Post by Deleted on Mar 31, 2017 22:10:02 GMT
“The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses - behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.”
As an exhausted-seeming Nighthawk slowly pulls himself out of bed in the row house he lives in the Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago with a tremendous amount of effort after his herculean performance in the IWF Roulette one has to wonder how much energy and stamina he may have left for the rubber match with his fellow Chicago-area rival Devlin Raine that was signed as a direct result of fan voting held right after High Stakes ended.
While he is well, and truly, flattered by the idea that the fans came up with the idea that they wanted to see him in a high-profile match such as this one cannot help but wonder if he is trying to rebuild and consolidate his efforts towards a championship match, a fact that if true means the rumors of his being bitterly disappointed at his inability to obtain an Imperial title shot has rather quickly been transmuted into an absolute focus on somehow finding a way to redeem himself should an opportunity to do so present itself.
But as the “Wrestling Machine” walks bleary-eyed in the general direction of a royal-blue thermos filled with Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee and a four egg omelet with spinach, bell peppers, onions, mushrooms, chorizo, and Swiss cheese as he tries to pull himself in the general direction of not being so tired that he might legitimately be able to sleep while standing up.
But as he staggers towards his breakfast the door to the bedroom yawns open carefully and in walks his wife Sin who looks love-struck as though she is seeing him for the 1st time. Clad in an ivory-colored bathrobe with cherry blossoms on the back and sleeves, which is open to reveal a coral-colored cheongsam that is doing a herculean job of covering up her bountiful charms, Sin smiles at her husband and pats the front of their king-sized bed.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Sin: “How’s breakfast, honey?”
Nighthawk, attacking the omelet with the hunger of someone who is unworried about having to make weight: “It’s great. When I got home from High Stakes, I know I did not check in with you. I just threw off my gear and went to sleep. At least, I think I threw off my gear.”
Sin, wincing as she remembers this part: “No. You didn’t.”
Nighthawk, wincing sympathetically as he remembers from first-hand experience all the times he had to wash his wrestling gear the next morning after a hard match: “I didn’t relish having to do that before I met you, and I don’t relish you having to do it for me now.”
Sin, smiling warmly at her husband: “I know, honey. However, you were entirely too tired to even think about doing it last night. Therefore, I will carry this for you. I like the shorts, too, if that helps any.”
Nighthawk: “You know, actually, it kind of does.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk finishes the exhaustive process of taping up his wrists and hands with periwinkle-colored tape for a morning training session at the Wrestle Factory, we see two perfectly symmetrical rows of students standing in front of the two practice rings and realize that we are now about to see him be in the role of teacher, something he has not had the chance to do nearly as much as he might like with the heavy schedule he has undertaken in the recent weeks.
Moreover, while he has routinely been thought of, and with quite clear good reason, as one of the sport’s preeminent pure technicians his work as a trainer has sometimes been ignored. Despite this occasional lack of knowledge over just how much it is that he has actually contributed to the sport that has been his life since his 1st day in it, anyone who has seen the “Wrestling Machine” impart knowledge realizes that he is an exacting teacher who is something of a stickler for the proper application of wrestling’s fundamentals.
Finishing the taping up of his hands Nighthawk beckons his students forward with a smile that is equal parts challenging and kind.
Nighthawk: “Every year, as the spring turns into the summer, we welcome a new freshman class to the Wrestle Factory. And every year I make the speech I am about to make.
I am Nighthawk, and I am your head trainer. Every day I am here, I expect you to work with the same intensity that you did when I put you through your paces before you were told you were accepted. I will teach you everything I know, and spend time after class going over points you might need extra teaching on. I won’t be needlessly cruel to you.
This isn’t the New Japan dojo, where you are expected to wash dishes, cook meals, and do laundry for the advanced class in addition to your own training. Those days are gone here in the United States, and hopefully before too long, they’re gone in Japan as well.
Now that you know who, and what, I am, I am about to tell you what I’m not. I’m not your friend. I am your teacher. In this building, I will expect as close to perfection as you can get. In addition, if you cannot handle that standard, if the idea of being relentlessly pushed to find your limits and exceed them does not appeal to you, I will gladly find other schools that better suit you.
However, this will not be a class of common pro wrestlers. I do not train anyone here to become someone who is happy wrestling for fly-by-night independents two times a week. Common men rarely achieve anything. If you want to be considered the best, and if you train here you should, I will make you an uncommon pro wrestler. I will make sure you are well schooled, appropriately respectful of the veterans and elders who built the sport you want to compete in, and prepared to live the life of a pro wrestler when you graduate.
Thank you. Now it’s time to get to work.”
>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk leans on the lip of the ring apron after taking the freshman class through a series of wrestling drills, his upper body drenched in sweat almost as though he might have been standing in a hurricane as he again ties the drawstring of navy-blue wrestling shorts with yellow diamonds at the bottom of each leg, he smiles at the class as if wholly preparing to impart yet another burst of wisdom before the door to the gym fires open and a crew of thick-necked and rugged young men walk into the room in white windbreaker-style jackets with the Cyrillic word for Russia written on the back, followed immediately by a pudgy man who by general bearing appears to be their coach. Beaming down to his soul the “Man of 1000 Holds” smiles and hugs a man who appears to be his longtime friend, the former coach of the Russian National Team Dmitry Tikhonov.
(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Russian.)
Dmitry: “I’m sorry for just dropping in on you like this, but we’re in town for the Five Nations Cup and I know your doors are always open to get some training in.”
Nighthawk, smiling as deeply as he can: “Of course, Dmitry. You’ve been so helpful to me anytime I needed to come to Russia to train that my doors are always open to you, and you should know that.”
Dmitry, his initial nervousness more or less gone: “It’s just that everyone’s been openly hostile since we’ve come into town. I know it’s not our sports team that’s been caught up in a doping scandal, but all anyone ever sees when they see Russian athletes now is doping. It’s the 1st thought, and sometimes the 2nd and the 3rd, but I’m tired of it.”
Nighthawk: “Honestly, man, if I were you I’d be tired of it. Nevertheless, always, no matter what, you can always come here to get away from it and to get some good training in. I run a clean gym, and I’ve always run a clean gym. Everyone who’s been here knows it.”
Dmitry, smiling: “Good. Because I need to train. And I’m tired of people always looking at me like I bring shame on them with my very appearance.”
Nighthawk, his voice earnest and clear as a bell: “As long as I have a gym, as long as I have one ring to practice in, you are always welcome here. I want you to know that.”
>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk sits with his legs crossed in front of the home stadium of his beloved Chicago White Sox, a steady stream of cool rain falling around him, we see his beatific and absolute calm on perfect display. Clad in a black leather trench coat with white and silver piping on the sleeves and a full-scale mural of the city of Chicago on the back, a white Chicago White Sox batting practice shirt, black leather pants with silver and white piping, and black work boots, the “Wrestling Machine” slowly opens his eyes and stares off into the distance.
Nighthawk: “No matter your life choices, or what you choose to do to keep the lights on and the bill paid, education should be valued. It has been said that the person who does not wish to, or simply cannot, learn is the people who will never succeed to the level that they expect themselves to. This line of work is no different, and in fact, showing a facility towards adaptation is what keeps you in this line of work for longer than just about any other of the unquantifiable skills does. Truly, unless you are some sort of athletic representation of the proverbial 1%, showing the ability to learn from your mistakes, and the expertise to fix them accordingly, is the most important thing that you can do.
And this week, when I resume a friendly battle with Devlin Raine, I will show the world that there is more knowledge in my proverbial library than just the one book he thinks lies there. In fact, if I stretch that analogy farther than perhaps it might need to be going, my library is full with books I have not yet shown the world I know how to read.
We share the same city, Devlin, so I don’t have to tell you about the value of education here. Our city is loaded with institutions of higher learning. From places as famous as the University of Chicago, to DePaul University where my father would have been happy beyond words to see me go, everywhere in this city you can find a place to learn about the world that extends beyond the borders of Chicagoland. And this week, I teach you that there is still so much wrestling you have yet to know, and I am just the man who can teach it all to you.
The past few weeks for me have, almost universally, been about survival, or multi-man matches. Facing you, in a match the fans demanded to as close to 100 percent as might exist? That, Devlin, is exactly the place. And this week, when I pin your shoulders to the mat or make you submit, I will show you the full depth and breadth of my skills. This week, Devlin, you may look at me and see someone who you already know all the answers to.
However, when our match is over, when my hand is raised in victory, I will show you that there is plenty about me you have yet to learn. Because this week, Devlin, I take you to graduate school. But I’d be lying, Devlin, if I said that’s all this was about to me. And since I feel lying to be the world’s greatest sin, I am not about to start now.
There have been three trilogies that I have been a part of in IWF, Devlin, and that list includes this one. And I lost the two previous. To the departed, but in no way missed by anyone, Alex Jones and my current tag team partner and the 2017 IWF Roulette Andrew Jacobsen. And I am not about to, in any way, lose the third trilogy. So when you and I step in the ring in Grand Rapids, I want this to be as clear as a laser shattering a pane of glass. When you go to sleep tonight, I want you to know it. And when you wake up in the morning, I want it to be the first thought in your head.
I am going to defeat you, Devlin. I am going to be the man who has his hand raised in victory. It may take me all night to do it, and if it does, that is fine. But it will happen. It will get done. I will beat you.
Goodnight Devlin. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
As an exhausted-seeming Nighthawk slowly pulls himself out of bed in the row house he lives in the Bridgeport neighborhood of Chicago with a tremendous amount of effort after his herculean performance in the IWF Roulette one has to wonder how much energy and stamina he may have left for the rubber match with his fellow Chicago-area rival Devlin Raine that was signed as a direct result of fan voting held right after High Stakes ended.
While he is well, and truly, flattered by the idea that the fans came up with the idea that they wanted to see him in a high-profile match such as this one cannot help but wonder if he is trying to rebuild and consolidate his efforts towards a championship match, a fact that if true means the rumors of his being bitterly disappointed at his inability to obtain an Imperial title shot has rather quickly been transmuted into an absolute focus on somehow finding a way to redeem himself should an opportunity to do so present itself.
But as the “Wrestling Machine” walks bleary-eyed in the general direction of a royal-blue thermos filled with Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee and a four egg omelet with spinach, bell peppers, onions, mushrooms, chorizo, and Swiss cheese as he tries to pull himself in the general direction of not being so tired that he might legitimately be able to sleep while standing up.
But as he staggers towards his breakfast the door to the bedroom yawns open carefully and in walks his wife Sin who looks love-struck as though she is seeing him for the 1st time. Clad in an ivory-colored bathrobe with cherry blossoms on the back and sleeves, which is open to reveal a coral-colored cheongsam that is doing a herculean job of covering up her bountiful charms, Sin smiles at her husband and pats the front of their king-sized bed.
(Author’s note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)
Sin: “How’s breakfast, honey?”
Nighthawk, attacking the omelet with the hunger of someone who is unworried about having to make weight: “It’s great. When I got home from High Stakes, I know I did not check in with you. I just threw off my gear and went to sleep. At least, I think I threw off my gear.”
Sin, wincing as she remembers this part: “No. You didn’t.”
Nighthawk, wincing sympathetically as he remembers from first-hand experience all the times he had to wash his wrestling gear the next morning after a hard match: “I didn’t relish having to do that before I met you, and I don’t relish you having to do it for me now.”
Sin, smiling warmly at her husband: “I know, honey. However, you were entirely too tired to even think about doing it last night. Therefore, I will carry this for you. I like the shorts, too, if that helps any.”
Nighthawk: “You know, actually, it kind of does.”
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk finishes the exhaustive process of taping up his wrists and hands with periwinkle-colored tape for a morning training session at the Wrestle Factory, we see two perfectly symmetrical rows of students standing in front of the two practice rings and realize that we are now about to see him be in the role of teacher, something he has not had the chance to do nearly as much as he might like with the heavy schedule he has undertaken in the recent weeks.
Moreover, while he has routinely been thought of, and with quite clear good reason, as one of the sport’s preeminent pure technicians his work as a trainer has sometimes been ignored. Despite this occasional lack of knowledge over just how much it is that he has actually contributed to the sport that has been his life since his 1st day in it, anyone who has seen the “Wrestling Machine” impart knowledge realizes that he is an exacting teacher who is something of a stickler for the proper application of wrestling’s fundamentals.
Finishing the taping up of his hands Nighthawk beckons his students forward with a smile that is equal parts challenging and kind.
Nighthawk: “Every year, as the spring turns into the summer, we welcome a new freshman class to the Wrestle Factory. And every year I make the speech I am about to make.
I am Nighthawk, and I am your head trainer. Every day I am here, I expect you to work with the same intensity that you did when I put you through your paces before you were told you were accepted. I will teach you everything I know, and spend time after class going over points you might need extra teaching on. I won’t be needlessly cruel to you.
This isn’t the New Japan dojo, where you are expected to wash dishes, cook meals, and do laundry for the advanced class in addition to your own training. Those days are gone here in the United States, and hopefully before too long, they’re gone in Japan as well.
Now that you know who, and what, I am, I am about to tell you what I’m not. I’m not your friend. I am your teacher. In this building, I will expect as close to perfection as you can get. In addition, if you cannot handle that standard, if the idea of being relentlessly pushed to find your limits and exceed them does not appeal to you, I will gladly find other schools that better suit you.
However, this will not be a class of common pro wrestlers. I do not train anyone here to become someone who is happy wrestling for fly-by-night independents two times a week. Common men rarely achieve anything. If you want to be considered the best, and if you train here you should, I will make you an uncommon pro wrestler. I will make sure you are well schooled, appropriately respectful of the veterans and elders who built the sport you want to compete in, and prepared to live the life of a pro wrestler when you graduate.
Thank you. Now it’s time to get to work.”
>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk leans on the lip of the ring apron after taking the freshman class through a series of wrestling drills, his upper body drenched in sweat almost as though he might have been standing in a hurricane as he again ties the drawstring of navy-blue wrestling shorts with yellow diamonds at the bottom of each leg, he smiles at the class as if wholly preparing to impart yet another burst of wisdom before the door to the gym fires open and a crew of thick-necked and rugged young men walk into the room in white windbreaker-style jackets with the Cyrillic word for Russia written on the back, followed immediately by a pudgy man who by general bearing appears to be their coach. Beaming down to his soul the “Man of 1000 Holds” smiles and hugs a man who appears to be his longtime friend, the former coach of the Russian National Team Dmitry Tikhonov.
(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Russian.)
Dmitry: “I’m sorry for just dropping in on you like this, but we’re in town for the Five Nations Cup and I know your doors are always open to get some training in.”
Nighthawk, smiling as deeply as he can: “Of course, Dmitry. You’ve been so helpful to me anytime I needed to come to Russia to train that my doors are always open to you, and you should know that.”
Dmitry, his initial nervousness more or less gone: “It’s just that everyone’s been openly hostile since we’ve come into town. I know it’s not our sports team that’s been caught up in a doping scandal, but all anyone ever sees when they see Russian athletes now is doping. It’s the 1st thought, and sometimes the 2nd and the 3rd, but I’m tired of it.”
Nighthawk: “Honestly, man, if I were you I’d be tired of it. Nevertheless, always, no matter what, you can always come here to get away from it and to get some good training in. I run a clean gym, and I’ve always run a clean gym. Everyone who’s been here knows it.”
Dmitry, smiling: “Good. Because I need to train. And I’m tired of people always looking at me like I bring shame on them with my very appearance.”
Nighthawk, his voice earnest and clear as a bell: “As long as I have a gym, as long as I have one ring to practice in, you are always welcome here. I want you to know that.”
>>>>>>>>>>>
As Nighthawk sits with his legs crossed in front of the home stadium of his beloved Chicago White Sox, a steady stream of cool rain falling around him, we see his beatific and absolute calm on perfect display. Clad in a black leather trench coat with white and silver piping on the sleeves and a full-scale mural of the city of Chicago on the back, a white Chicago White Sox batting practice shirt, black leather pants with silver and white piping, and black work boots, the “Wrestling Machine” slowly opens his eyes and stares off into the distance.
Nighthawk: “No matter your life choices, or what you choose to do to keep the lights on and the bill paid, education should be valued. It has been said that the person who does not wish to, or simply cannot, learn is the people who will never succeed to the level that they expect themselves to. This line of work is no different, and in fact, showing a facility towards adaptation is what keeps you in this line of work for longer than just about any other of the unquantifiable skills does. Truly, unless you are some sort of athletic representation of the proverbial 1%, showing the ability to learn from your mistakes, and the expertise to fix them accordingly, is the most important thing that you can do.
And this week, when I resume a friendly battle with Devlin Raine, I will show the world that there is more knowledge in my proverbial library than just the one book he thinks lies there. In fact, if I stretch that analogy farther than perhaps it might need to be going, my library is full with books I have not yet shown the world I know how to read.
We share the same city, Devlin, so I don’t have to tell you about the value of education here. Our city is loaded with institutions of higher learning. From places as famous as the University of Chicago, to DePaul University where my father would have been happy beyond words to see me go, everywhere in this city you can find a place to learn about the world that extends beyond the borders of Chicagoland. And this week, I teach you that there is still so much wrestling you have yet to know, and I am just the man who can teach it all to you.
The past few weeks for me have, almost universally, been about survival, or multi-man matches. Facing you, in a match the fans demanded to as close to 100 percent as might exist? That, Devlin, is exactly the place. And this week, when I pin your shoulders to the mat or make you submit, I will show you the full depth and breadth of my skills. This week, Devlin, you may look at me and see someone who you already know all the answers to.
However, when our match is over, when my hand is raised in victory, I will show you that there is plenty about me you have yet to learn. Because this week, Devlin, I take you to graduate school. But I’d be lying, Devlin, if I said that’s all this was about to me. And since I feel lying to be the world’s greatest sin, I am not about to start now.
There have been three trilogies that I have been a part of in IWF, Devlin, and that list includes this one. And I lost the two previous. To the departed, but in no way missed by anyone, Alex Jones and my current tag team partner and the 2017 IWF Roulette Andrew Jacobsen. And I am not about to, in any way, lose the third trilogy. So when you and I step in the ring in Grand Rapids, I want this to be as clear as a laser shattering a pane of glass. When you go to sleep tonight, I want you to know it. And when you wake up in the morning, I want it to be the first thought in your head.
I am going to defeat you, Devlin. I am going to be the man who has his hand raised in victory. It may take me all night to do it, and if it does, that is fine. But it will happen. It will get done. I will beat you.
Goodnight Devlin. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”
Well howdy there pardner.