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Trepidation of the heart

RMcConnell

New member
Joined
Jan 1, 2000
Messages
39
Points
0
Age
42
Location
Boldon UK
It was late, Stanley could tell form the darkness and the silence but he couldn’t sleep. Despite the unearthly hour the warmth of the night meant he was comfortable sitting on the steps of the patio staring into the night sky. He had tried to sleep but he had thoughts flying through his mind that he needed to iron out before he could find peace. Despite his win over Josh Novell and his upcoming bout against GUNS he still had several question marks hanging over his CSWA career, questions he knew he had to answer before OnTime if he was to stand a chance of winning.

The lack of activity regarding his career with the CSWA during the recent lean spell had really made Stanley think, in a time when he needed the CSWA to give him serious competition he was given nothing. That didn’t bother him as much as the main point and question that burned into his brain like a firebrand. When the CSWA didn’t act it should have been up to him to do something, yet he did nothing, this kept bringing up the same question to his mind.

Did he still want it?

All the years of hardship in the children’s home, the schooling by Alfred in the ways of combat. The time spent making a reputation for himself in England in the underground circuits. The time, effort, application he had put into making his name one of the most feared around.

Did he still want it?

The desire that burned in him, that forced himself and Alfred to leave England and travel to the CSWA. The ambition to mix it with the best professional wrestling had to offer. To be a legend in the publicised, highly covered reputable CSWA as opposed to the roguish, underground fight scene. To win titles, prestige and fame rather than just a quick pay-day.

Did he still want it?

The feeling he had when he started out in the CSWA, shocking the world by pinning the revered Dante Inferno. The buzz he felt when he had jammed the proverbial foot in the door of stardom, beating a man who was feared and respected by all.

Did he still want it?

The urge to train and better himself every day, to improve physically and mentally in order to progress. To sacrifice everything that didn’t aid his progress in wrestling. The single-mindedness that had seen him block out everyone in his life bar Alfred.

Did he still want it?

The determination to ignore all the bitchiness and envy that others felt towards him because of his ability and social standing. The positive step to remain distinctly British in an arena where conformity is expected and rewarded.

Did he still want it?

Could he still live with wrestling night in, night out? Facing all and sundry in an attempt to prove your ability to the powers that be. To show to all that you are worthy of a title shot, that you have what it takes to be the best in the business.

Did he still want it?

The drive to keep getting back up when you’re knocked back down. To drag yourself to your knees when your lungs are starved of oxygen from someone’s knee being driven into your ribs. The feeling you needed to get to your feet when an opponent is teeing off on your forehead with right hands, blood trickling down your face from the cut that was opening up with every fresh blow.

Did he still want it?

The mental toughness to block out the pain as your opponent locks in another submission hold and contorts your limbs into positions the human body didn’t want them to be re-positioned in. The refusal to tap the mat or verbally concede even though your muscles and tendons are screaming to you to do otherwise, sending warnings of pain that severe damage is being done to them.

Did he still want it?

Lying on the mat, semiconscious next to a downed opponent, listening to the referee making the ten count. Your body is telling you to stay down, to embrace the sweet nirvana of unconsciousness. Yet your brain is telling you to get up, to roll onto your side and push up with your arms with whatever strength you had left in order to break the count.

Did he still want it?

That feeling you get when you’ve finally got to your feet, hobbling around the ring and you have your opponent at your mercy. You grab him and drive him into the canvas with the ‘Facedown’, using whatever energy you have left in the process. Rolling on top of him as the referee makes the three count.

Did he still want it?

Having your hand raised by the referee as your signature music is played and the fans cheer, your arm lolling limply by your side as the referee releases it and you’re helped from the ring.

Did he still want it?

A small smirk appeared on the face of Stanley, in time it grew into a smile. He stared into the darkness of the night and imagined the upcoming match with GUNS, what it would take to come out on top. He thought long and hard about the physical and mental requirements a match like that would require.

Did he still want it?

The answer was a resounding one, from both his head and his heart. Did he still want it? Yes, yes he did.
 

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