Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Mar 6, 2017 5:14:08 GMT
Two weeks ago...I was lucky.
I was lucky to have Nighthawk in my corner. I was lucky that my body held out long enough to get him into the match. It took every single ounce of energy and every bit of skill I have to survive that match, and I'm still feeling it two weeks later. But I'm better now than I was then...and I have two men that I trust with my life at my back. But in front of me is one of the most dangerous things you can see as a professional wrestler: three unknown qualities, with the bond of family between them and a shared purpose in their hearts.
The Spencer Family. Boys, I know what it's like to feel the pull of blood. It's what drew me into this ring, same as you. My father was a wrestler. I've felt the calling all my life. I've fought for my brother before, I've fought for my family time and again. No matter how much we might fight at times, no matter what kind of hell I go through for them...they're worth it, because they're family. Never question that.
And the men I've got at my back? They're not blood brothers, no. But I've seen them wrestle for years and years. I know them very well, and I know one of them like the back of my hand. That knowledge...it's ironclad, and it lets me say this: we will not go gentle. We are going to fight. And we are going to win.
How can I say that, you might ask? How can I promise that three men who haven't ever shared a corner at the same time in their careers can overcome three men who have been together their entire lives? How can we overcome the strengths you bring to bear? Boys, you might know each other, but the amount we could teach all of you about the art of wrestling...well, you could give us a month of Sundays and we wouldn't get halfway through the lessons you're going to need to learn if you want to stand up against the best the world has to offer.
Look at Jayson Matthews. This is a man that so many write off and consign to joke status. Lesser men would have walked away from the business after taking a tenth of the abuse he has. But has he given up? No. He's pushed forward, he's kept fighting. He still wants to learn and grow, he still wants to compete because this business is something he loves. He's not here out of circumstance, he's here because he wants to be. A man who didn't want this wouldn't have gone to Nighthawk to learn. He wouldn't be putting in the hours to grow, he wouldn't be pushing himself to his limits the way Jayson Matthews does. Question his skill if you dare, but never question his heart. That heart makes up for so much...and if you don't have that heart to begin with?
Get the hell out of this ring, because you don't belong here.
Andrew sits down in a booth in a dimly-lit, poorly-decorated bar that could somewhat generously be called a dive with a beer in hand, rolling his neck as he does. He takes a deep breath, eyeing the second beer on the table before glancing back over his shoulder at the door. Andrew winces, turning back as his hand almost reflexively reaches to his lower back. Andrew closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and exhales slowly, only opening them when a familiar rumbling voice speaks up.
"Jesus, even I don't wince like that. Getting old early, kid?"
Andrew opens his eyes as his father Jason walks around to sit on the other side of the booth, the elder Jacobsen wearing a smirk patented by the decades. Andrew rolls his eyes, sighing as his father sits down, adjusting the lapels of a track jacket.
"Really? A tracksuit? Did you join the Mafia or something?"
Jason laughs, somewhat humorlessly, and shakes his head, scooping up the beer in a massive right hand.
"Nah. I, uh, I was at the gym when you called. Nice of you to visit for a few days, but could you have given me a little more of a heads-up?"
Andrew blinks, his expression briefly becoming that of a man who's surprised and, on a certain level, proud. He takes a sip of his beer, inhaling through his nose as he sets it down again.
"Fair point...what's got you back in the gym?"
Jason shrugs, flashing a crooked grin.
"Your mother and I have bills to pay, and I'm not exactly killing it on the convention circuit or anything. So, uh...there's a few independent promotions in the area, and I was thinking...maybe I could get back in the ring? Hell, I still feel good for my age, and I can put some punks in their place. Whaddya think?"
Jason's grin grows wider, and Andrew's jaw drops halfway to the floor before he catches himself. He takes a deep breath, forcing his own million-dollar smile back onto his face, and nods slowly.
"That's...that's...that's good! That's...I mean, if you think you can make it work...who've you been training with?"
Jason shrugs, taking a massive swig from his beer that drains nearly half the bottle before setting it back down. He lets out a long sigh, cracking his neck with a rippling pop before replying.
"Your brother. He's been getting me back into my striking game, sparring with me. Rick's got a lot of power on him, but I still have decades of punching people in the face on my side. Poor kid's gonna be nursing his jaw for a week."
Andrew can't help but snort, shaking his head with a rueful smile on his face. He inhales through his nose, looking up at his father.
"Dad...how do you deal with it? The pain? How did you manage?"
Jason pauses mid-drink, hanging in the air for what seems like an eternity, even though it's only a few seconds. He slowly sets the beer down, looking at Andrew with a sobered expression on his face, and sighs slowly.
"I didn't. Not any way anybody should deal with that stuff. More pills than a pharmacist, I...well, honestly I should have stopped drinking a long time ago, but here we are. Having you, Rick, Callie...you guys pulled me out of it. I knew I had to be sober to do right by you...but when I sobered up, the pain came back. Too bad to ignore. And I wasn't doing the stuff you are today. I wasn't being powerbombed off of cages or going through tables or any of that. I was just on the road all the time. I don't know how you're holding together, especially since I know you aren't doing a fraction of what I did. And...don't take this the wrong way, but...I'm only moving as well as I am because of when I got out. You keep up this pace...Andrew, I don't want you to get hurt."
Andrew nods, managing a weak grin as he knocks back his beer, draining the bottle. A long, awkward moment ensues between father and son, only broken by the sounds of mumbled conversation from other booths. Finally, Andrew manages to speak again.
"...yeah...same to you, Dad."
Another awkward silence.
"Another round?"
Jason nods quietly, setting his now-empty bottle on the table.
"...yeah. I think we both need it right now."
Andrew nods, standing up and grabbing both empty bottles, and walks towards the bar, the silence between both men hanging thick in the air as we fade to black.
That's only half of the partnership, though. Let me tell you a little bit about a man who's never really seemed to earn the respect he deserves. Let me tell you about the single finest technical wrestler in the world. Not the finest I've ever been in the ring with, the finest in the world. Full stop. In a pure grappling contest, he smokes me ten times out of ten. Let me tell you about the man whose response to being brutalized in the middle of this ring wasn't to take his ball and go home, wasn't to give up and stop fighting the good fight, but to double down and swear things would never go down that way again. Let me tell you about my hero.
Let me tell you about Nighthawk.
If championships in this business were won and lost on fundamentals alone, Nighthawk would be the undefeated, undisputed champion of the world. If you built the ideal grappler from the ground up, you would end up with Nighthawk. He's tough as they come, too. You can't go through the litany of abuse he's been through without it and still be moving, much less competing the way he does. He's my tag team partner, he's Jayson's trainer, and he could tie each and every one of you into a knot while he slept.
And just think about it, gentlemen. That's ONE of my tag team partners. That's ONE of the three men you're staring down the barrel of. Put us all together across from you? Well, boys, blood and pride can do a lot, but it can't move mountains. It can't shatter steel. And it can't put us away. Monday night, Sacrifice...we'll be there. We'll be ready. This is your first time inside an IWF ring, gentlemen.
Be ready for a baptism by fire.
I was lucky to have Nighthawk in my corner. I was lucky that my body held out long enough to get him into the match. It took every single ounce of energy and every bit of skill I have to survive that match, and I'm still feeling it two weeks later. But I'm better now than I was then...and I have two men that I trust with my life at my back. But in front of me is one of the most dangerous things you can see as a professional wrestler: three unknown qualities, with the bond of family between them and a shared purpose in their hearts.
The Spencer Family. Boys, I know what it's like to feel the pull of blood. It's what drew me into this ring, same as you. My father was a wrestler. I've felt the calling all my life. I've fought for my brother before, I've fought for my family time and again. No matter how much we might fight at times, no matter what kind of hell I go through for them...they're worth it, because they're family. Never question that.
And the men I've got at my back? They're not blood brothers, no. But I've seen them wrestle for years and years. I know them very well, and I know one of them like the back of my hand. That knowledge...it's ironclad, and it lets me say this: we will not go gentle. We are going to fight. And we are going to win.
How can I say that, you might ask? How can I promise that three men who haven't ever shared a corner at the same time in their careers can overcome three men who have been together their entire lives? How can we overcome the strengths you bring to bear? Boys, you might know each other, but the amount we could teach all of you about the art of wrestling...well, you could give us a month of Sundays and we wouldn't get halfway through the lessons you're going to need to learn if you want to stand up against the best the world has to offer.
Look at Jayson Matthews. This is a man that so many write off and consign to joke status. Lesser men would have walked away from the business after taking a tenth of the abuse he has. But has he given up? No. He's pushed forward, he's kept fighting. He still wants to learn and grow, he still wants to compete because this business is something he loves. He's not here out of circumstance, he's here because he wants to be. A man who didn't want this wouldn't have gone to Nighthawk to learn. He wouldn't be putting in the hours to grow, he wouldn't be pushing himself to his limits the way Jayson Matthews does. Question his skill if you dare, but never question his heart. That heart makes up for so much...and if you don't have that heart to begin with?
Get the hell out of this ring, because you don't belong here.
Andrew sits down in a booth in a dimly-lit, poorly-decorated bar that could somewhat generously be called a dive with a beer in hand, rolling his neck as he does. He takes a deep breath, eyeing the second beer on the table before glancing back over his shoulder at the door. Andrew winces, turning back as his hand almost reflexively reaches to his lower back. Andrew closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and exhales slowly, only opening them when a familiar rumbling voice speaks up.
"Jesus, even I don't wince like that. Getting old early, kid?"
Andrew opens his eyes as his father Jason walks around to sit on the other side of the booth, the elder Jacobsen wearing a smirk patented by the decades. Andrew rolls his eyes, sighing as his father sits down, adjusting the lapels of a track jacket.
"Really? A tracksuit? Did you join the Mafia or something?"
Jason laughs, somewhat humorlessly, and shakes his head, scooping up the beer in a massive right hand.
"Nah. I, uh, I was at the gym when you called. Nice of you to visit for a few days, but could you have given me a little more of a heads-up?"
Andrew blinks, his expression briefly becoming that of a man who's surprised and, on a certain level, proud. He takes a sip of his beer, inhaling through his nose as he sets it down again.
"Fair point...what's got you back in the gym?"
Jason shrugs, flashing a crooked grin.
"Your mother and I have bills to pay, and I'm not exactly killing it on the convention circuit or anything. So, uh...there's a few independent promotions in the area, and I was thinking...maybe I could get back in the ring? Hell, I still feel good for my age, and I can put some punks in their place. Whaddya think?"
Jason's grin grows wider, and Andrew's jaw drops halfway to the floor before he catches himself. He takes a deep breath, forcing his own million-dollar smile back onto his face, and nods slowly.
"That's...that's...that's good! That's...I mean, if you think you can make it work...who've you been training with?"
Jason shrugs, taking a massive swig from his beer that drains nearly half the bottle before setting it back down. He lets out a long sigh, cracking his neck with a rippling pop before replying.
"Your brother. He's been getting me back into my striking game, sparring with me. Rick's got a lot of power on him, but I still have decades of punching people in the face on my side. Poor kid's gonna be nursing his jaw for a week."
Andrew can't help but snort, shaking his head with a rueful smile on his face. He inhales through his nose, looking up at his father.
"Dad...how do you deal with it? The pain? How did you manage?"
Jason pauses mid-drink, hanging in the air for what seems like an eternity, even though it's only a few seconds. He slowly sets the beer down, looking at Andrew with a sobered expression on his face, and sighs slowly.
"I didn't. Not any way anybody should deal with that stuff. More pills than a pharmacist, I...well, honestly I should have stopped drinking a long time ago, but here we are. Having you, Rick, Callie...you guys pulled me out of it. I knew I had to be sober to do right by you...but when I sobered up, the pain came back. Too bad to ignore. And I wasn't doing the stuff you are today. I wasn't being powerbombed off of cages or going through tables or any of that. I was just on the road all the time. I don't know how you're holding together, especially since I know you aren't doing a fraction of what I did. And...don't take this the wrong way, but...I'm only moving as well as I am because of when I got out. You keep up this pace...Andrew, I don't want you to get hurt."
Andrew nods, managing a weak grin as he knocks back his beer, draining the bottle. A long, awkward moment ensues between father and son, only broken by the sounds of mumbled conversation from other booths. Finally, Andrew manages to speak again.
"...yeah...same to you, Dad."
Another awkward silence.
"Another round?"
Jason nods quietly, setting his now-empty bottle on the table.
"...yeah. I think we both need it right now."
Andrew nods, standing up and grabbing both empty bottles, and walks towards the bar, the silence between both men hanging thick in the air as we fade to black.
That's only half of the partnership, though. Let me tell you a little bit about a man who's never really seemed to earn the respect he deserves. Let me tell you about the single finest technical wrestler in the world. Not the finest I've ever been in the ring with, the finest in the world. Full stop. In a pure grappling contest, he smokes me ten times out of ten. Let me tell you about the man whose response to being brutalized in the middle of this ring wasn't to take his ball and go home, wasn't to give up and stop fighting the good fight, but to double down and swear things would never go down that way again. Let me tell you about my hero.
Let me tell you about Nighthawk.
If championships in this business were won and lost on fundamentals alone, Nighthawk would be the undefeated, undisputed champion of the world. If you built the ideal grappler from the ground up, you would end up with Nighthawk. He's tough as they come, too. You can't go through the litany of abuse he's been through without it and still be moving, much less competing the way he does. He's my tag team partner, he's Jayson's trainer, and he could tie each and every one of you into a knot while he slept.
And just think about it, gentlemen. That's ONE of my tag team partners. That's ONE of the three men you're staring down the barrel of. Put us all together across from you? Well, boys, blood and pride can do a lot, but it can't move mountains. It can't shatter steel. And it can't put us away. Monday night, Sacrifice...we'll be there. We'll be ready. This is your first time inside an IWF ring, gentlemen.
Be ready for a baptism by fire.
Well howdy there pardner.