Post by Calvin Constantine on Oct 24, 2009 23:16:04 GMT -6
"Don't push me, 'cause I'm close to the edge/Tryin' not to lose my head"
Manhattan, New York
A stiff autumn breeze strips a flyer from a telephone pole. The paper twirls in the wind before fluttering into view.
OCTOBER 24, 2009
ONE NIGHT ONLY
CALVIN CONSTANTINE VERSUS AUSTIN ARIES
RoH WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
An ecstatic crowd filters out of the Manhattan Center, gleefully recapping the 27 minute classic between The Real Deal and A Double. Aries retained when he rolled through the Pagan Lament and countered with the Last Chancery.
For Ring of Honor, it was a massive success. The upstart promotion’s champion went over a major name in the wrestling world, a name that has held one of the most prestigious titles in the industry. On the heels of the defections of Bryan Danielson and Nigel McGuiness, a terrific match and a tailor made result were just what the company needed.
For Calvin Constantine, it was yet another resounding failure.
Another shot at glory. Another moment when victory seemed imminent. Another opportunity trickling through his fingers.
Another day in the life of a struggling wrestler.
After ICW’s demise, Calvin fled to Japan, competing for Pro Wrestling NOAH. The death of the legendary Misawa hastened his return to the States, where made the rounds through independent promotions like CHIKARA, CZW, RoH, and PWG.
The life of an independent wrestler. Calvin spent many lonely hours in cheap rental cars and many long nights in shitty motels.
He searched for answers. He wracked his soul for direction, for some purpose now that ICW was dead and buried once again.
What did he find?
Nothing.
Addiction truly is a feisty bitch. The lying, the self destruction, the alienation, the withdrawal, all combine to wreak havoc on the being of the addict.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part comes after rehab, after the meetings, after the detox.
The worst part is the emptiness.
Whatever it is that consumed the addict, be it sex, drugs, rock and roll, or wrestling, truly consumed him. The addiction occupied all of his time and all of his money. Every fiber of his being was dedicated to it.
But now, mercy of mercies, he’s cured!
But…
What the fuck does he do with himself?
That is Calvin’s dilemma. You see, Calvin and ICW did not have a healthy relationship. In fact, you might call the relationship abusive as hell.
ICW hurt Calvin. ICW nearly killed Calvin, both literally and figuratively.
It’s been out of his system for a year now, thank God. He knows he needs to move on.
But move on to what?
After his match, Calvin sits on a locker room bench, still in his ring attire. Visions of Aries celebrating still dance in his head. He’s sitting with a faceless wrestling journalist (David Meltzer? Barry Alverez?) who’s asking the standard questions one asks of a loser who has made a valiant effort.
Calvin has found himself giving this interview far too many times.
While he’s stumbling through yet another non-descript answer, Calvin’s phone begins to buzz in his gym bag.
A text message.
Eagerly grabbing on to a chance to end the interview, Calvin reaches for his phone, flips it open, and recoils in shock.
We don’t see the message, but we do see Calvin furiously type his reply.
“How the hell did you get this number?”
A beat.
Calvin’s phone buzzes again. This time, we are privy to the message.
“Never mind that. Are you in?”
Calvin stares at the message for a long time.
A long time.
He sighs deeply, then types his response, looking all the world like a man on the edge of a relapse, but powerless to stop himself.
TBC…
Manhattan, New York
A stiff autumn breeze strips a flyer from a telephone pole. The paper twirls in the wind before fluttering into view.
OCTOBER 24, 2009
ONE NIGHT ONLY
CALVIN CONSTANTINE VERSUS AUSTIN ARIES
RoH WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
An ecstatic crowd filters out of the Manhattan Center, gleefully recapping the 27 minute classic between The Real Deal and A Double. Aries retained when he rolled through the Pagan Lament and countered with the Last Chancery.
For Ring of Honor, it was a massive success. The upstart promotion’s champion went over a major name in the wrestling world, a name that has held one of the most prestigious titles in the industry. On the heels of the defections of Bryan Danielson and Nigel McGuiness, a terrific match and a tailor made result were just what the company needed.
For Calvin Constantine, it was yet another resounding failure.
Another shot at glory. Another moment when victory seemed imminent. Another opportunity trickling through his fingers.
Another day in the life of a struggling wrestler.
After ICW’s demise, Calvin fled to Japan, competing for Pro Wrestling NOAH. The death of the legendary Misawa hastened his return to the States, where made the rounds through independent promotions like CHIKARA, CZW, RoH, and PWG.
The life of an independent wrestler. Calvin spent many lonely hours in cheap rental cars and many long nights in shitty motels.
He searched for answers. He wracked his soul for direction, for some purpose now that ICW was dead and buried once again.
What did he find?
Nothing.
Addiction truly is a feisty bitch. The lying, the self destruction, the alienation, the withdrawal, all combine to wreak havoc on the being of the addict.
But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part comes after rehab, after the meetings, after the detox.
The worst part is the emptiness.
Whatever it is that consumed the addict, be it sex, drugs, rock and roll, or wrestling, truly consumed him. The addiction occupied all of his time and all of his money. Every fiber of his being was dedicated to it.
But now, mercy of mercies, he’s cured!
But…
What the fuck does he do with himself?
That is Calvin’s dilemma. You see, Calvin and ICW did not have a healthy relationship. In fact, you might call the relationship abusive as hell.
ICW hurt Calvin. ICW nearly killed Calvin, both literally and figuratively.
It’s been out of his system for a year now, thank God. He knows he needs to move on.
But move on to what?
After his match, Calvin sits on a locker room bench, still in his ring attire. Visions of Aries celebrating still dance in his head. He’s sitting with a faceless wrestling journalist (David Meltzer? Barry Alverez?) who’s asking the standard questions one asks of a loser who has made a valiant effort.
Calvin has found himself giving this interview far too many times.
While he’s stumbling through yet another non-descript answer, Calvin’s phone begins to buzz in his gym bag.
A text message.
Eagerly grabbing on to a chance to end the interview, Calvin reaches for his phone, flips it open, and recoils in shock.
We don’t see the message, but we do see Calvin furiously type his reply.
“How the hell did you get this number?”
A beat.
Calvin’s phone buzzes again. This time, we are privy to the message.
“Never mind that. Are you in?”
Calvin stares at the message for a long time.
A long time.
He sighs deeply, then types his response, looking all the world like a man on the edge of a relapse, but powerless to stop himself.
TBC…