Post by Andrew Jacobsen on May 8, 2017 3:34:24 GMT
What am I supposed to say here?
See, if I hated the person I had a match against, this would be the part where I let them know, where I dissected every loathsome, low-down thing they'd perpetrated and swore that I'd show them exactly where they went wrong. If it was someone I respected, I would talk about how hard of a fight it would be and how much I was looking forward to a chance to test myself against one of the best in the world. Even if it was someone I didn't know, I'd talk about the mystery of a new opponent and the intensely personal experience of learning more about them in the ring. But this time...this time, none of that applies.
Johnny...I want to like you. Everything in your story is something I can empathize with. You were a fan. You were so much of a fan, you wanted to pursue your passion and wrestle, and now here you are, on the biggest stage imaginable, living your dream. Who couldn't get behind that? It's the perfect underdog story, right? You came from nothing, you're doing this all with one good eye, and you're just riding the wave of passion and trying to go out there every single week to do what you know how to do.
But see...that's where it all falls down for me. You've said time and again you don't know WHAT to do, only what you CAN do. And that's fine. Admitting that you don't know what to do is no weakness. I wouldn't have a problem if what you'd done was say that and then do something...ANYTHING...to change it. But you said it time and again, and it started to feel like you were hiding behind it. You got the barest minimum of training from Jack Gaither, and rather than use that as a platform to build on, you just...let it sit, and when you were called on it you would lash out, saying you didn't know any better.
That's where I lost the respect I had for you. I don't question your heart, Johnny. You're clearly a passionate guy. What I question is why you so ardently believe that you can compete with people who have literally spent their entire adult lives or more bettering themselves and honing themselves as professional wrestlers...with nothing more than the basics and heart. Not only do you believe that, you refuse to close the experience gap. You've turned being unwilling to learn into a Zen-like thing, and you...you almost seem to enjoy it. You almost seem to lord your lack of training over others, in the most passive-aggressive way possible, and trust me. I'm Minnesotan. I know what passive-aggressive looks like.
And I think the worst part is the way that you lash out whenever someone calls you on this. Even if their way of calling you on it is tempered with an offer to train, all you see is an attack on your person. And coming from some people, it absolutely is. It's only an attack from me because of all the times you've snapped at those who've tried to help. It's only an attack because you constantly disrespected and insulted a man I was, until last Monday, proud to call my tag team partner. A man I'm still proud to call a teacher and a friend. If you hadn't insulted Nighthawk, this match wouldn't have happened. But here we are.
I'll admit, I was going to approach this from a completely different perspective before Sacrifice happened. Before Sacrifice happened, I was going to try to be firm, but fair. I was going to save a piece of you for Nighthawk, because he deserved a crack at you for all the times you've insulted him. But now? Now, I have to teach you all the lessons that he was going to. I'm a poor substitute for him, but...I'll do what I can. I'm doing this for him now more than ever, and trust me when I say that I was the good cop in this. I'm not holding back on Monday, and if you want a snowball's chance in that ring, you had better step up your game. I don't get to take weeks off anymore. Night of the Immortals is right around the corner, and if I'm not on the top of my game, I don't deserve the shot I'm getting.
So listen up. Pay attention. Class is in session. Take notes, because you will be tested. And...good luck.
You're going to need it.
Andrew sits at the dining table in Danielle Chase's apartment, idly picking through a bowl of cereal with his spoon. His face, normally clean-shaven, has the characteristic stubble of several days' worth of neglect, and his stare is unfocused as he looks vaguely at the bowl in front of him. Danielle walks into the room, clearly not too far removed from sleep, in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. She grins when she sees Andrew, a playful tone in her voice. "Contemplating the mysteries of your Cheerios?"
The response from Andrew is delayed, but after a few moments Andrew shakes his head slowly, sighing. "Contemplating my own mortality. Again." Danielle sighs, sitting across the table from him, and reaches out, taking his hand. "Like...all the way to the hospital, he was fighting his pain. He responded to the paramedics, but...it was like he was trying to strangle the agony all the way down. All I could think was if I could've done that in his place."
Danielle shakes her head, squeezing Andrew's hand gently. "Hey. I know Nighthawk's your friend, but...you can't let yourself suffer alongside him. You're still here. You're still going. It was a freak accident. There's no way he could have planned for it, and if you let yourself get wrapped up in it...well, better find the Tao of General Mills on the shelf somewhere." she grins, almost expectantly, and is rewarded with a brief chuckle from Andrew.
Andrew sets the spoon down, letting it clink against the edge of the bowl. "Like, I've lost time to injuries before, but...he's going to be on crutches for a long time. The doctors were saying it was unlikely he'd ever be where he was before. I just...I worry." He looks at where Danielle's hand meets his, and returns the squeeze carefully. "I want to have a career after I hang up my boots, you know? I keep thinking about Dad, and why he retired when he did."
"Andrew. Look at me." Andrew's gaze rises to meet Danielle's, and she flashes another warm smile. "Two things here. One, you are my best client, and we both need that paycheck. Two...you're in better shape than your dad was at your age. You can take more, and your dad could already take a hell of a lot. You're getting into your own head." She sits back, exhaling slowly through her nose. "Now, look...you really want to do something that'll make Nighthawk feel better?"
Andrew cocks an eyebrow, and the grin that meets him is positively Cheshire Cat-esque. "Go out there and show the world what happens when a barely-trained kid like Johnny Gillmen steps into the ring with the finest technical wrestler on the planet." Danielle smirks. "You know he'd like watching that guy get taken down a peg or two."
This draws a chuckle from the North Star, one that seems to have some genuine warmth behind it. "Well, he won't be able to see the finest technical wrestler on the planet do it, since he's still laid up in the hospital. He'll have to settle for second-best...but I'll do what I can, right?" Andrew shrugs. "I..." he trails off again, biting his lower lip for a moment before waving it off. "Yeah, you're right."
"What else is on your mind?" Danielle tilts her head slightly, and Andrew's shoulders tense for a brief moment before slumping slightly. "Come on. We've known each other how long? We share a bed, you can at least share this with me."
Andrew flashes a grin at Danielle. "Right. Um..." the grin fades again. "It's...it's Warren. I've wanted to reach out to him, but...I don't know where to start. He's still working through his stuff, and I don't want to screw with that. Just..."
"Let it be." Danielle looks Andrew in the eyes. "Right now, you need to let it be. You have your own can of worms to deal with. It's okay to be a little selfish sometimes, and if that means you're not trying to play therapist for him for now, that's okay. Now, finish your cereal and find your razor. You always look funny scruffy." With that, Danielle stands back up, heading over to the fridge. Andrew's jaw works silently in protest for a few seconds before he resumes eating his cereal, grumbling under his breath as he does. Danielle grins to herself, and we fade out on the two going about their morning routine.
See, if I hated the person I had a match against, this would be the part where I let them know, where I dissected every loathsome, low-down thing they'd perpetrated and swore that I'd show them exactly where they went wrong. If it was someone I respected, I would talk about how hard of a fight it would be and how much I was looking forward to a chance to test myself against one of the best in the world. Even if it was someone I didn't know, I'd talk about the mystery of a new opponent and the intensely personal experience of learning more about them in the ring. But this time...this time, none of that applies.
Johnny...I want to like you. Everything in your story is something I can empathize with. You were a fan. You were so much of a fan, you wanted to pursue your passion and wrestle, and now here you are, on the biggest stage imaginable, living your dream. Who couldn't get behind that? It's the perfect underdog story, right? You came from nothing, you're doing this all with one good eye, and you're just riding the wave of passion and trying to go out there every single week to do what you know how to do.
But see...that's where it all falls down for me. You've said time and again you don't know WHAT to do, only what you CAN do. And that's fine. Admitting that you don't know what to do is no weakness. I wouldn't have a problem if what you'd done was say that and then do something...ANYTHING...to change it. But you said it time and again, and it started to feel like you were hiding behind it. You got the barest minimum of training from Jack Gaither, and rather than use that as a platform to build on, you just...let it sit, and when you were called on it you would lash out, saying you didn't know any better.
That's where I lost the respect I had for you. I don't question your heart, Johnny. You're clearly a passionate guy. What I question is why you so ardently believe that you can compete with people who have literally spent their entire adult lives or more bettering themselves and honing themselves as professional wrestlers...with nothing more than the basics and heart. Not only do you believe that, you refuse to close the experience gap. You've turned being unwilling to learn into a Zen-like thing, and you...you almost seem to enjoy it. You almost seem to lord your lack of training over others, in the most passive-aggressive way possible, and trust me. I'm Minnesotan. I know what passive-aggressive looks like.
And I think the worst part is the way that you lash out whenever someone calls you on this. Even if their way of calling you on it is tempered with an offer to train, all you see is an attack on your person. And coming from some people, it absolutely is. It's only an attack from me because of all the times you've snapped at those who've tried to help. It's only an attack because you constantly disrespected and insulted a man I was, until last Monday, proud to call my tag team partner. A man I'm still proud to call a teacher and a friend. If you hadn't insulted Nighthawk, this match wouldn't have happened. But here we are.
I'll admit, I was going to approach this from a completely different perspective before Sacrifice happened. Before Sacrifice happened, I was going to try to be firm, but fair. I was going to save a piece of you for Nighthawk, because he deserved a crack at you for all the times you've insulted him. But now? Now, I have to teach you all the lessons that he was going to. I'm a poor substitute for him, but...I'll do what I can. I'm doing this for him now more than ever, and trust me when I say that I was the good cop in this. I'm not holding back on Monday, and if you want a snowball's chance in that ring, you had better step up your game. I don't get to take weeks off anymore. Night of the Immortals is right around the corner, and if I'm not on the top of my game, I don't deserve the shot I'm getting.
So listen up. Pay attention. Class is in session. Take notes, because you will be tested. And...good luck.
You're going to need it.
Andrew sits at the dining table in Danielle Chase's apartment, idly picking through a bowl of cereal with his spoon. His face, normally clean-shaven, has the characteristic stubble of several days' worth of neglect, and his stare is unfocused as he looks vaguely at the bowl in front of him. Danielle walks into the room, clearly not too far removed from sleep, in an oversized T-shirt and sweatpants. She grins when she sees Andrew, a playful tone in her voice. "Contemplating the mysteries of your Cheerios?"
The response from Andrew is delayed, but after a few moments Andrew shakes his head slowly, sighing. "Contemplating my own mortality. Again." Danielle sighs, sitting across the table from him, and reaches out, taking his hand. "Like...all the way to the hospital, he was fighting his pain. He responded to the paramedics, but...it was like he was trying to strangle the agony all the way down. All I could think was if I could've done that in his place."
Danielle shakes her head, squeezing Andrew's hand gently. "Hey. I know Nighthawk's your friend, but...you can't let yourself suffer alongside him. You're still here. You're still going. It was a freak accident. There's no way he could have planned for it, and if you let yourself get wrapped up in it...well, better find the Tao of General Mills on the shelf somewhere." she grins, almost expectantly, and is rewarded with a brief chuckle from Andrew.
Andrew sets the spoon down, letting it clink against the edge of the bowl. "Like, I've lost time to injuries before, but...he's going to be on crutches for a long time. The doctors were saying it was unlikely he'd ever be where he was before. I just...I worry." He looks at where Danielle's hand meets his, and returns the squeeze carefully. "I want to have a career after I hang up my boots, you know? I keep thinking about Dad, and why he retired when he did."
"Andrew. Look at me." Andrew's gaze rises to meet Danielle's, and she flashes another warm smile. "Two things here. One, you are my best client, and we both need that paycheck. Two...you're in better shape than your dad was at your age. You can take more, and your dad could already take a hell of a lot. You're getting into your own head." She sits back, exhaling slowly through her nose. "Now, look...you really want to do something that'll make Nighthawk feel better?"
Andrew cocks an eyebrow, and the grin that meets him is positively Cheshire Cat-esque. "Go out there and show the world what happens when a barely-trained kid like Johnny Gillmen steps into the ring with the finest technical wrestler on the planet." Danielle smirks. "You know he'd like watching that guy get taken down a peg or two."
This draws a chuckle from the North Star, one that seems to have some genuine warmth behind it. "Well, he won't be able to see the finest technical wrestler on the planet do it, since he's still laid up in the hospital. He'll have to settle for second-best...but I'll do what I can, right?" Andrew shrugs. "I..." he trails off again, biting his lower lip for a moment before waving it off. "Yeah, you're right."
"What else is on your mind?" Danielle tilts her head slightly, and Andrew's shoulders tense for a brief moment before slumping slightly. "Come on. We've known each other how long? We share a bed, you can at least share this with me."
Andrew flashes a grin at Danielle. "Right. Um..." the grin fades again. "It's...it's Warren. I've wanted to reach out to him, but...I don't know where to start. He's still working through his stuff, and I don't want to screw with that. Just..."
"Let it be." Danielle looks Andrew in the eyes. "Right now, you need to let it be. You have your own can of worms to deal with. It's okay to be a little selfish sometimes, and if that means you're not trying to play therapist for him for now, that's okay. Now, finish your cereal and find your razor. You always look funny scruffy." With that, Danielle stands back up, heading over to the fridge. Andrew's jaw works silently in protest for a few seconds before he resumes eating his cereal, grumbling under his breath as he does. Danielle grins to herself, and we fade out on the two going about their morning routine.
Well howdy there pardner.