Post by Calvin Constantine on May 29, 2008 20:52:52 GMT -6
Friday, May 30, 2008
The morning after a show, a wrestler does not slowly drift from sleep to consciousness. He wakes with a start, the first memory of last night triggering a wave of adrenal alertness. The crystalline awareness couples with the first songburst of pain from the previous night’s proceedings (Superkick? Lightning Bolt?) to yield a sinister syncretism of fear and aggression.
And then, he takes his first waking breath.
Calvin wakes, twisted sheets pooled around his waist, chest heaving. His hand finds his aching jaw, the recipient of Lightning Bolt’s Thunder Clap kick. A deliciously warm rage spreads outward from his stomach, tingling Calvin’s nerve endings with the residual frustrations from the night before.
Calvin acted impulsively. His emotions, his sheer mania generated by his return to ICW, carried him to the ring against his better judgment. He allowed himself to be carried into a brawl, a situation which he had no control of. And pro quid bono-for what benefit?
No matter. Measures must be taken. Measures will be taken.
Dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, Calvin munches cereal at the countertop in a small kitchen, bereft of any decoration or embellishment. His calm demeanor belies his inner turmoil. Calvin knows that certain impulses must be suppressed. The charge to the ring must be suppressed. The searing rage, the raw, incendiary heat in his belly when he woke must be suppressed.
How do we constrain these impulses? Calvin’s approach is something of a throwback. The mind is strengthened by punishing the body. The spirit is bolstered by the pursuit of sheer physical exhaustion.
Hours later, Calvin toils in an ancient gym, alone except for an equally decrepit old man futilely running a push broom over peeling tile. Calvin is oblivious to him as he works out on the leg press, tirelessly performing rep after rep, stopping only occasionally to ratchet up the resistance.
500 pounds.
Calvin’s goal now, his goal since he broke into the wrestling business, has been to become a champion. The majority of his actions, the majority of his moves, the majority of his thoughts have been directed toward that end. But missteps have been made. Worse still, impulses which lead to missteps plague Calvin. He understands that in order to be at the top of the business, these impulses must be controlled. In order to be a champion, a wrestler must first master himself. The ad hoc storms to the ring must cease; the hot, bubbling rage must be replaced with icy coolness.
550 pounds.
How can these impulses be mastered? How is discipline instilled? Despite frequent developments of “alternate” methods, only one tried and true technique exists. Negative reinforcement must be applied. What does not kill me only makes me stronger. Calvin knows all this. Not only that, he has the motivation, the drive, the desire to pursue it. There is a huge gulf between knowing what must be done intellectually, and having the courage to enact the appropriate measures.
650 pounds.
Calvin’s physical punishment of himself addresses his present. As he performs his penance, his thoughts meander toward the future.
700 pounds.
The card for the inaugural pay-per-view of the new ICW, Triple Tournament Terror, has been announced. The matches are daunting. A round of hardcore street fights. A round of steel cage matches. And finally, the two combatants who survive all that will be rewarded with the privilege of meeting in a brutal ladder match for the ultimate prize-the ICW World Heavyweight Championship.
750 pounds.
Calvin’s challenge at Triple Tournament Terror is especially unique. Every other participant knows who he or she will square off with in round one. Presumably, the “mystery opponent” knows that he will face Calvin. Calvin must squander critical training time preparing for the most fearsome of opponents-the unknown.
850 pounds.
Calvin will know his opponent soon enough, however. Like every other Tournament participant, he will team with his adversary next Thursday. Only moments after Calvin finally learns who he will square off with, he will face the unique challenge of teaming with him. Together, they will meet Lightning Bolt, the man who delivered a devastating superkick to Calvin, and the Gladiator, the man who defeated ICW legend Dave Dudley on Thursday, Insane Thursday.
900 pounds.
Will it be a wrestling legend, an icon? An Andrew Leigh, a Myst, a Masked Warrior? Or a relative unknown, someone as equally up and coming as Calvin is?
950 pounds.
As Calvin considers his immediate future and prospects, he can feel his legs burn with new understanding. As his muscles breaks down, his will and discipline build. He redirects his earlier anger inward, strengthening body, mind, and spirit.
1000 pounds.
Suddenly, Calvin’s feet slip off of the lift board. 1000 pounds go crashing to the floor, the impact jolting Calvin in his seat. The harsh clang of half a ton of metal hitting the ground echoes through the small gym; the old custodian drops his broom and hops into the air in shock, before turning his attention toward Calvin.
Old Man: Hey mister! Mister, are you alright?
As Calvin turns to face him, the old man’s concern quickly evaporates, replaced with another emotion: fear. Calvin now wears a smile so cold, so utterly out of place for the situation, that it would unsettle nearly anyone.
Calvin: Never better.
Hesitantly, the old man picks up his broom, and Calvin returns his attentions to the weight machine. Much of his future will be fleshed out in the coming weeks. Is he destined to be a champion, or just another in a series of also-rans who have stormed into the wrestling world and exited quietly, both from the company and the minds of the public?
Either way, Calvin knows the key to success, the one factor which separates the merely talented from the unequivocally legendary:
Discipline.
The morning after a show, a wrestler does not slowly drift from sleep to consciousness. He wakes with a start, the first memory of last night triggering a wave of adrenal alertness. The crystalline awareness couples with the first songburst of pain from the previous night’s proceedings (Superkick? Lightning Bolt?) to yield a sinister syncretism of fear and aggression.
And then, he takes his first waking breath.
Calvin wakes, twisted sheets pooled around his waist, chest heaving. His hand finds his aching jaw, the recipient of Lightning Bolt’s Thunder Clap kick. A deliciously warm rage spreads outward from his stomach, tingling Calvin’s nerve endings with the residual frustrations from the night before.
Calvin acted impulsively. His emotions, his sheer mania generated by his return to ICW, carried him to the ring against his better judgment. He allowed himself to be carried into a brawl, a situation which he had no control of. And pro quid bono-for what benefit?
No matter. Measures must be taken. Measures will be taken.
Dressed only in a pair of sweatpants, Calvin munches cereal at the countertop in a small kitchen, bereft of any decoration or embellishment. His calm demeanor belies his inner turmoil. Calvin knows that certain impulses must be suppressed. The charge to the ring must be suppressed. The searing rage, the raw, incendiary heat in his belly when he woke must be suppressed.
How do we constrain these impulses? Calvin’s approach is something of a throwback. The mind is strengthened by punishing the body. The spirit is bolstered by the pursuit of sheer physical exhaustion.
Hours later, Calvin toils in an ancient gym, alone except for an equally decrepit old man futilely running a push broom over peeling tile. Calvin is oblivious to him as he works out on the leg press, tirelessly performing rep after rep, stopping only occasionally to ratchet up the resistance.
500 pounds.
Calvin’s goal now, his goal since he broke into the wrestling business, has been to become a champion. The majority of his actions, the majority of his moves, the majority of his thoughts have been directed toward that end. But missteps have been made. Worse still, impulses which lead to missteps plague Calvin. He understands that in order to be at the top of the business, these impulses must be controlled. In order to be a champion, a wrestler must first master himself. The ad hoc storms to the ring must cease; the hot, bubbling rage must be replaced with icy coolness.
550 pounds.
How can these impulses be mastered? How is discipline instilled? Despite frequent developments of “alternate” methods, only one tried and true technique exists. Negative reinforcement must be applied. What does not kill me only makes me stronger. Calvin knows all this. Not only that, he has the motivation, the drive, the desire to pursue it. There is a huge gulf between knowing what must be done intellectually, and having the courage to enact the appropriate measures.
650 pounds.
Calvin’s physical punishment of himself addresses his present. As he performs his penance, his thoughts meander toward the future.
700 pounds.
The card for the inaugural pay-per-view of the new ICW, Triple Tournament Terror, has been announced. The matches are daunting. A round of hardcore street fights. A round of steel cage matches. And finally, the two combatants who survive all that will be rewarded with the privilege of meeting in a brutal ladder match for the ultimate prize-the ICW World Heavyweight Championship.
750 pounds.
Calvin’s challenge at Triple Tournament Terror is especially unique. Every other participant knows who he or she will square off with in round one. Presumably, the “mystery opponent” knows that he will face Calvin. Calvin must squander critical training time preparing for the most fearsome of opponents-the unknown.
850 pounds.
Calvin will know his opponent soon enough, however. Like every other Tournament participant, he will team with his adversary next Thursday. Only moments after Calvin finally learns who he will square off with, he will face the unique challenge of teaming with him. Together, they will meet Lightning Bolt, the man who delivered a devastating superkick to Calvin, and the Gladiator, the man who defeated ICW legend Dave Dudley on Thursday, Insane Thursday.
900 pounds.
Will it be a wrestling legend, an icon? An Andrew Leigh, a Myst, a Masked Warrior? Or a relative unknown, someone as equally up and coming as Calvin is?
950 pounds.
As Calvin considers his immediate future and prospects, he can feel his legs burn with new understanding. As his muscles breaks down, his will and discipline build. He redirects his earlier anger inward, strengthening body, mind, and spirit.
1000 pounds.
Suddenly, Calvin’s feet slip off of the lift board. 1000 pounds go crashing to the floor, the impact jolting Calvin in his seat. The harsh clang of half a ton of metal hitting the ground echoes through the small gym; the old custodian drops his broom and hops into the air in shock, before turning his attention toward Calvin.
Old Man: Hey mister! Mister, are you alright?
As Calvin turns to face him, the old man’s concern quickly evaporates, replaced with another emotion: fear. Calvin now wears a smile so cold, so utterly out of place for the situation, that it would unsettle nearly anyone.
Calvin: Never better.
Hesitantly, the old man picks up his broom, and Calvin returns his attentions to the weight machine. Much of his future will be fleshed out in the coming weeks. Is he destined to be a champion, or just another in a series of also-rans who have stormed into the wrestling world and exited quietly, both from the company and the minds of the public?
Either way, Calvin knows the key to success, the one factor which separates the merely talented from the unequivocally legendary:
Discipline.