Post by Ethen Bonelo on Jul 8, 2011 23:29:23 GMT -5
*The following entry was discovered by Extreme United Wrestling officials on an unknown date in 2012. The entry was found alongside a picture of Roman Cripate and Ethen Bonelo, with both faces scratched out in the pictures. Its contents, themes, and analysis do not reflect the views of EUW or its affiliate partners or promotions
Read at your own risk.*
Dear Reader(s),
I don’t remember much about my first match with the EUW. One thing I do remember is a voice in the back of my head, speaking to me religiously as the match progressed onwards. It spoke every time I moved, every time I blinked, and after every thought I had. I’ll admit, for a few minutes, I thought God was speaking to me.
It was pain, actually.
I had taken two running boots right to the face during the course of the match, thanks to TJ. It’s not unusual for a wrestler to be kicked in the face during their career. Some might even call it a rite of passage. I just called it painful.
“I’ve seen you look pretty awful throughout your career, but tonight’s a real highlight on that list,” joked Roman, as he handed me an ice pack minutes after the match occurred. The world was still a blur to me in those few minutes, but Roman was the slight shining through in that moment. Like a friend, a brother, my own blood.
***Editor’s Note #1***
Roman was my best friend, and at one time, my worst enemy.
It wasn’t the pain in my throbbing forehead that made me have a hard time looking at Roman. We’d had losses as a team before, and if you followed my EUW career even somewhat, you’d know we experienced even more. But at that time, it was different. I knew what I felt.
Shame.
I had let my tag team partner down in a new promotion, and it was eating away at me. I didn’t understand it at the time. I had pledged that I would remain detached from the EUW, that I wouldn’t become invested in something I had no stake in. But life moved on regardless of how much I wanted it to freeze like the 9th circle of Hell. I was still prideful.
“Goddamit.” I muttered to myself. “I’m sorry I let you down out there Roman. I really didn’t have much offense going on out there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he quipped as he began to change back into regular clothes. Roman always understood my shortcomings. It was almost… superhuman of him.
“But word’s spreading that the boss isn’t too pleased with us. We’re looking at dark match status for the next Sunday Night Vengeance. I’m going to go talk to him, see what I can get going.”
“Who do we have?” I asked, not really sure if I even wanted the answer to that. My pride, and my head were doo damaged to think ahead.
“The Dogs of War. But may this is for the better. We started off on a weird foot opening SNV in a triple team match. Not our style, you know?”
The “masks,” the isolation, the anonymity… we didn’t much have a style in those days.
“Perhaps,” I agreed. “A rebound team, of sorts. At least, for me. I was awful out there.”
“And you’ll continue to be awful as long as you sit there bitching on the couch like some hungover Tuesday morning cunt.” Roman, always classy. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”
I stood up, but felt woozy. I knew what Roman was about to suggest, but my look silenced his thought. I hated doctors.
“Just trying to make sure you even make it to our dark match. You sure you’re okay to keep going old man?”
I sighed. My body had deteriorated over the years through the wars I had fought in, but that was information I had to hide from the Dogs of War. As their name implied, they would hunt me for any sign of weakness. I used Roman as a support, but was able to stand.
“Thank you for your concern friend, but I will survive. A drink does found appropriate now though…”
I didn’t have much to say at that moment, but I knew in my moments of weakness, Roman would support me. We were a team, and we would avenge the early loss.
I was too prideful at the time to do otherwise, and too prideful to see what was going to happen next.
Read at your own risk.*
Dear Reader(s),
I don’t remember much about my first match with the EUW. One thing I do remember is a voice in the back of my head, speaking to me religiously as the match progressed onwards. It spoke every time I moved, every time I blinked, and after every thought I had. I’ll admit, for a few minutes, I thought God was speaking to me.
It was pain, actually.
I had taken two running boots right to the face during the course of the match, thanks to TJ. It’s not unusual for a wrestler to be kicked in the face during their career. Some might even call it a rite of passage. I just called it painful.
“I’ve seen you look pretty awful throughout your career, but tonight’s a real highlight on that list,” joked Roman, as he handed me an ice pack minutes after the match occurred. The world was still a blur to me in those few minutes, but Roman was the slight shining through in that moment. Like a friend, a brother, my own blood.
***Editor’s Note #1***
Roman was my best friend, and at one time, my worst enemy.
It wasn’t the pain in my throbbing forehead that made me have a hard time looking at Roman. We’d had losses as a team before, and if you followed my EUW career even somewhat, you’d know we experienced even more. But at that time, it was different. I knew what I felt.
Shame.
I had let my tag team partner down in a new promotion, and it was eating away at me. I didn’t understand it at the time. I had pledged that I would remain detached from the EUW, that I wouldn’t become invested in something I had no stake in. But life moved on regardless of how much I wanted it to freeze like the 9th circle of Hell. I was still prideful.
“Goddamit.” I muttered to myself. “I’m sorry I let you down out there Roman. I really didn’t have much offense going on out there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he quipped as he began to change back into regular clothes. Roman always understood my shortcomings. It was almost… superhuman of him.
“But word’s spreading that the boss isn’t too pleased with us. We’re looking at dark match status for the next Sunday Night Vengeance. I’m going to go talk to him, see what I can get going.”
“Who do we have?” I asked, not really sure if I even wanted the answer to that. My pride, and my head were doo damaged to think ahead.
“The Dogs of War. But may this is for the better. We started off on a weird foot opening SNV in a triple team match. Not our style, you know?”
The “masks,” the isolation, the anonymity… we didn’t much have a style in those days.
“Perhaps,” I agreed. “A rebound team, of sorts. At least, for me. I was awful out there.”
“And you’ll continue to be awful as long as you sit there bitching on the couch like some hungover Tuesday morning cunt.” Roman, always classy. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink.”
I stood up, but felt woozy. I knew what Roman was about to suggest, but my look silenced his thought. I hated doctors.
“Just trying to make sure you even make it to our dark match. You sure you’re okay to keep going old man?”
I sighed. My body had deteriorated over the years through the wars I had fought in, but that was information I had to hide from the Dogs of War. As their name implied, they would hunt me for any sign of weakness. I used Roman as a support, but was able to stand.
“Thank you for your concern friend, but I will survive. A drink does found appropriate now though…”
I didn’t have much to say at that moment, but I knew in my moments of weakness, Roman would support me. We were a team, and we would avenge the early loss.
I was too prideful at the time to do otherwise, and too prideful to see what was going to happen next.
Sincerely,
Ethen Bonelo
Ethen Bonelo