Post by Donnie Harris on Aug 5, 2023 0:29:56 GMT -5
-Never has a prettier looking snake needed a cold boot to crush her head and leave her for dead.
SYNN had her way with Donnie, in an ironic twist of fate, bringing him a possum-playing Easton Alexander; he must have made a deal with this devil, because he allowed his shoulders to be pinned to the mat, as if to do the devil a dearly paid favor. Easton got his finish in; SYNN got the last word.
Show was over, everyone heading out; Donnie took his time to leave. He went into the production truck, pouring through some of the show’s footage. There had to have been a tidbit hiding somewhere, showing that the two were in cahoots, at least from the beginning of the show. There would have been no way that they talked just before the match; Donnie expected too much pride from Easton to take a hit like that, to be allowed to sacrifice a loss of that nature.
And Stone Highmore was exactly right: this T-Rex wanted a good hunt, not just a carrion feast.
Easton Alexander is, for all intents and purposes, OCW’s number 1 contender.
Whether SYNN worked something out with him or she...
In either case, it led to Donnie getting a weak win in his first main event. And why did he think the cheers were for him, knowing full well that he made himself public enemy #1 by taking an exhausted SYNN, but still SYNN, out after her win over Alexander? What was going on?
Even as Donnie hit the showers, cleaned up, got his shit packed up and ready to move on from Savannah, Georgia, he couldn’t help but think about what got into Alexander’s mind to give up such a loss. Again, it made Donnie look horribly weak, taking a win and then taking a finish like that.
The preparation time for the flight to Raleigh didn’t help either. Everything moved like a blur, his mind letting his body run on auto-pilot from being used to travel at this point; all the while, he questioned the motives of Easton Alexander to give SYNN that opportunity. All in all, it came to the notice he finally read: the Anarchy card in Raleigh. He hadn’t actually taken a look at what was going to be happening until getting onto the plane, having ignored all the dark looks, sneers and otherwise negativity from the people around him.
First match: the big opening. SYNN vs. Donnie, one on one. Even the tagline was aimed at him: “Can Donnie Harris firmly establish himself as a true #1 contender?”-
)Donnie Harris(
Those motherfuckers...
-It felt like a punch square to the chest, at the right angle and just in the right spot to wind him, to suck the air out of his lungs with the shock of the blow. It never occurred to him what the plan was, and, sure, it made him look strong on paper. There was absolutely no harm in that. But after the finish of that last match, he had shoes to fill, and in a big way.
But it was good, that tagline, as bitterly as he had to accept it.
It wasn’t a long flight either, just enough to keep him stewing in the myriad of considerations that led to what was coming on the 10th of August. Would SYNN have backup this time? Would Easton be on her coattails, regardless of the end result of the match? Would this match just lead to a triple threat of the OCW title? Would both OCW titles be on the line, between both Outcast and Online Championship Wrestling promotions?
Okay, maybe that last question is more wishful thinking, but it still had merit.
As he got off the plane and got into the taxi, Donnie still had to wonder; it was enough to disturb his sleep in the hotel room closest to the arena.
What was in it for Easton Alexander?!-
)Donnie Harris(
Get out of my head, damn you...
-SYNN was already winning the match, without even trying. The head games were already doing their job. Donnie had to re-focus. He needed to get his mind in its place, on his terms. Sure, if he wanted to be a good guy, some goody two-shoes to appeal to the masses, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad and he could get the people to rise up behind him, but there was no room in the organization for a bubbly boy-man to get cheers and do boxer’s shuffles and dance around.
Donnie Harris is a fighter, first and foremost. The man is no nonsense, meant to obliterate his competition, remind the people watching in the arena and on the television that he is the one to beat, even more so than the establishment: SYNN; Easton Alexander; SYNN’s brat brigade in Brooke.
And it was cute that SYNN wanted to play cheerleader backstage; he rolled his eyes as he went through the footage and saw that segment. Frankly, and SYNN knew it better than anyone, if you have dead weight, cut it; if you are the dead weight, cut the chaff that’s made you the dead weight.
Li’l Brooke needs to find her own feathers to fly, not hang off of SYNN’s bat butt.
The next morning, since Donnie spent more time doing some research on in-ring work (he knew he was still relatively green, but his improvement was marked early on in the first OCW), his phone went off: his therapist. Donnie had been keeping in touch, since it was starting to help finally. He wasn’t accepting his father’s abuse; he was letting the outrage out, letting the pain find its way out of his mind. It wasn’t perfect, but no first few steps are.-
-Fast forward one week, and Donnie’s in his personal Mecca: the gym. Only difference was that it wasn’t just a weights and combat sports gym; he found his way to Fire Star Pro out of Greensboro. Any gym was a good gym, but to be able to focus on honing the craft that was going to make him a champion? He was definitely re-focusing on his own terms, and SYNN was just motivation to get better.
As he focused on his fundamentals, Donnie just listened. Of course, having the credentials of an athlete prior to his entry got him more flak, and the fact he was already wrestling with some of the basics down pat, the expectations were high in many places, lower in others; it didn’t stop him. Wherever he got the most criticism, he had only one response:-
)Donnie Harris(
Again.
-It didn’t matter how tired out he got, working 10 hours on his first day, only stopping for a few gulps of water and the odd piss throughout the grueling day he imposed upon himself. He had only tested his cardio in the ring once before, but he had come out on top in the contest, a few scars to tell the tale, as well as a ludicrous trip to the Antarctic to speak for it. Of course, he never spoke of the Antarctic since Illuminatus; who would believe him?
The trainers had to be encouraged to be relentless; he wanted to make sure that he had everything he could, on the first day, committed to muscle memory, and he made sure that he barely had the energy to chew, let alone lift the Big Mac he was craving after the day he had. The sugars and the fats went down so smoothly, and the Coke was one of the most refreshing drinks he had ever had for a good long while.
Of course he had protein powder and the rest of his necessary mixes back at the hotel, but he needed something to get him back to the hotel at all.
And then he couldn’t forget, the minute he got back, to finish the day with the last of his OPtiMized routine; the push-ups were always the worst.-
-The next day was a call from a podcaster that just wanted some general information. Donnie, being the pragmatist that didn’t want to waste his time with some rookie that wanted some super-sized shoot stories, just referred him to the media department of OCW; when asked which one, he hung up and had a small laugh as he enjoyed his pre-mix and flipped through a few personal ads he found while reading the comics in an old copy of The News & Observer, before hopping in the rental car and heading to Fire Star Pro.
More fundamentals, more beating himself up for the sake of perfecting the art of the fall: Donnie was relentless, the goal of victory always keeping the fires of ambition white-hot. There was even a moment where Donnie, exhausted after having pushed 7 hours without stopping, wept in frustration because he felt like he wasn’t doing enough, even though it was right, but it felt like he wasn’t selling it enough. He wiped the tears away, beat his chest like DiCaprio and McConnaughey in The Wolf of Wall Street, and got back to work.
Donnie didn’t expect to work harder than he was right now, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it again.
Only difference is that, the last time he was ripping himself to pieces in a gym, he did it to spite himself for the sake of his father’s memory and abusive ways. This time, Donnie had a purpose.-
SYNN had her way with Donnie, in an ironic twist of fate, bringing him a possum-playing Easton Alexander; he must have made a deal with this devil, because he allowed his shoulders to be pinned to the mat, as if to do the devil a dearly paid favor. Easton got his finish in; SYNN got the last word.
Show was over, everyone heading out; Donnie took his time to leave. He went into the production truck, pouring through some of the show’s footage. There had to have been a tidbit hiding somewhere, showing that the two were in cahoots, at least from the beginning of the show. There would have been no way that they talked just before the match; Donnie expected too much pride from Easton to take a hit like that, to be allowed to sacrifice a loss of that nature.
And Stone Highmore was exactly right: this T-Rex wanted a good hunt, not just a carrion feast.
Easton Alexander is, for all intents and purposes, OCW’s number 1 contender.
Whether SYNN worked something out with him or she...
In either case, it led to Donnie getting a weak win in his first main event. And why did he think the cheers were for him, knowing full well that he made himself public enemy #1 by taking an exhausted SYNN, but still SYNN, out after her win over Alexander? What was going on?
Even as Donnie hit the showers, cleaned up, got his shit packed up and ready to move on from Savannah, Georgia, he couldn’t help but think about what got into Alexander’s mind to give up such a loss. Again, it made Donnie look horribly weak, taking a win and then taking a finish like that.
The preparation time for the flight to Raleigh didn’t help either. Everything moved like a blur, his mind letting his body run on auto-pilot from being used to travel at this point; all the while, he questioned the motives of Easton Alexander to give SYNN that opportunity. All in all, it came to the notice he finally read: the Anarchy card in Raleigh. He hadn’t actually taken a look at what was going to be happening until getting onto the plane, having ignored all the dark looks, sneers and otherwise negativity from the people around him.
First match: the big opening. SYNN vs. Donnie, one on one. Even the tagline was aimed at him: “Can Donnie Harris firmly establish himself as a true #1 contender?”-
)Donnie Harris(
Those motherfuckers...
-It felt like a punch square to the chest, at the right angle and just in the right spot to wind him, to suck the air out of his lungs with the shock of the blow. It never occurred to him what the plan was, and, sure, it made him look strong on paper. There was absolutely no harm in that. But after the finish of that last match, he had shoes to fill, and in a big way.
But it was good, that tagline, as bitterly as he had to accept it.
It wasn’t a long flight either, just enough to keep him stewing in the myriad of considerations that led to what was coming on the 10th of August. Would SYNN have backup this time? Would Easton be on her coattails, regardless of the end result of the match? Would this match just lead to a triple threat of the OCW title? Would both OCW titles be on the line, between both Outcast and Online Championship Wrestling promotions?
Okay, maybe that last question is more wishful thinking, but it still had merit.
As he got off the plane and got into the taxi, Donnie still had to wonder; it was enough to disturb his sleep in the hotel room closest to the arena.
What was in it for Easton Alexander?!-
)Donnie Harris(
Get out of my head, damn you...
-SYNN was already winning the match, without even trying. The head games were already doing their job. Donnie had to re-focus. He needed to get his mind in its place, on his terms. Sure, if he wanted to be a good guy, some goody two-shoes to appeal to the masses, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad and he could get the people to rise up behind him, but there was no room in the organization for a bubbly boy-man to get cheers and do boxer’s shuffles and dance around.
Donnie Harris is a fighter, first and foremost. The man is no nonsense, meant to obliterate his competition, remind the people watching in the arena and on the television that he is the one to beat, even more so than the establishment: SYNN; Easton Alexander; SYNN’s brat brigade in Brooke.
And it was cute that SYNN wanted to play cheerleader backstage; he rolled his eyes as he went through the footage and saw that segment. Frankly, and SYNN knew it better than anyone, if you have dead weight, cut it; if you are the dead weight, cut the chaff that’s made you the dead weight.
Li’l Brooke needs to find her own feathers to fly, not hang off of SYNN’s bat butt.
The next morning, since Donnie spent more time doing some research on in-ring work (he knew he was still relatively green, but his improvement was marked early on in the first OCW), his phone went off: his therapist. Donnie had been keeping in touch, since it was starting to help finally. He wasn’t accepting his father’s abuse; he was letting the outrage out, letting the pain find its way out of his mind. It wasn’t perfect, but no first few steps are.-
-Fast forward one week, and Donnie’s in his personal Mecca: the gym. Only difference was that it wasn’t just a weights and combat sports gym; he found his way to Fire Star Pro out of Greensboro. Any gym was a good gym, but to be able to focus on honing the craft that was going to make him a champion? He was definitely re-focusing on his own terms, and SYNN was just motivation to get better.
As he focused on his fundamentals, Donnie just listened. Of course, having the credentials of an athlete prior to his entry got him more flak, and the fact he was already wrestling with some of the basics down pat, the expectations were high in many places, lower in others; it didn’t stop him. Wherever he got the most criticism, he had only one response:-
)Donnie Harris(
Again.
-It didn’t matter how tired out he got, working 10 hours on his first day, only stopping for a few gulps of water and the odd piss throughout the grueling day he imposed upon himself. He had only tested his cardio in the ring once before, but he had come out on top in the contest, a few scars to tell the tale, as well as a ludicrous trip to the Antarctic to speak for it. Of course, he never spoke of the Antarctic since Illuminatus; who would believe him?
The trainers had to be encouraged to be relentless; he wanted to make sure that he had everything he could, on the first day, committed to muscle memory, and he made sure that he barely had the energy to chew, let alone lift the Big Mac he was craving after the day he had. The sugars and the fats went down so smoothly, and the Coke was one of the most refreshing drinks he had ever had for a good long while.
Of course he had protein powder and the rest of his necessary mixes back at the hotel, but he needed something to get him back to the hotel at all.
And then he couldn’t forget, the minute he got back, to finish the day with the last of his OPtiMized routine; the push-ups were always the worst.-
-The next day was a call from a podcaster that just wanted some general information. Donnie, being the pragmatist that didn’t want to waste his time with some rookie that wanted some super-sized shoot stories, just referred him to the media department of OCW; when asked which one, he hung up and had a small laugh as he enjoyed his pre-mix and flipped through a few personal ads he found while reading the comics in an old copy of The News & Observer, before hopping in the rental car and heading to Fire Star Pro.
More fundamentals, more beating himself up for the sake of perfecting the art of the fall: Donnie was relentless, the goal of victory always keeping the fires of ambition white-hot. There was even a moment where Donnie, exhausted after having pushed 7 hours without stopping, wept in frustration because he felt like he wasn’t doing enough, even though it was right, but it felt like he wasn’t selling it enough. He wiped the tears away, beat his chest like DiCaprio and McConnaughey in The Wolf of Wall Street, and got back to work.
Donnie didn’t expect to work harder than he was right now, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it again.
Only difference is that, the last time he was ripping himself to pieces in a gym, he did it to spite himself for the sake of his father’s memory and abusive ways. This time, Donnie had a purpose.-