EST. AUGUST 2016 - TOKYO, JAPAN
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 11 2018, 01:35 PM (42 Views) | |
| JT Saint | May 11 2018, 01:35 PM Post #1 |
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It’s well known that I am a son of a very successful businessman. My father, Ryan Saint, was loved and cherished by thousands in the city of Chicago, and upon that love, he was able to leave a lasting legacy in the city for the rest of my family and me. He was the prototype for what a man should be, men and women all over the world came to his office, and he turned away none, the type of man every parent wished their son would become. When I was young, I was able to watch my father revolutionize his business, and I was able to see him not only talk the talk but to walk the walk. I was able to witness the great weight that he put on his shoulders. My mother was a proud wife, and as expected the moment that my older brother and I was born that we would soon follow in his huge footsteps. Right away, it was obvious to see which of us my father took to, that my father wanted to put as his successor in his business he built from the ground up for nearly 25 years of his life. My Brother seemed always to gain his favor, baseball games, basketball games, everything that my father desired in a son he got in my older brother. I loathed my brother for it, wished that one day he would be the reason it all came tumbling down. My brother was given everything in life, a man built by my father’s admiration and pocketbook, the only thing my father gave ever gave me was a pat on the back and seven words that always ripped me to shreds, “Why aren’t you more like your Brother.” Those words rang in my ears, they were like knives in my back every time I saw my Brother’s face, every time I heard his name, every time I looked at my Father. While my Father molded my Brother, it was my Uncle Henry that helped guide me through life. He took an interest in me when I was very young, and I was drawn to his gym like a magnet, looking for something that could be my own. Henry was a former boxer, and a good one at that, his face was still covered in bumps in bruises at nearly 45 from jumping into the ring with the younger kids, and boy could he move. He taught me that even though I was always smaller than it only took being faster to win a fight. Where my father would rant on and on about how “Power creates Respect,” and in the eyes of my city he was seen as a great man. It was Henry that I loved, he taught me that “Hard work earns respect” that I need to set my mind to something then go and take it…whatever it takes. That was the difference between them. Brothers forever but complete opposite people. In time, my Father would leave this world. He passed away in his sleep one night, the city mourned. My Brother would be on national television accepting a Key to Chicago in his honor. The same key that sits in my Brother’s office today. My Brother would continue my Father’s business; he would frequently tell me to turn my back on wrestling, something I had been training for years to do, and ask me to return to the “family business.” That was something I could never do…I loved it. Henry and I would train four hours a day, preparing for my future in professional wrestling. He would always tell me that “to win in that ring, you have to be more prepared that the man in front of you. You have to plan for not only your moves and how you will execute them but how your opponent will react. How he will set up each thing he does, what maneuver proceeds another, what combinations does he use? You have to know everything!” So we would watch the film, each day we would sit down and watch multiple sequences then come up with a game plan to counter them. Now, as my career has finally reached its genesis, I find myself once again reflect on the past. Looking for answers to something that I have tried my hardest to avoid. I refuse to end things like my father had, a man that in the eyes of the people, was a kind-hearted and perfect person, but to those that honestly knew him, hatred spewed from their pores. I was going to be better than him. Better than the man that looked at me like a mistake. I was going to be successful in spite of him no matter what it takes. I was going to prove him wrong. Pride, respect…and recognition was once the pride of this industry is what waits for me at the end of this long and dwindling road. Only then can I be proud of being in the Saint Family, only then will I not be tortured by the name that is etched in the metal plate at the foot of the key that sits in my Brothers office. Father O’White, he represents the past, despite being new to Death Trip Wrestling. But I will soon place his career in a long line of past opponents, both in wrestling and in life, behind me where they belong. O’White knows the risks of this match, this Tokyo’s Burning Death Match, the risk of stepping into the ring with a man on a mission. With a man that gladly accepts the challenge of all that stand before him. My career is a young one, and still, its direction and destinations are still unknown. One thing that is known to me is that I need to succeed. I walk into Tokyo Gore Noir 8 as World Television Champion, a loss there would not only be bad for me but for this championship I hold dear. There is no other option; I have to win. I have to show the world why I am not just a champion but a champion of THE WORLD! I will walk out of Tokyo victorious…it's what I do. I prepare, I win, then I repeat. Trust me; I’m a man of my word… …and I always keep my promises. ………. TITLE Boxing Club Chicago West Loop Chicago, IL May 12, 2018 … (10 days before Tokyo Gore Noir 8) Thud, Thud… My raw hands collide with the ribcage of my sparring partner; he takes a step back slightly. Henry, my trainer, and Uncle stand outside the ring watching on as he has done for nearly ten years. He thinks I need to practice against more resistance, as I will be outweighed by nearly fifty pounds in my upcoming fight, so my sparring partner stands 6 inches taller and 70 pounds heavier. Henry, if not anything else, knew what he was doing when it comes to preparing me for a fight. We have been at this particular drill for what must be nearing an hour. My lungs threatened to explode if I push them any further. I have never doubted him, Henry was a former Boxing World Champion and if anyone knew how to train it would be him. “Let's go, let's go!” He shouts, digging his toes into the rubber mats that lay covering the floor. He was a character, his red polo with navy blue athletic shorts always turns heads. “Keep pushing champ!” Sometimes I wondered if he only likes to watch me struggle. He pushes me hard, to the point sometimes I wish it was him I was sparring. But him closing in on 60 years old, I would hate to be the guy known for kicking an old man’s ass, but then again, it would be worse to get my ass kicked, so instead I decided to lower my chin and get in close, delivering a few shots to the abdomen, before getting clobbered in the back of the neck. Followed swiftly by a European uppercut. I collide with the mat, each shot feels like a Mac Truck colliding with my chest. I look over at Henry who shakes his head. “Do you think O’White is going just to let you win?” He screams as my sparring partner gains the full mount. “Maybe, Erik Holland was right…you don’t belong as champion. Maybe I should give WTC a call and tell them that you’re not ready for that championship.” “Fuck…off!” I shout back as I continue to attempt to dodge right hands. The man’s hands were the size of my head. Misjudging a direction, I move right under one, and it collides with the bridge of my nose, instantly the smell of blood fills it, followed by a sharp pain. I try to break free but am quickly slammed back to the mat as my head bounces off the canvas. “You’re too small, too cautious to go far, maybe we should call it quits. I don’t think you have what it takes, all you are is lucky, and luckily doesn’t create legacies!” “SHUT THE HELL UP!” My face is covered in blood, but despite this, I can still feel it warm with rage. Henry always knew how to make me angry, just the things he needed to say to force me to push it to another level. He rarely goes there, but sometimes he sounds like my Father, and when he says things he did it only makes me madder. I can see the man above me slightly snickering at me as Henry continues to taunt me from the outside. I soon notice that he is using the same combination, and time one of his punches, catching his left arm with my own. Using it to rotate my hips and get behind him. Quickly I begin dropping elbows onto his neck, rolling to the back of the man, and landing on my feet. He rotates on one knee, and with one swift movement, I deliver a spinning back kick to the temple, which drops the big man to the ground. “There we go, great job.” Henry laughs as he slides into the ring, he reaches his arm down and helps the man up, giving him a pat on the back and motions for him to go to the locker room. “Now, you need to do that every time, I shouldn’t have to berate you for you to give everything you have in that ring. You should be able to do that on your own. But that will come with time.” He motions for a young boy to hand him a chair, he grabs ahold of it and puts it down in middle of the ring. He sits down and looks up at me, “All of that will come with age and experience. We need to remember to focus on those fundamentals, our strategies, and be prepared at every turn.” Though I hate to admit it, I know the expectations that Henry has for me. This place, the ring, it was here that I have always been most at home. It is here that I am finally able to make my own choices, plot out every outcome and every situation, knowing that I create my advantages. The wrestling ring is my life, and I know it. This was the type of thing that I learned from Henry at an early age. When we first started training, he had set up a cot for me in the far corner, so whenever he dreamt of some new way to torture me, I was already accessible. Having this place feel like a home to me, made the ring, no matter where it was set up, my own. I was comfortable here. My opponent is skilled, unorthodox, and bloodthirsty. What more could you expect from someone that regularly performs in a place called Death Trap Wrestling? Henry had found a sparring partner that wrestled the same way, this way when I walk into Tokyo Gore Noir, and I am prepared and ready for anything. “I hope O’White fights harder than this. I need someone to push me beyond my breaking point, and I need to be tested.” “And you will,” Henry said, I can see the look of pride in his eyes from my words, “the mere fact that you want this for yourself shows me that you have grown a lot since we first met. And this matchup in Japan can only ready you more.” He pauses for a moment. “But we must take it one step at a time, now, did you look at those papers I sent you last week?” “Yeah, I did.” “Alright, preparation...what kind of man are we facing.” Taking one deep breath, I take a moment to gather my thoughts, “Father O’White, nicknamed Dragon Slayer, is newer to Death Trip Wrestling. Only have competed in the Carnage Carnival finishing seventh in Group B, with eighteen points. His hometown is unknown, but we do know that he is a cleric for some deity referred to frequently as Cayden Cailean. While he is in good shape, he is, however, an alcoholic.” “...there it is.” Henry interrupts with a slight grin on his face. “Whether he is under the influence or not we have an advantage.” Henry motions for a towel and gives it to me. “If he is under the influence or not, he will be slow and easier to keep grounded, which will open him up to your aerial game. You will be able to use your speed and agility to no only tire him out, but it will also provide space, essentially eliminating any size advantage he has. I would suggest attacking the head, if he does compete during a dry spell, he may be having some withdrawal, and attacking the head can only make things worse. Limiting his mobility and vision in the ring.” I wipe my brow with the white towel. It was cold, another thing that Henry did, he kept all of the towels in a refrigerator to cool your body faster. “Which means I will have the advantage.” I say, but it comes out almost question like. “No matter what happens you have the potential to have an advantage. But that all rests on your shoulders. How you move, how you react, how you prepare for each situation as it arises. You need to be ready for anything. Especially in this type of match, wear not sure exactly what the rules entail, but this is the type of match that can get you seriously hurt, we have to be careful...you have to be careful.” He looks at me with an odd look on his face, almost one of worry. He doesn’t usually look worried; he hasn’t looked that way for years. But the fact remains that if he's worried, it must be because I am only partially prepared for what is coming. I must continue to train. This isn’t a match like any other I’ve competed in. It’s going to be so physically draining, so physically and mentally demanding that no matter what I do no matter how fast I move, I’m going to hurt...a lot. However, Henry was right, as per usual. Taking O’White’s weaknesses, his addiction, understanding its shortcomings and attacking where it will be the most effective is the only way to walk out of this match...literally. But I can’t be timid, and I can’t be cautious, I have to attack, and by being always on the attack. “It’s a shame. I wish it could be an epic match, this long story of two men fighting for glory.” I said imagining the match as the words come out of his mouth. “You’ll get your dream match.” Henry says laying his hand on his shoulder. “But this isn’t the time or the place. You need to survive this match, execute the game plan, and walk out with the win. Then, as your career progresses, we can continue to build, get bigger and better fights, and before you know it you have your epic match, but we have to be patient and focus on the task at hand.” I knew he was right, and I’m just getting anxious with everything that has been going on. Competing for the Kings Road Internet Championship, fighting for the Seattle Pro Television Championship, and winning the WTC World Television Championship, it all has gotten my blood flowing. Each day, as my reign continues, is seen the potential in my career, I look at the successes that I have achieved only as building blocks. Soon I will be flying out to Japan, home of Tokyo Gore Noir 8… And the JT Saint Tour of Success continues… ………. Lake Shore Drive Condominiums Chicago, IL May 18, 2018 … (4 days before Tokyo Gore Noir 8) A cool morning breeze finds its way through the crack between the window and the wooden frame that holds it in place. It trickles through the air and makes contact with my toes that are uncovered by the warm silk sheets that cascade down my body. The girl next to me shifts in her sleep, she so cute, her button nose and small thin lips fit perfectly with the rest of her face. For the life of me, I can’t remember her name, however. It's not Stacy or Jane, no what was it. I think momentarily as I run my hand across her soft cheek, then it hits me. Lillian. The name almost rolls off the tongue when you say it, such beauty and happiness. She’s not like the rest, different in this case has been a good thing. Typically, I would get what I need then move on. I didn’t receive the nickname the Chicago Playboy for long-term committed relationships. I toss away the sheets and hop down from the bed. Sliding my feet onto the cold hardwood flooring. “Jake, where are you going.” A soft tender voice comes from behind me. I turn around to look at her, grabbing a t-shirt from on top of my dresser, and sliding it on over my head. Her eyes seemed slightly puffy, in that cute I just woke up way. “Nowhere, just getting ready for the day. You can keep sleeping if you want.” I replied, a slight grin coming across my face. I couldn’t help it kind of just happened. “No I’m fine. I haven’t slept that well in years. Where did you get this bed?” “I bought it in some shop downtown. I had to special order it, but it’s worth it.” I chuckle back at her. Small talk was always weird to him, never really got the point of two people trying to fill that uncomfortable, awkward silence with worthless crap that neither of them cared about. “I’m gonna make something for breakfast did you want some.” I ask as I begin to back out of the bedroom. “Sure, thanks, “ she smiles back at me, “I’ll get dressed.” I disappear off into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and trying to see what there is to make. At first glance, I couldn’t find anything but I remember that there is a new box of Apple Jacks in the cupboard. I grab two bowls and begin to pour the cereal into them. Two small hands reach around my waist, the smell of lavender begins to fill my lungs. “Really?” Lillian asks questioningly, “Your choice of a good and hearty breakfast is Apple Jacks.” She chuckles, I can feel her smiling, as she lays her head on the small of my back. She backs away and looks on the counter. Next to the sink is my plane ticket to Tokyo. As soon as her eyes lock on to it her expression changes. The smile that once was there turned into a look of worry. She was the second person this week that has given him this look. “Do you have to go?” She asks, a slight quiver in her voice. “Yeah, why is everyone so worried about me?” It has started to get on my nerves, everyone worrying about me...about this match in DTW. “Well, I just don’t want you to get hurt.” “I won’t. I have been training for this match for close to a month. I have been working to this point for years, this is what I want to be doing, what I need to be doing. I won’t get hurt, I promise.” It was almost cute, the way she worried about me. But I had to do this, and I had to prove to everyone that I’m not just some pretty boy. That I’m much more than just flips and tricks, that I can hang with any brawler. I can fight anyone, no matter how much larger they are, or the stipulation of the match. “I know, it’s just that this isn’t like anything you have dealt with so far. These men, this company, it is full of brutes and bloodlust.” “You’re right. I haven’t been in a match like this, but if I’m going to claim to be the best, I have to be able to compete in matches like this.” I grab the milk from the fridge and pour it into the bowl, a little bit it spills over the edge and onto the counter. “Without this match, there will always be a segment of this industry that will always doubt me. I need to take chances and execute. People like Erik Holland and Kalinda Kriesdottier won’t respect me in this industry as a World Champion unless I can compete and win these matches. They will always have me pigeonholed as someone that couldn’t handle it. I need to silence this now while I still can.” I take a bite of my cereal and let out a huge sigh. I could see that she understands, she doesn’t like it, but she realizes. This match isn’t about my legacy; it's not about money, It’s about proving a point, about looking everyone that has ever doubted me in the eye and throwing up the middle finger. Because at the end of the day I don’t want to be known as the best aerialist in the world, or the best wrestler. I am the best fighter of this generation, and soon I will prove just that. ...I’ll prove it if it's the last thing I do. ………. Here we are Father O’White…Tokyo Gore Noir 8… You were not my first choice of opponents coming into this company. If I'm honest I honestly I never thought I would compete in a DTW ring, but here I am. Looking back at these past couple weeks since I won the WTC World Television Championship, seeing how much my life has changed, it's quite liberating. Knowing that everything that I have put my body through, everything that I have put Henry through has not been for nothing. Being able to narrow my focus on one thing...winning, is like lifting ten thousand pounds off my shoulder and replacing it with this shiny piece of metal. But here I am, soon to stand across the ring from someone that is nowhere near my skill level. Sure you big and strong, but that will only slow me down, that will force me to push even harder on my way to the top. Your not my go-to choice to begin this stage of my career, but… ...Beggars can’t be choosers, can they? I’m the type of guy that typically sticks to one-offs and classic matches, but this company asks me to do more, it needs me to do more. You need someone here that can take men like you and make them look like stars. To carry the deadweight like you and help keep this company afloat. You see I hope you understand reality when it comes to this match that you have somehow found yourself in. You stand there and will probably say something like, YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IS COMING FOR YOU! RAWR, BIG SCARY PRIEST MAN! But the fact of the matter remains that you finished seventh in a competition that was lead for a majority of the time by a man that I defeated just a few weeks ago. You see Kalinda; the DTW World Champion talked up how great Erik Holland was, then I put him down. And like Holland, you have some skill… You have the fans behind you sometimes… And you know what you're doing in the ring... kind of… But anything less than 100% is nothing but a joke to me because you are going to need everything you have to stand in the ring with me. Everything you have to hold across from me and stand a fighting chance. ...your best isn’t going to be good enough, but you might as well try. |
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