than anyone I have ever shared a training hall with.
And yet, on he fought. If I live to be as old as Methuselah, and am blessed with the wisdom of Odin, I will never understand what drove him, what level of iron will he must have had.
But now, he’s done. He has had all the fights he wants to have, all the wars that he can stand, and if he has made the decision I suppose it is selfish of me to want him to stay around if he does not want that for himself.
Please though, if you choose to take him, let him have one more good day in the sun. Let him go out as the man he used to be at his peak, the man who was so full of life and vitality that he motivated me to spend 13 hours on a plane from Chicago to Tokyo just to see him.
I know I’m asking a lot, and I accept that. But if you can do that, I really would appreciate it.”
Slumping down against the kitchen sink, his entire body wracked with heaving full-body sobs, Nighthawk somehow finds the strength to pull himself up off of the floor and head into the shower to start the day.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Nighthawk: “I am about to, quite freely, shatter a myth. Perfection is impossible. In this craft or any others, perfection is impossible. No matter how many hours I train in the gym, or am taught the newest and best tricks by the smartest minds that exist, I will never be perfect. No one can be, and no one ever has been.
But it is the attempt to pursue it, to say with honesty that you did all you could to find it, that is noble. All the hours you spend training and trying to work out that one new trick, or mastering the hold that has always bedeviled you, there is nobility in that work no one notices. The chase of the brilliance of a Lou Thesz, the brilliance that comes with making all of that hard work look as effortless and as smooth as a dance, is where the pleasure in this job can be found.
And when I step in the ring with Andrew Jacobsen, with no restrictions on what it is I can do, I will be awash in the best kind of pleasure. That pleasure is stepping into a ring, and knowing that you are facing a master who competes with the same honor as you.
Andrew, I do not have to worry about cheap shots or dirty pool from you. I am confident in this now. I am also just as confident in this:
When our match is over, no matter if it takes 20 minutes or if it takes all night, my hand will be raised. Alison Valance will be announcing my name as the victor. And I will prove, with the finality a match like this ensures, that I belong here. I will prove that I am just as good as the top contenders for any championship.
Because for me, Andrew, that’s what this is about. I want to prove I belong.”
As Nighthawk walks into the hospital room where his mentor Mr. Takahashi is resting comfortably, his ice-blue eyes almost bulge out of his head as he sees the Black Dragon sitting in quiet contemplation by the side of his mentor’s bed. Realizing this situation requires calm and not losing his temper, the “Man of 1000 Holds” pulls up a chair and sits on the other side, not wanting to get into a complicated conversation here.
(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Japanese.)
Black Dragon: “I didn’t want it to be real. All of this, all the tubes and the pain he’s going through, I never wanted it to be real. And I thought if I lashed out at you, and I blamed you for this <The Black Dragon gestures to his left leg), I could make all of this go away. But I can’t. As much as I wish I could, I can’t. I just wanted to apologize to you.”
Nighthawk, his eyes softening as the ice between him and his former partner and friend appears to be melting somewhat: “I didn’t want this either. But it’s happened now. He’s fought so hard, and so long, that if this is how he wants to spend the winter of his life, who are we to fight that? Who are we to tell him to keep going when he doesn’t have to?”
Almost as if on cue, the EKG monitor above Mr. Takahashi’s head flatlines as nurses and other trained medical personnel rush into the room like a tidal wave. Staggering out of the room as if shot, Nighthawk leans against the wall. Clad in an aquamarine USA Wrestling t-shirt, black leather pants with an orange-and-blue sunburst pattern up and down each leg, and black work boots, Nighthawk slumps down to the floor and again weeps heavily.
>>>>>>>>>>>>
Nighthawk: “I have lost one of my most influential teachers. More so than the typical sort of trainer who taught me to properly apply a wristlock, he taught me the value of always being present and prepared No matter how much I wish it weren’t so; he’s not coming back.
And if he’s not I want to make sure that the time I spent preparing for his death, and the time mourning him, was not a fruitless endeavor. And to do that, Andrew, I have to prove to the world, and to you, that I belong at the very top of this company. If I want to make sure he will be remembered as the great trainer he was, I have to make my career worthy of him. And when I beat you in that 2-out-of-3 falls match, that is exactly what I will do.
The reason you have told everyone you want this match with me, Andrew, is to prove to the world that you’re the old Andrew Jacobsen, the one everyone loved and rightly idolized. And that is, Andrew, a noble goal.
But I would tell you that the Andrew Jacobsen you want to be, the man you think you no longer are, is the man who stood beside me at Survival of the Fittest. The man you want to be is the man who fought me with the fire of a young rookie for 60 minutes two weeks ago and accepted my challenge for a match to settle it almost as quickly. For my money, at least, you are the man you have always wanted to be.
But as for me, the reason I issued the challenge is that I am getting tired of the words that come after my name whenever I am introduced.
It used to be that when someone said my name, they would follow it with reminding everyone of my glories. Now when I arrived in the IWF, I fully understood that those glories would be de-emphasized. But I also believed that I would get the chance to have some new ones. That has not happened.
And, as that has gone on, the way I have been thought of by the fans at large has changed. Now, wherever I go and whenever I am introduced, it comes that I am incapable of winning the big one. And swallowing that, dealing with that knowledge, has become harder and harder as the weeks go by.
So this week, when I beat you Andrew, that will stop. This week, Andrew, when I beat you everyone will know that I can win the big one, because I will.
Goodnight Andrew. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
As Nighthawk awakes, stiff-legged and looking something like a wild caveman, in a small hotel room on the outskirts of Tokyo as he prepares to head to the hospital to see his trainer and mentor Mr. Takahashi before flying back to the United States to battle Andrew Jacobsen one has to wonder if he is truly taking this match as seriously as you might have expected him to.
Despite the idea that he wants to prove himself against a man many believe to be his equal, if not his better, in technical ability one has to wonder if the chicagoan’s deep desire for honor and to do the right thing is going to make the victory he has sought and dreamt about harder than perhaps it needs to be.
Pulling himself up to his feet slowly, each step now coming easier and easier as the motherboard keeping him in fighting shape begins to come alive, the “Wrestling Machine” slowly walks to the mirror and takes one look at the ever-growing beard on his face as well as the now shoulder-length cherry bomb-red locks and seems to think about heading into the shower to shave before deciding against it.
Heading into the bathroom to start his morning ritual before heading to the hospital to see Mr. Takahashi, Nighthawk drops down to both knees and prays silently to himself.
Nighthawk: “I know that praying for someone is not something I have usually done, god. If we’re being honest, every time that I have asked for help, I have asked for it for myself. I have needed your guidance to see me through battles and wars, and there may come a time when I need to ask for your help in that way again.
But right now, in this moment, I am not asking for that. Instead, if I am being honest, I am asking you to defy someone else’s will. My trainer and mentor, the man I see almost like a 2nd father to me, is ill. He has lost more blood, and suffered more pain and agony, than anyone I have ever shared a training hall with.
And yet, on he fought. If I live to be as old as Methuselah, and am blessed with the wisdom of Odin, I will never understand what drove him, what level of iron will he must have had.
But now, he’s done. He has had all the fights he wants to have, all the wars that he can stand, and if he has made the decision I suppose it is selfish of me to want him to stay around if he does not want that for himself.
Please though, if you choose to take him, let him have one more good day in the sun. Let him go out as the man he used to be at his peak, the man who was so full of life and vitality that he motivated me to spend 13 hours on a plane from Chicago to Tokyo just to see him.
I know I’m asking a lot, and I accept that. But if you can do that, I really would appreciate it.”
Slumping down against the kitchen sink, his entire body wracked with heaving full-body sobs, Nighthawk somehow finds the strength to pull himself up off of the floor and head into the shower to start the day.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Nighthawk: “I am about to, quite freely, shatter a myth. Perfection is impossible. In this craft or any others, perfection is impossible. No matter how many hours I train in the gym, or am taught the newest and best tricks by the smartest minds that exist, I will never be perfect. No one can be, and no one ever has been.
But it is the attempt to pursue it, to say with honesty that you did all you could to find it, that is noble. All the hours you spend training and trying to work out that one new trick, or mastering the hold that has always bedeviled you, there is nobility in that work no one notices. The chase of the brilliance of a Lou Thesz, the brilliance that comes with making all of that hard work look as effortless and as smooth as a dance, is where the pleasure in this job can be found.
And when I step in the ring with Andrew Jacobsen, with no restrictions on what it is I can do, I will be awash in the best kind of pleasure. That pleasure is stepping into a ring, and knowing that you are facing a master who competes with the same honor as you.
Andrew, I do not have to worry about cheap shots or dirty pool from you. I am confident in this now. I am also just as confident in this:
When our match is over, no matter if it takes 20 minutes or if it takes all night, my hand will be raised. Alison Valance will be announcing my name as the victor. And I will prove, with the finality a match like this ensures, that I belong here. I will prove that I am just as good as the top contenders for any championship.
Because for me, Andrew, that’s what this is about. I want to prove I belong.”
As Nighthawk walks into the hospital room where his mentor Mr. Takahashi is resting comfortably, his ice-blue eyes almost bulge out of his head as he sees the Black Dragon sitting in quiet contemplation by the side of his mentor’s bed. Realizing this situation requires calm and not losing his temper, the “Man of 1000 Holds” pulls up a chair and sits on the other side, not wanting to get into a complicated conversation here.
(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Japanese.)
Black Dragon: “I didn’t want it to be real. All of this, all the tubes and the pain he’s going through, I never wanted it to be real. And I thought if I lashed out at you, and I blamed you for this <The Black Dragon gestures to his left leg), I could make all of this go away. But I can’t. As much as I wish I could, I can’t. I just wanted to apologize to you.”
Nighthawk, his eyes softening as the ice between him and his former partner and friend appears to be melting somewhat: “I didn’t want this either. But it’s happened now. He’s fought so hard, and so long, that if this is how he wants to spend the winter of his life, who are we to fight that? Who are we to tell him to keep going when he doesn’t have to?”
Almost as if on cue, the EKG monitor above Mr. Takahashi’s head flatlines as nurses and other trained medical personnel rush into the room like a tidal wave. Staggering out of the room as if shot, Nighthawk leans against the wall. Clad in an aquamarine USA Wrestling t-shirt, black leather pants with an orange-and-blue sunburst pattern up and down each leg, and black work boots, Nighthawk slumps down to the floor and again weeps heavily.
>>>>>>>>>>>>
Nighthawk: “I have lost one of my most influential teachers. More so than the typical sort of trainer who taught me to properly apply a wristlock, he taught me the value of always being present and prepared No matter how much I wish it weren’t so; he’s not coming back.
And if he’s not I want to make sure that the time I spent preparing for his death, and the time mourning him, was not a fruitless endeavor. And to do that, Andrew, I have to prove to the world, and to you, that I belong at the very top of this company. If I want to make sure he will be remembered as the great trainer he was, I have to make my career worthy of him. And when I beat you in that 2-out-of-3 falls match, that is exactly what I will do.
The reason you have told everyone you want this match with me, Andrew, is to prove to the world that you’re the old Andrew Jacobsen, the one everyone loved and rightly idolized. And that is, Andrew, a noble goal.
But I would tell you that the Andrew Jacobsen you want to be, the man you think you no longer are, is the man who stood beside me at Survival of the Fittest. The man you want to be is the man who fought me with the fire of a young rookie for 60 minutes two weeks ago and accepted my challenge for a match to settle it almost as quickly. For my money, at least, you are the man you have always wanted to be.
But as for me, the reason I issued the challenge is that I am getting tired of the words that come after my name whenever I am introduced.
It used to be that when someone said my name, they would follow it with reminding everyone of my glories. Now when I arrived in the IWF, I fully understood that those glories would be de-emphasized. But I also believed that I would get the chance to have some new ones. That has not happened.
And, as that has gone on, the way I have been thought of by the fans at large has changed. Now, wherever I go and whenever I am introduced, it comes that I am incapable of winning the big one. And swallowing that, dealing with that knowledge, has become harder and harder as the weeks go by.
So this week, when I beat you Andrew, that will stop. This week, Andrew, when I beat you everyone will know that I can win the big one, because I will.
Goodnight Andrew. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
Well howdy there pardner.