Post by Donnie Harris on Sept 23, 2023 0:36:53 GMT -5
Damn. The bastard did it, but, if it wasn’t for SYNN and Brooke, it would have ended much worse. Either way, the match was over and it was a photo finish; BRADDOCK got the last laugh with his patented meat hook clothesline.
Donnie Harris got flattened by the Mansfield Curse.
As Donnie sat in the back, being looked after by EMTs after the brutality that was OCW’s first Last Man Standing match, the MMA fighter seemed crestfallen. It was certainly not for lack of effort that he got beaten the night of And Justice For Brawl. BRADDOCK just had an advantage.
Asylum’s timing was perfect, and it seemed as though they got enough licks in to give BRADDOCK his opening.
If it wasn’t for that fucking bastard Konstantine, it would have been a much cleaner match, but nothing about a match of that calibur should be clean.
Donnie shot a quick text to SYNN and Brooke, thanking them for the backup. If it wasn’t for their help, the match would have been much shorter and Donnie’s chances would have been much, much smaller. He decided to play the older brother in another text to Brooke, saying that, if she had interfered in SYNN’s match against the larger Konstantine, she might have ended up exactly how they ended up at the end of the title match, and no #1 contender should get themselves injured before getting their chance to win.
“Oh,” he texts, “and, if SYNN can’t be in your corner against Mr. Calaway, I will watch your back.”
Everything hurt, and he knew that BRADDOCK’s words would haunt both contenders; the Tylenol bottle... not even that; Donnie would have a bottle of T1s at the ready to remedy the worst of the bruising, bruising that might last all the way to RISE the week after AJFB.
He was actually surprised that the worst of the damage was the aforementioned contusions and hematomas, and the odd scratch that didn’t even bleed, probably from the chair shots for Zeph and Nox; their boots definitely helped bring up the bruises.
Donnie wasn’t totally out, basically staring up at the lights in a daze, so he heard every single word out of Britlyn’s mouth after the match was done:
Texas Chainsaw Massacre... October 31st... BRADDOCK vs. Donnie Harris once again... Stipulation: BURIED ALIVE...
Even while the medics started their protocols, Harris knew that there were at least 2-3 shows before then, meaning he had some work to do.
Brutality to brutality: that was the theme between BRADDOCK and Donnie, as they were going from the Last Man Standing stip to a Buried Alive match. There was no true technical ability on display, no performance art; just fisticuffs.
Donnie looked down at his hands during his checkup. He stared at the fingerless MMA gloves that he has worn since his first match. Also as if cued, the doctor cuts the tape and frees Donnie’s hands from them. He grumbles and looks at the fighter, who shakes his head.
At some point while bashing BRADDOCK’s fat fucking face, Donnie broke a bone in each hand. It was something that could be recovered from while still wrestling, but it would hurt like hell with each grapple. He would need to practice throwing a different punch, possibly an elbow; it would let him play up some of the Muay Thai he learned too, something new for the fans to see, rather than just a standard kickboxer who could grapple and outpower a man close to a hundred pounds heavier than him.
The night after the show, a few hours removed from the x-rays that confirmed the minor breaks in his metacarpals, on 3 Tylenol-1 caplets to help with the banged-up body that was already starting to change colors in places, Donnie got his email from management; his next match, ironically on RISE, would be against another Anarchy competitor: Blake Anderson.
Hardcore rules, 2 out of 3 falls: nothing feels better than a little vindication to get the competitive fluids firing again.
It’s not like Donnie meant to lose, regardless of the odds being in whomever’s favor. However, getting a chance to get his hands on a chair again, but this time bash some poor fucker’s brains in for fun rather than driving oneself insane to take all the necessary steps to let the ref count to ten? Oh, pure bliss.
Then again, getting a good look at Mrs. Blake Anderson wasn’t going to hurt either.
Donnie loaded himself into a plane seat to head to Trenton the day after the end of the show, just to get to enjoy a moment of peace and quiet while the meds were doing their job, occasionally hitting his flask an hour or so after taking the T1s; he needed his mind clear as he wrote and watched the match, over and over. He needed to see what he did wrong. He needed to know what happened.
Circumstance, luck, happenstance: however one wants to see it, it was a bolt from the blue. The odds of it happening were so insignificant that Donnie, who proved during the match that he could get his ass up to beat the ten, got caught and there was nothing he could do. It was as quick as the flash on a camera.
As much as Donnie rewound the footage, went back and forth, even used slow-mo... there was nothing that Donnie could pick out on the tape that made the difference. Other than the attack from Asylum, which itself wasn’t the most painful occurrence since BoB got in there and saved his ass, there was nothing that swayed the needle to one side over the next. BRADDOCK earned it, but it was still way too close to call.
That was why TCM would be BRADDOCK-Harris 2, to determine if BRADDOCK fluked out or if he truly made his mark.
Well, the man did make his mark, by sitting on a couch for an extended period of time and leaving himself an ass groove; how much like Homer Simpson he is, that is yet to be determined.
This was Donnie’s first honest loss in the new OCW, after going 3 straight losses after his match with Nickleman. Damn Illuminatus; stupid fucking boat.
But Donnie had to focus, as he finally closed the laptop he had brought with him, relaxing in the AirBNB he rented for himself that was relatively close to the CURE Arena. Of course, he knew to be careful about leaking the address, and he also visited a physio place just to make sure that anything he did wouldn’t aggravate the setting bones.
Opting to work on his cardio this time, he knew that the muscles would stay a little bit longer, even though he would need to re-beef in time for Halloween, making sure to have only tape around his fists and not the gloves. The gloves made hitting the head and face feel... safer, when it really wasn’t. Even in properly-padded boxing gloves, it wasn’t hard to hurt one’s hands; Donnie could remember a time he actually sprained his finger once, dislocating another on a separate occasion.
And it’s not like a hardcore match is going to lend itself much in the way of technique, except about how well one can swing a kendo stick or a cookie sheet.
It hurt so much to dunk broken hands into an ice bath, but Donnie had to do it, even if he yelped with the initial submersion. He would just take a deep breath and think of the future.
Blake, and likely Belladonna, Anderson on RISE; hardcore 2 out of 3 falls. When it came to how Donnie felt about the match, especially after going 20 rounds with BRADDOCK...
It got the former MMA champion, something that BRADDOCK seemed to forget but would be reminded of on Halloween, excited.
As his knuckles crackled and popped painfully under the ice water, Donnie just closed his eyes and focused on the rest of the pain in his body; they were badges of honor in a hard-fought battle, but the war rages on.
Donnie Harris got flattened by the Mansfield Curse.
As Donnie sat in the back, being looked after by EMTs after the brutality that was OCW’s first Last Man Standing match, the MMA fighter seemed crestfallen. It was certainly not for lack of effort that he got beaten the night of And Justice For Brawl. BRADDOCK just had an advantage.
Asylum’s timing was perfect, and it seemed as though they got enough licks in to give BRADDOCK his opening.
If it wasn’t for that fucking bastard Konstantine, it would have been a much cleaner match, but nothing about a match of that calibur should be clean.
Donnie shot a quick text to SYNN and Brooke, thanking them for the backup. If it wasn’t for their help, the match would have been much shorter and Donnie’s chances would have been much, much smaller. He decided to play the older brother in another text to Brooke, saying that, if she had interfered in SYNN’s match against the larger Konstantine, she might have ended up exactly how they ended up at the end of the title match, and no #1 contender should get themselves injured before getting their chance to win.
“Oh,” he texts, “and, if SYNN can’t be in your corner against Mr. Calaway, I will watch your back.”
Everything hurt, and he knew that BRADDOCK’s words would haunt both contenders; the Tylenol bottle... not even that; Donnie would have a bottle of T1s at the ready to remedy the worst of the bruising, bruising that might last all the way to RISE the week after AJFB.
He was actually surprised that the worst of the damage was the aforementioned contusions and hematomas, and the odd scratch that didn’t even bleed, probably from the chair shots for Zeph and Nox; their boots definitely helped bring up the bruises.
Donnie wasn’t totally out, basically staring up at the lights in a daze, so he heard every single word out of Britlyn’s mouth after the match was done:
Texas Chainsaw Massacre... October 31st... BRADDOCK vs. Donnie Harris once again... Stipulation: BURIED ALIVE...
Even while the medics started their protocols, Harris knew that there were at least 2-3 shows before then, meaning he had some work to do.
Brutality to brutality: that was the theme between BRADDOCK and Donnie, as they were going from the Last Man Standing stip to a Buried Alive match. There was no true technical ability on display, no performance art; just fisticuffs.
Donnie looked down at his hands during his checkup. He stared at the fingerless MMA gloves that he has worn since his first match. Also as if cued, the doctor cuts the tape and frees Donnie’s hands from them. He grumbles and looks at the fighter, who shakes his head.
At some point while bashing BRADDOCK’s fat fucking face, Donnie broke a bone in each hand. It was something that could be recovered from while still wrestling, but it would hurt like hell with each grapple. He would need to practice throwing a different punch, possibly an elbow; it would let him play up some of the Muay Thai he learned too, something new for the fans to see, rather than just a standard kickboxer who could grapple and outpower a man close to a hundred pounds heavier than him.
The night after the show, a few hours removed from the x-rays that confirmed the minor breaks in his metacarpals, on 3 Tylenol-1 caplets to help with the banged-up body that was already starting to change colors in places, Donnie got his email from management; his next match, ironically on RISE, would be against another Anarchy competitor: Blake Anderson.
Hardcore rules, 2 out of 3 falls: nothing feels better than a little vindication to get the competitive fluids firing again.
It’s not like Donnie meant to lose, regardless of the odds being in whomever’s favor. However, getting a chance to get his hands on a chair again, but this time bash some poor fucker’s brains in for fun rather than driving oneself insane to take all the necessary steps to let the ref count to ten? Oh, pure bliss.
Then again, getting a good look at Mrs. Blake Anderson wasn’t going to hurt either.
Donnie loaded himself into a plane seat to head to Trenton the day after the end of the show, just to get to enjoy a moment of peace and quiet while the meds were doing their job, occasionally hitting his flask an hour or so after taking the T1s; he needed his mind clear as he wrote and watched the match, over and over. He needed to see what he did wrong. He needed to know what happened.
Circumstance, luck, happenstance: however one wants to see it, it was a bolt from the blue. The odds of it happening were so insignificant that Donnie, who proved during the match that he could get his ass up to beat the ten, got caught and there was nothing he could do. It was as quick as the flash on a camera.
As much as Donnie rewound the footage, went back and forth, even used slow-mo... there was nothing that Donnie could pick out on the tape that made the difference. Other than the attack from Asylum, which itself wasn’t the most painful occurrence since BoB got in there and saved his ass, there was nothing that swayed the needle to one side over the next. BRADDOCK earned it, but it was still way too close to call.
That was why TCM would be BRADDOCK-Harris 2, to determine if BRADDOCK fluked out or if he truly made his mark.
Well, the man did make his mark, by sitting on a couch for an extended period of time and leaving himself an ass groove; how much like Homer Simpson he is, that is yet to be determined.
This was Donnie’s first honest loss in the new OCW, after going 3 straight losses after his match with Nickleman. Damn Illuminatus; stupid fucking boat.
But Donnie had to focus, as he finally closed the laptop he had brought with him, relaxing in the AirBNB he rented for himself that was relatively close to the CURE Arena. Of course, he knew to be careful about leaking the address, and he also visited a physio place just to make sure that anything he did wouldn’t aggravate the setting bones.
Opting to work on his cardio this time, he knew that the muscles would stay a little bit longer, even though he would need to re-beef in time for Halloween, making sure to have only tape around his fists and not the gloves. The gloves made hitting the head and face feel... safer, when it really wasn’t. Even in properly-padded boxing gloves, it wasn’t hard to hurt one’s hands; Donnie could remember a time he actually sprained his finger once, dislocating another on a separate occasion.
And it’s not like a hardcore match is going to lend itself much in the way of technique, except about how well one can swing a kendo stick or a cookie sheet.
It hurt so much to dunk broken hands into an ice bath, but Donnie had to do it, even if he yelped with the initial submersion. He would just take a deep breath and think of the future.
Blake, and likely Belladonna, Anderson on RISE; hardcore 2 out of 3 falls. When it came to how Donnie felt about the match, especially after going 20 rounds with BRADDOCK...
It got the former MMA champion, something that BRADDOCK seemed to forget but would be reminded of on Halloween, excited.
As his knuckles crackled and popped painfully under the ice water, Donnie just closed his eyes and focused on the rest of the pain in his body; they were badges of honor in a hard-fought battle, but the war rages on.