Post by The Gangsta on Jan 22, 2019 23:40:40 GMT -5
Ante Whitner RP
To Find The Time
“The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.” -John 2:17.
“Another year has passed by, marking nearly five years since I entered this business. When people ask me how long it’s been since I stepped through those doors, I say it feels like yesterday but also a lifetime ago. There are bits and pieces with Donnie and Kyzer that feel like yesterday, but when I think of my title reign or the golden opportunity, I think somewhere in between I died and got revived. It’s not memory loss, not something as a result from the thousand head bumps and hip tosses.
It’s time. Not like an action moving tagline ‘it’s time’ or, well s**t, I don’t know. I’ve been interpreting both meanings as one for as long as I can remember, but I never realized the importance of their schism until now. One is confidence, one is blame. I find myself a suspect of overusing both.
I don’t know man, there’s just something about time that scares me to death.
Not to get to far into this deep conversation with pen and paper, but I feel old. I feel f**king senile, rotting in my chair as I write this entry out. I feel an ache in my wrist, my lower back, and in my shoulder that I tore recently. I’ve never had these problems. Ever. Now, I have this unprecedented and unsurmountable task of training Elijah into something better than my own. I dread the training, not for my own health, but for his. The kid’s been through s**t, but I fear for what he could look like in ten, maybe even five years if he pursues this route. It ain’t fun, it ain’t harmless, and it certainly ain’t worth the money.
Why do it then Ante? Why? You’ve seen people drop like flies, their bodies grow limp, and their faces turn a sickly pale color. You’ve beaten people to pulps, see blood gush from their eyebrows and mouths, why? Is your message that pressing to spread? Are you able to survive and make a living off of this brutality, this gore?
I’m beginning to think my message isn’t worth it. It ain’t because I’m slowly dying and losing every single match, no. I believe it’s all up to mother time. God knows it, there’s so many verses in the Old and New Testaments that mention time and how damning it could be.
Time is slow when you wait, fast when you’re late, short when you’re happy, long when you’re bored, endless when you’re in pain, and deadly when you’re sad. It’s no coincidence that the more I age, the more I feel embraced by this message of redemption and salvation. It’s no fine aging like wine, but maybe Elijah is that ‘fine’ part in my life. He could be a d**k sometimes, but as much as I feel I’m not worthy of training and mentoring him, he keeps me young; keeps me sane.
Tyler Draven, Frank Lynn, all of these men make me feel disgusting, old, and senile. I feel like a babysitter when I enter the ring with them in it, talking on a microphone like I’m barking orders for them to get in the shower or eat their leftover meatloaf. If they don’t shower, they’re filthy. If they don’t eat, the food will go bad and they’ll starve.
So, I guess time could be a blessing then.
God bless,
Ante”
---
1/15/19
The Ante Whitner Residence
Dell City, TX
“New year, new me.” The same phrase that has been uttered by teenage girls and coffee-sippin’ liberals for generations. It’s become an oxymoron at this point, not just for me but for everyone who repeats it. “New year, new me” should transform into “new year, new problems” or “new year, new year.” 2019 isn’t gonna be my year, nor anyone else’s. Or maybe I’ve just grown too goddamn pessimistic.
I’ve been splitting my rent with Elijah for the second month in a row now. Ever since Paulina literally and figuratively disappeared from my life, he’s taken over my couch. I joke around that he only has half-access to the apartment, which meant no fridge, no toilet, and no blanket. For the first few days, I actually got him. But, obviously, he caught on pretty quick because his previous living situation was exactly that.
We’ve been at the gym, me not so much. We’ve been at the local boxing ring, me not so much. I’ve fell out of habit, mainly due to my injury but also to my utmost laziness. The whole feud I’ve gotten myself entangled in has not only made me twenty years older, but twenty years closer to death. Draven is nuts, Lynn is nuts. I’m nuts. It’s just not an ideal situation.
Elijah knocks on my bedroom door to see if I’m still sleeping. He knocks harder.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Yo, it’s noon. You alright?” says Elijah.
I quickly jump out of bed and answer the door. I passed out the night before in my everyday clothes so no need to get dressed or anything. I answer the door. Elijah stands there in gym clothing, airpods, and two bottles of water.
“Dude.”
S**t, I completely forgot. I had promised Elijah that we’d hit the gym today at 12, first time for me in two weeks.
“God damn it, I’m sorry. Let me-”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just passed out late last night. Couldn’t sleep.”
“You sure?”
He stares at me, concerned. Here I am, serving as his mentor towards the “light” and I wallow in the darkness of afternoon light blocked by my blinders. This man has turned a complete 180 on his life in the past few months than I have in five years.
“Yeah.”
The meds I’ve been on from the injury have been… strange? It’s some painkiller, s**t that a few of the Seattle guys tried to put me onto years ago. I hate it, I hate the feeling of using this substance to better myself. It’s playing God.
Elijah walks back into the living room and sits on the couch, waiting. I quickly get dressed, a t-shirt, shorts, and socks that I’ve only worn once in the past week. Laundry has been overflowing my hamper for a month now. I just can’t find enough quarters to make the short trip downstairs.
I spam into the living room and Elijah refuses to look up.
“Ready?” I say.
“What am I doing here Ante?” he replies.
I sigh.
“I’m sorry man, it’s the medication. It knocks the s**t out of me.”
“No, I don’t care about that.”
“What’s bothering you then?”
I try my hand at being sympathetic once more. Here I am, teaching him how to the run the ropes when I, at best, have only walked them.
“You told me in weeks time that I’d have faith in my decision in coming here.”
“Right.”
“It’s been months.”
“I know.”
“And, everytime I see you backstage or when you’re at the doctor, I’m terrified.”
We’ve been here before. He’s been seeing the pain and suffering accumulate slowly. He attended the last show where I beat Payne. And well, I got hit over the head pretty damn hard.
“But, I’m losing my faith not in you, but in this business.”
“Y’know, I’m not too unfamiliar with that.”
Elijah pauses.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you.”
“And I talked to you and James over and over again about how I wanted to quit, how I didn’t wanna live with this anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“But, here I am.”
He shakes his head and stands up in anxiety.
“But, but, I don’t understand. Like, I get the money aspect, I get the fame, but the pain? S**t.”
“It’s just what you signed up for.”
“I didn’t sign up for s**t. I, I haven’t even made a final decision yet on if I wanna do this.”
An idea comes to mind. I rush into my bed room and dig through the piles of garbage in my closet when I find it; my contract. I toss the vanilla folder onto the couch.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“My contract. Take a look.”
“What? Am I even supposed to look at it?”
“Nope. But, do it anyway. Read it.”
Elijah hesitates to pick it up. He slowly flips it open and I see the bold “WFWF” logo right at the top. I haven’t read that in five years.
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
He takes a look, reading through my medical history and the terms that Lila and I agreed to. I see his eyes widen at points, followed by a head shake, and a sigh.
“S**t man.”
“Well, now you know some of the s**t I’ve been through.”
He pauses and sighs.
“Has anyone else seen this?”
“Aside from the terms that just about every wrestler has, no. Not the medical stuff.”
“How, how do you even live with some of these conditions?”
I shake my head and take a deep sigh.
“If I had an answer, I would’ve told you by now. God has really changed the pain however.”
“Really? God? Going to church can fix all of this s**t?”
I chuckle.
“It sounds ridiculous, but yeah, a bit. It’s better than speaking to a therapist.”
“But, how do you even have faith? How are you even alive right now?”
“I really don’t know, to be honest.”
I look at the ground.
“I, I don’t know if I can do this. I, I-”
“Don’t feel pressured.”
Elijah shakes his head.
“It’s not pressure, it’s just fear that I’m gonna get seriously hurt.”
“That’s something you gotta answer for yourself.”
“And how do I do that?”
He sits back down on the couch.
“Well, it takes steps. Resolutions, promises.”
“This ain’t a New Year’s Resolution.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I guess-”
“You don’t know either, do you?”
I’m dumbfounded, shocked. How do I not fear this hurt constantly? Yeah, I get flare-ups and moments where I think I can absolutely take no more, but I always get past it. I never really took a deep look at it or gave thought to potentially becoming the next Yukio Blaze. I’ve quit, came back, quit again, and came back again. This time, I say God is to blame, but is it really?
“No, I guess not.”
He pats me on the back. I’ve always hated touchy people.
“So, Draven and Lynn? You don’t know what to do with them either?”
“No.”
“Absolutely nothing?”
I pause.
“I look to the Bible when I’m unsure. I often attend mass, speak to the priest or deacon. But, I’ve done neither of those things in weeks.”
“Then, have you run out of faith?”
“Maybe so.”
“Then, you’re, I guess, addicted. Addicted to the WFWF.”
Heh. I’ve contemplated that before. Never thought it was true, until now. Maybe it’s not faith in God, that I have. It’s faith that I’ll be doing this forever.
“Well, it’s one hell of a drug then.”
“I can see.”
Elijah throws the contract in the trash. My jaw drops.
“F**k that, and let’s go to the gym. Let me train you this time.”
“Train me?”
He nods yes.
“If you’re gonna attempt to take down Lynn for the billionth time after Draven, you’re gonna need all the training you can get.”
I guess that makes sense.
“Huh. Alright, then.”
----
Time has made me understand the situation I’m facing. Time has made me realize how the sands will erode our bodies when we decay. Time has made me speak louder through actions than words.
Time has brought me to you Draven.
See, if I believed time was circular and rewarding, I would’ve met you a dozen times over now. We’re both destined for the same path, the same title. We’re looking to beat the man that’s undermined us so many times already.
But, why haven’t we met Mr. Tyler Draven?
Because time is linear and unforgiving. Time is our endgame, our true killer. The timeline has brought us together because goals too are linear and bound to time. Resolutions? To be solved with time. Promises? To be kept with time.
In this new year, my first resolution and promise is to overcome you. Not to beat you to until you’re a meaningless sack of s**t, but to win that number one contender spot. I want to see the emotional shock, the card with my face versus Frank Lynn. The passage of time until you see that match will be the most agonizing in your life. Period.
It’ll sweep you under and drown you, cleansing yourself of sin and corruption. I will make you rethink your goals and entanglement in my feud. This was always about Lynn and I and it always will. When I get through you, it’ll be the sixth time him and I have faced. My Golden Opportunity is another ticket, one that you lack you measly f**k.
I preach redemption. I tell many about it’s might and it’s conclusiveness. I give a damn about the Bible from time to time. It’s a shtick, a right mind that is going into another match with Frank Lynn. You are far from redemption Tyler, far, far from it. I hold a bit of optimism that you’ll get there one day after you are handled.
My resolution is your demise, your end. Finito. Resolution is the time I do it. Draven versus Whitner for all the marbles.
I guess time is a blessing then.
To Find The Time
“The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.” -John 2:17.
“Another year has passed by, marking nearly five years since I entered this business. When people ask me how long it’s been since I stepped through those doors, I say it feels like yesterday but also a lifetime ago. There are bits and pieces with Donnie and Kyzer that feel like yesterday, but when I think of my title reign or the golden opportunity, I think somewhere in between I died and got revived. It’s not memory loss, not something as a result from the thousand head bumps and hip tosses.
It’s time. Not like an action moving tagline ‘it’s time’ or, well s**t, I don’t know. I’ve been interpreting both meanings as one for as long as I can remember, but I never realized the importance of their schism until now. One is confidence, one is blame. I find myself a suspect of overusing both.
I don’t know man, there’s just something about time that scares me to death.
Not to get to far into this deep conversation with pen and paper, but I feel old. I feel f**king senile, rotting in my chair as I write this entry out. I feel an ache in my wrist, my lower back, and in my shoulder that I tore recently. I’ve never had these problems. Ever. Now, I have this unprecedented and unsurmountable task of training Elijah into something better than my own. I dread the training, not for my own health, but for his. The kid’s been through s**t, but I fear for what he could look like in ten, maybe even five years if he pursues this route. It ain’t fun, it ain’t harmless, and it certainly ain’t worth the money.
Why do it then Ante? Why? You’ve seen people drop like flies, their bodies grow limp, and their faces turn a sickly pale color. You’ve beaten people to pulps, see blood gush from their eyebrows and mouths, why? Is your message that pressing to spread? Are you able to survive and make a living off of this brutality, this gore?
I’m beginning to think my message isn’t worth it. It ain’t because I’m slowly dying and losing every single match, no. I believe it’s all up to mother time. God knows it, there’s so many verses in the Old and New Testaments that mention time and how damning it could be.
Time is slow when you wait, fast when you’re late, short when you’re happy, long when you’re bored, endless when you’re in pain, and deadly when you’re sad. It’s no coincidence that the more I age, the more I feel embraced by this message of redemption and salvation. It’s no fine aging like wine, but maybe Elijah is that ‘fine’ part in my life. He could be a d**k sometimes, but as much as I feel I’m not worthy of training and mentoring him, he keeps me young; keeps me sane.
Tyler Draven, Frank Lynn, all of these men make me feel disgusting, old, and senile. I feel like a babysitter when I enter the ring with them in it, talking on a microphone like I’m barking orders for them to get in the shower or eat their leftover meatloaf. If they don’t shower, they’re filthy. If they don’t eat, the food will go bad and they’ll starve.
So, I guess time could be a blessing then.
God bless,
Ante”
---
1/15/19
The Ante Whitner Residence
Dell City, TX
“New year, new me.” The same phrase that has been uttered by teenage girls and coffee-sippin’ liberals for generations. It’s become an oxymoron at this point, not just for me but for everyone who repeats it. “New year, new me” should transform into “new year, new problems” or “new year, new year.” 2019 isn’t gonna be my year, nor anyone else’s. Or maybe I’ve just grown too goddamn pessimistic.
I’ve been splitting my rent with Elijah for the second month in a row now. Ever since Paulina literally and figuratively disappeared from my life, he’s taken over my couch. I joke around that he only has half-access to the apartment, which meant no fridge, no toilet, and no blanket. For the first few days, I actually got him. But, obviously, he caught on pretty quick because his previous living situation was exactly that.
We’ve been at the gym, me not so much. We’ve been at the local boxing ring, me not so much. I’ve fell out of habit, mainly due to my injury but also to my utmost laziness. The whole feud I’ve gotten myself entangled in has not only made me twenty years older, but twenty years closer to death. Draven is nuts, Lynn is nuts. I’m nuts. It’s just not an ideal situation.
Elijah knocks on my bedroom door to see if I’m still sleeping. He knocks harder.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Yo, it’s noon. You alright?” says Elijah.
I quickly jump out of bed and answer the door. I passed out the night before in my everyday clothes so no need to get dressed or anything. I answer the door. Elijah stands there in gym clothing, airpods, and two bottles of water.
“Dude.”
S**t, I completely forgot. I had promised Elijah that we’d hit the gym today at 12, first time for me in two weeks.
“God damn it, I’m sorry. Let me-”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, I just passed out late last night. Couldn’t sleep.”
“You sure?”
He stares at me, concerned. Here I am, serving as his mentor towards the “light” and I wallow in the darkness of afternoon light blocked by my blinders. This man has turned a complete 180 on his life in the past few months than I have in five years.
“Yeah.”
The meds I’ve been on from the injury have been… strange? It’s some painkiller, s**t that a few of the Seattle guys tried to put me onto years ago. I hate it, I hate the feeling of using this substance to better myself. It’s playing God.
Elijah walks back into the living room and sits on the couch, waiting. I quickly get dressed, a t-shirt, shorts, and socks that I’ve only worn once in the past week. Laundry has been overflowing my hamper for a month now. I just can’t find enough quarters to make the short trip downstairs.
I spam into the living room and Elijah refuses to look up.
“Ready?” I say.
“What am I doing here Ante?” he replies.
I sigh.
“I’m sorry man, it’s the medication. It knocks the s**t out of me.”
“No, I don’t care about that.”
“What’s bothering you then?”
I try my hand at being sympathetic once more. Here I am, teaching him how to the run the ropes when I, at best, have only walked them.
“You told me in weeks time that I’d have faith in my decision in coming here.”
“Right.”
“It’s been months.”
“I know.”
“And, everytime I see you backstage or when you’re at the doctor, I’m terrified.”
We’ve been here before. He’s been seeing the pain and suffering accumulate slowly. He attended the last show where I beat Payne. And well, I got hit over the head pretty damn hard.
“But, I’m losing my faith not in you, but in this business.”
“Y’know, I’m not too unfamiliar with that.”
Elijah pauses.
“Yeah, I’ve seen you.”
“And I talked to you and James over and over again about how I wanted to quit, how I didn’t wanna live with this anymore.”
“Yeah.”
“But, here I am.”
He shakes his head and stands up in anxiety.
“But, but, I don’t understand. Like, I get the money aspect, I get the fame, but the pain? S**t.”
“It’s just what you signed up for.”
“I didn’t sign up for s**t. I, I haven’t even made a final decision yet on if I wanna do this.”
An idea comes to mind. I rush into my bed room and dig through the piles of garbage in my closet when I find it; my contract. I toss the vanilla folder onto the couch.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“My contract. Take a look.”
“What? Am I even supposed to look at it?”
“Nope. But, do it anyway. Read it.”
Elijah hesitates to pick it up. He slowly flips it open and I see the bold “WFWF” logo right at the top. I haven’t read that in five years.
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
He takes a look, reading through my medical history and the terms that Lila and I agreed to. I see his eyes widen at points, followed by a head shake, and a sigh.
“S**t man.”
“Well, now you know some of the s**t I’ve been through.”
He pauses and sighs.
“Has anyone else seen this?”
“Aside from the terms that just about every wrestler has, no. Not the medical stuff.”
“How, how do you even live with some of these conditions?”
I shake my head and take a deep sigh.
“If I had an answer, I would’ve told you by now. God has really changed the pain however.”
“Really? God? Going to church can fix all of this s**t?”
I chuckle.
“It sounds ridiculous, but yeah, a bit. It’s better than speaking to a therapist.”
“But, how do you even have faith? How are you even alive right now?”
“I really don’t know, to be honest.”
I look at the ground.
“I, I don’t know if I can do this. I, I-”
“Don’t feel pressured.”
Elijah shakes his head.
“It’s not pressure, it’s just fear that I’m gonna get seriously hurt.”
“That’s something you gotta answer for yourself.”
“And how do I do that?”
He sits back down on the couch.
“Well, it takes steps. Resolutions, promises.”
“This ain’t a New Year’s Resolution.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, I guess-”
“You don’t know either, do you?”
I’m dumbfounded, shocked. How do I not fear this hurt constantly? Yeah, I get flare-ups and moments where I think I can absolutely take no more, but I always get past it. I never really took a deep look at it or gave thought to potentially becoming the next Yukio Blaze. I’ve quit, came back, quit again, and came back again. This time, I say God is to blame, but is it really?
“No, I guess not.”
He pats me on the back. I’ve always hated touchy people.
“So, Draven and Lynn? You don’t know what to do with them either?”
“No.”
“Absolutely nothing?”
I pause.
“I look to the Bible when I’m unsure. I often attend mass, speak to the priest or deacon. But, I’ve done neither of those things in weeks.”
“Then, have you run out of faith?”
“Maybe so.”
“Then, you’re, I guess, addicted. Addicted to the WFWF.”
Heh. I’ve contemplated that before. Never thought it was true, until now. Maybe it’s not faith in God, that I have. It’s faith that I’ll be doing this forever.
“Well, it’s one hell of a drug then.”
“I can see.”
Elijah throws the contract in the trash. My jaw drops.
“F**k that, and let’s go to the gym. Let me train you this time.”
“Train me?”
He nods yes.
“If you’re gonna attempt to take down Lynn for the billionth time after Draven, you’re gonna need all the training you can get.”
I guess that makes sense.
“Huh. Alright, then.”
----
Time has made me understand the situation I’m facing. Time has made me realize how the sands will erode our bodies when we decay. Time has made me speak louder through actions than words.
Time has brought me to you Draven.
See, if I believed time was circular and rewarding, I would’ve met you a dozen times over now. We’re both destined for the same path, the same title. We’re looking to beat the man that’s undermined us so many times already.
But, why haven’t we met Mr. Tyler Draven?
Because time is linear and unforgiving. Time is our endgame, our true killer. The timeline has brought us together because goals too are linear and bound to time. Resolutions? To be solved with time. Promises? To be kept with time.
In this new year, my first resolution and promise is to overcome you. Not to beat you to until you’re a meaningless sack of s**t, but to win that number one contender spot. I want to see the emotional shock, the card with my face versus Frank Lynn. The passage of time until you see that match will be the most agonizing in your life. Period.
It’ll sweep you under and drown you, cleansing yourself of sin and corruption. I will make you rethink your goals and entanglement in my feud. This was always about Lynn and I and it always will. When I get through you, it’ll be the sixth time him and I have faced. My Golden Opportunity is another ticket, one that you lack you measly f**k.
I preach redemption. I tell many about it’s might and it’s conclusiveness. I give a damn about the Bible from time to time. It’s a shtick, a right mind that is going into another match with Frank Lynn. You are far from redemption Tyler, far, far from it. I hold a bit of optimism that you’ll get there one day after you are handled.
My resolution is your demise, your end. Finito. Resolution is the time I do it. Draven versus Whitner for all the marbles.
I guess time is a blessing then.
