as i was waiting for my dial-up to finally allow me access to their network, i opened up notepad and wrote a short essay. this is filed under "for-those-who-don't-know".
I think I'm really strange.
Not the freaky, unusual, odd-one-out kind of strange; more like the strange wherein you're pretty normal but you're a little different than everyone else. Or maybe that's just plainly being unique. I'm not so sure about that, but as far as I know, I'm sure I'm different in a bizarre way.
Every one of my peers dreams to be successful, whether being a businessman, computer scientist or something that involves sitting around in a plush, air-conditioned office pushing paper full of technical jargon. Not me. Sure, I want to be successful, but just not like that. No. I, good sir, I want to wrestle.
Yes, you read it right. I want to wrestle.
The art (it can't rightfully be called a sport) of wrestling first got my attention early in my life, then finally got me hooked in the middle of my teens. It was, at first, more of a, "Hey, that's awesome!" thing to see on TV, until finally I realized, disregarding all those "Don't try this at home" warnings complete with brutal clips of injured wrestlers, that, "Hey, I can do this!" Then the rest became history and I was known to be the wrestling addict (among other things). To get a glimpse of how addicted I was to it, nothing else but wrestling could distract me from the opposite sex.
Basically, it all started with Edge's comeback spear in early, post-Wrestlemania XX 2004. I had been watching Goldberg do it a thousand times before he left but the way he did it never really caught my attention. No, it was with Edge. The whole simplicity yet notable impact of the move became clear to me as this tall, lean, long-haired blonde ran, leapt, and nailed the Bisch in the abdomen. Then I started doing it and threatening people with it (sparingly, of course) until I came to be associated with it.
After "mastering" it, I started to do other things. Leg drops, elbow drops, clotheslines, the basic striking stuff. Looking at my body size, I knew I couldn't get by with relying too much on power moves, so I decided to try out into a more submission-oriented style. I did leglocks (I could proudly show you a figure-four and make the guy scream in pain), ankle locks, armbars, STFs, half and full-nelsons, and the like. Then I found out I could lift my youngest brother, who was notably a lot heavier than I was, to some extent. Feeble spinebusters, sidewalk slams, a rather weak body slam (I couldn't lift him beyond my chest), moves that might come across as chokeslams, things like that. I also began to practice my frontflip/somersault, through which I slowly learned to get over my fear of pain. Of course, I worked out to get in some sort of shape, at the very least.
And damn, I am hooked. I seriously didn't care about the dangers of trying it at home. I didn't care much about pain (at least, I try not to). I dream of following in the footsteps of daredevils such as Edge, Christian, the Hardy Boyz, and Shelton Benjamin, and in those of the master showmen like Eddie Guerrero (God bless his soul), Shawn Michaels, Triple H, and Ric Flair. I dream of wrestling a five-star classic, and I don't care how it happens, whether it's by jumping off of 20-foot ladders or putting on a good 30-minute show.
I want it so bad, I'm willing to go through hell for it. I don't care if the dream sounds too childish.
i suck at endings.
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