Post by Easton Alexander on Apr 9, 2024 15:27:51 GMT -5
“You ever get that feeling deep in your core… That sick pit in your stomach is like you're missing out on the punchline of a joke. After the match like Newton I laid on the mat and looked at him… hoping he would acknowledge me in any way, and it never came. He turned to face Donnie instead, looking forward instead of back… something that I seem to be unable to do. I didn't know the rules… and the fact I even tried to escape in the first place didn't sit right with me after I tried it. Maybe in the moment I knew I couldn't put Clyde down fair and square, not finding an opportunity to plant Clyde with a match ender… Whatever… he's the world champ and I'm not, there's clearly a reason why. I just gotta find out where I have to improve to close the gap. So let's look ahead.”
I stir in my chair, raising the Anarchy title into the light.
“Khloe Cox is a switch up for the norm, my first title defence since winning the belt and im coming into this with my confidence at an all time low. Klhoe you risked your title to take mine and quite frankly that scares the shit out of me because if you're willing to give up everything and I'm not… i'll be fighting an uphill battle, but i'll fight you Cox, i won't take you anything less than 100% seriously. You will see the very best of Easton Alexander, I will beat you, retain my title and defend it every week until I drop dead.”
“The thought of “maybe I'm not cut out for this anymore” keeps charging its way into the front of my head, that second and third guess sending my fucking mental health into a spiral. As wrestlers we aren't allowed to say this shit, it's a sign of weakness but cant keep this welled up inside, losing makes me fucking unhappy, having to walk backstage holding a belt i dont fucking deserve anymore, Ive had to walk past Britt twice dragging my belt along the ground her eyes elsewhere, i can feel this place slowly starring to eat me alive, feeding off my passion for this sport. So I've decided… Fuck this.”
I toss the belt into the darkness, the clang and crash of the metal on concrete makes me cringe.
“I will take every frustration I have out on the 7 pound anchor. I will treat the EPW Anarchy title like a fucking albatross sitting on my chest. Until I feel like I deserve it I will not make the belt sit on my waist or shoulder. I won't let the threat of losing a cheap trinket stop me from kicking ass like only I know how. Fuck Legacy, Fuck sacrifice, Fuck title belts. Khloe Cox you will fight the Canadian Dragon and the best possible scenario for you is being taken away from the arena in a fucking ambulance! I am the goddamned fire breathing Dragon, the King of the North, the greatest professional wrestler the world has ever had the chance of witnessing in a squared circle. I am the EPW Anarchy champion and if you don't want to see me throw this title all over the arena, find somebody good enough to take it from me!”
~~~
The door cracks open as i sink into the chair, a man not much older than myself, in a nice suit and tie with a clean clipboard, fresh.
“Easton Alexander?” He calls out, I give no response. “My name is Doctor Hartley…” His thick Irish accent soothes my nerves. “... Im a sports scientist for the U Of T men's basketball team. I understand you've been having troubles lately.” I roll my eyes.
“With all due respect Doc…” I sit up in my chair, to look at the man while I talk to him.. “... I'm not sure there's anything to fix.”
“You are suffering some pretty serious depression, Easton. and I have a feeling it's work related.”
“Where were you 7 years ago when I tore my ACL.”
He looks at me with a confused look. “I'm sorry?”
“A diagnosis and a wristband so i can get the fuck home would be great Doc.”
He sighs. “Your company has already paid me to help you here, so work with me… i'm here to help you thats the god's honest truth.”
“Holy shit… They paid you well, please do me a solid then and cut the shit and give it to me straight?”
He sets the board to his side, the lights from the window shines off his glasses. “Okay… You have what commonly referred to as the “Yips””
I jump up in my seat, searching the room for potential listeners.
“Are you fucking crazy? Don't say that shit out loud, you are trying to ruin my career?”
His eyes roll. “The way you wrestle now and the way you used to wrestle are very very different, you started as a technical guy, but now you've shifted into this big dumb brawler. Throwing fists and forearms looking for one shot instead of many small shots that lead to the inevitable end. Your consistency i gone and it might never come back.”
“I've Never been consistent.”
‘Wrong, you've never been unstoppable. But you were consistently taking top guys to the brink.”
“Wow you sure know alot about wrestling, you used to wrestle?”
He shakes his head.
“That's what i thought, you sit on your high horse and spout your bullshit at me like you know what's better for me. Fuck off…”
We sit in silence for a moment, letting the sound of the clock tick,tick,tick. The sound shattering my ear drum.
“In 2015 I was a 19 year old senior at Carleton university. We had just won the Ontario title a year earlier… For the upcoming season the coaches changed our philosophy from the playing big to shooting threes. In 2014 we went undefeated, in 2015 we went 3-29. If it isn't broke don't fix it right, well we fixed it… and we broke it, in 2019 you tore your ACL, and you changed how you wrestled, you abandoned what got you to the dance… what if you went back?”
“I could lose…”
“You'll lose anyway.”
I stare a dagger into his eyes. But I slowly realize that he's right… and I don't know if I want him to be.
“Have a good day Doc.”
I stand up and burst through the door.
Fade to black.
I stir in my chair, raising the Anarchy title into the light.
“Khloe Cox is a switch up for the norm, my first title defence since winning the belt and im coming into this with my confidence at an all time low. Klhoe you risked your title to take mine and quite frankly that scares the shit out of me because if you're willing to give up everything and I'm not… i'll be fighting an uphill battle, but i'll fight you Cox, i won't take you anything less than 100% seriously. You will see the very best of Easton Alexander, I will beat you, retain my title and defend it every week until I drop dead.”
“The thought of “maybe I'm not cut out for this anymore” keeps charging its way into the front of my head, that second and third guess sending my fucking mental health into a spiral. As wrestlers we aren't allowed to say this shit, it's a sign of weakness but cant keep this welled up inside, losing makes me fucking unhappy, having to walk backstage holding a belt i dont fucking deserve anymore, Ive had to walk past Britt twice dragging my belt along the ground her eyes elsewhere, i can feel this place slowly starring to eat me alive, feeding off my passion for this sport. So I've decided… Fuck this.”
I toss the belt into the darkness, the clang and crash of the metal on concrete makes me cringe.
“I will take every frustration I have out on the 7 pound anchor. I will treat the EPW Anarchy title like a fucking albatross sitting on my chest. Until I feel like I deserve it I will not make the belt sit on my waist or shoulder. I won't let the threat of losing a cheap trinket stop me from kicking ass like only I know how. Fuck Legacy, Fuck sacrifice, Fuck title belts. Khloe Cox you will fight the Canadian Dragon and the best possible scenario for you is being taken away from the arena in a fucking ambulance! I am the goddamned fire breathing Dragon, the King of the North, the greatest professional wrestler the world has ever had the chance of witnessing in a squared circle. I am the EPW Anarchy champion and if you don't want to see me throw this title all over the arena, find somebody good enough to take it from me!”
~~~
The door cracks open as i sink into the chair, a man not much older than myself, in a nice suit and tie with a clean clipboard, fresh.
“Easton Alexander?” He calls out, I give no response. “My name is Doctor Hartley…” His thick Irish accent soothes my nerves. “... Im a sports scientist for the U Of T men's basketball team. I understand you've been having troubles lately.” I roll my eyes.
“With all due respect Doc…” I sit up in my chair, to look at the man while I talk to him.. “... I'm not sure there's anything to fix.”
“You are suffering some pretty serious depression, Easton. and I have a feeling it's work related.”
“Where were you 7 years ago when I tore my ACL.”
He looks at me with a confused look. “I'm sorry?”
“A diagnosis and a wristband so i can get the fuck home would be great Doc.”
He sighs. “Your company has already paid me to help you here, so work with me… i'm here to help you thats the god's honest truth.”
“Holy shit… They paid you well, please do me a solid then and cut the shit and give it to me straight?”
He sets the board to his side, the lights from the window shines off his glasses. “Okay… You have what commonly referred to as the “Yips””
I jump up in my seat, searching the room for potential listeners.
“Are you fucking crazy? Don't say that shit out loud, you are trying to ruin my career?”
His eyes roll. “The way you wrestle now and the way you used to wrestle are very very different, you started as a technical guy, but now you've shifted into this big dumb brawler. Throwing fists and forearms looking for one shot instead of many small shots that lead to the inevitable end. Your consistency i gone and it might never come back.”
“I've Never been consistent.”
‘Wrong, you've never been unstoppable. But you were consistently taking top guys to the brink.”
“Wow you sure know alot about wrestling, you used to wrestle?”
He shakes his head.
“That's what i thought, you sit on your high horse and spout your bullshit at me like you know what's better for me. Fuck off…”
We sit in silence for a moment, letting the sound of the clock tick,tick,tick. The sound shattering my ear drum.
“In 2015 I was a 19 year old senior at Carleton university. We had just won the Ontario title a year earlier… For the upcoming season the coaches changed our philosophy from the playing big to shooting threes. In 2014 we went undefeated, in 2015 we went 3-29. If it isn't broke don't fix it right, well we fixed it… and we broke it, in 2019 you tore your ACL, and you changed how you wrestled, you abandoned what got you to the dance… what if you went back?”
“I could lose…”
“You'll lose anyway.”
I stare a dagger into his eyes. But I slowly realize that he's right… and I don't know if I want him to be.
“Have a good day Doc.”
I stand up and burst through the door.
Fade to black.