Post by Sahara on Jul 23, 2020 8:57:49 GMT -5
So, y’all wanted to know if I could get it done?
Well, I got it done. I’m officially the fourth entrant into the Stairway 2 Heaven extravaganzzzzza.
I’ve heard the whispers. Sahara only claims winnin’ and losin’ doesn't matter because she never wins...yeah, and I also tend to get myself purposefully disqualified to put an exclamation on that point.
This was about making a statement…to shut the naysayers up once and for all. Can I win? Yeah. But it all comes back to what I’ve said from the moment I’ve stepped into the OPW. This STILL isn’t about winning and losing. Hell, a lot of teams in a lot of sports win a hell of a lot of games, but when the metal meets the marrow, they can’t get the job done when it matters most.
So don’t tell me how often you win … tell me WHEN you win.
Kinda like I just did...
Sahara rolled into the corner and collapsed against the second turnbuckle, immediately holding up a hand for her sparring partner to stop and take a break. Beads of sweat coated every inch of her tanned skin and strands platinum blonde hair clung to her face. She shook her head, gasping for breath.
“Tank isn’t as full as it once was, is it?”, the gruff voice of the head trainer at the Fallout Shelter knew how to cut to the chase when it came to the blonde. While it may have been worded like a question, she knew it was more a statement of fact.
“What the hell happened to me?”, the blonde asked, already knowing the answer. “I used to be able to go forever.” Her trainer smiled from the floor next to the ring apron as he threw a towel up toward her face. “You? You mean us. We went and got old, girl. Especially me. That’s why I done told ya, you shoulda’ stayed in Hollywood and let those stuntwomen handle this kinda stuff for ya. This vendetta you got with Buchannan ain’t worth it. You’re on the wrong side of thirty-five these days, and for what Netflix was payin’ ya to play pretend, why the hell do ya still wanna do this for real?”
He wasn’t lying. They did somehow get old. She remembered the days -- long before she’d transitioned to being an actress -- when her trainer's burly hair was still jet black. The etched lines on his face and the grey in his hair gave it away these days, though. While her looks were still holding up, it wouldn’t be long before age and wisdom would start to take its toll. Once known for her ability to absorb ungodly amounts of damage and fight forever -- “for a girl that looks like her” -- as the boys in the back used to say, Sahara knew she was on borrowed time. Sure, she could still go balls to the wall, but only for short periods of time these days. And with each passing day, that time grew shorter and shorter. That’s why she was heaving for breath after just fifteen minutes in the practice ring. The longer a match went these days, the more risks she’d have to take in order to keep the playing field level, especially against bigger opponents. That meant dangerous high flying shit she once reserved for only the most dire of circumstances.
It was a weakness she was very cognizant of.
“Don’t worry yourself too much, though. You still got more than enough to get it done. And now you got the experience that a lot of these younger types could only dream of. Only one problem though…”, Luther raised an eyebrow, as she did the same in response to his statement.
“What problem is that?!”
“Have you ever seen Rocky III?”
Sahara let out a little laugh, “Of course I did, asshat, who hasn’t?! That’s the one that featured some good ol’ fashioned wrasslin!”
“Yeah, well…”, Luther rubbed his chin as he spoke a bit more softly, “You remember that scene where Mick has to break it to Rocky that while he still had the mind, he no longer had the heart or the hunger?”
She didn’t need to hear the rest. She already knew.
“Yeah, I know. I ain’t hungry anymore but for one damn thing. Blair Buchannan.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the fucking problem. You ain’t fighting Blair Buchannan. You’re fighting Tommy Kain, so get with it. He’s got a couple of inches on ya and outweighs you by a good forty pounds, and that matters in this business...so get your ass up and train until you ain’t got nothin’ left!”
This scolding somehow brought a smile to Sahara’s face. She never knew how he did it, but Luther could take a negative or a personal weakness and somehow find a way to turn it into motivation to press on...
Heaving a sigh, she grabbed the top ropes and yanked herself upright and tossed the towel out of the ring.
“No point in towlin’ off if all I’m gonna do is get sweaty again.”
Nodding at the disheveled blonde that had just qualified for the Stairway 2 Heaven event, Luther cracked a knowing smile.
“That’s my girl…”
I’ve been saying since the day I stepped foot in the OPW. Winning and losing doesn’t matter. If I wanna win, I try my damndest to do so, but I also recognize ANYBODY that has ever competed in this business -- even those good enough to step up and keep up -- they’ve never retired undefeated. So for those of you who brag about your little “streaks” of being undefeated for the cup a’ coffee you’ve been in the OPW or wrestling in general, you don’t seem to understand how this business works, especially in the long term. That’s why you all wash out after a few months of non-stop braggin’ on how great you are. I’ve only been here a few months and I can already name some names, but I won’t bother. If you’ve been payin’ attention, you already know who they are, because they’re already gone after all the big talk about bein’ the best.
Staking everything about your stature in that ring on a win/loss record is like slamming the gas in a Bugatti Veyron that’s heading toward a brick wall. It may not be this week, or even next, but eventually you’re gonna collide with that inevitable defeat.
Then what?!
If that’s your gimmick, your gimmick is dead on arrival.
But that brings me to “Too Cool” Tommy Kain.
You ain’t like some of the others. I’ll give ya that. You’ve made quite the name for yourself here in the OPW, and I ain’t gonna take that from ya. You ain’t quite my cup of tea, but hey, beauty and style lie in the eye of the beholder.
That’s not my game, Tommy Kain.
I want you to understand somethin’ about me. Unlike pretty much anyone else you’ve faced in the OPW, I don’t care about winnin’ a match that has nothin’ at stake. It doesn’t involve Blair Buchannan, and according to the marquee, it doesn’t look like you’re putin’ that gold on the line, either. So win or lose … eh, who cares? I'd just suggest you go back and watch what I've done to other opponents I didn't care about fightin' just so ya know what to expect. So go ahead with your bad self and make fun of my wrasslin’ name like I saw you do with Dark Tiger, because, you know, that’s gonna be what puts you over the top. I’m sure you’ll even come up with something original about dry, sandy deserts like the, you know … Sahara?!
I know your kind, Tommy. You like to come up with cute little sayings, slogans and nicknames designed to mock your opponent, get into their heads and live there rent free until you can dispose of ‘em in the ring where it matters. But you ain’t gonna get in my head. Not like that. So go on, crack open another Zima … cuz they’re about as cool as you are, and I can’t wait to smash a cold one over your empty fuckin’ head.
I ain’t got the time left in this business to fuck around anymore, and you know exactly what I mean by that. You ain't exactly a spring chicken yourself. Unfortunately, Tommy Boy, we didn’t stay young forever, and the clock is tickin’ on us both.
...and I ain't about to spend the time I got left wastin' any more of it on you.
Toodles, bitch!
Well, I got it done. I’m officially the fourth entrant into the Stairway 2 Heaven extravaganzzzzza.
I’ve heard the whispers. Sahara only claims winnin’ and losin’ doesn't matter because she never wins...yeah, and I also tend to get myself purposefully disqualified to put an exclamation on that point.
This was about making a statement…to shut the naysayers up once and for all. Can I win? Yeah. But it all comes back to what I’ve said from the moment I’ve stepped into the OPW. This STILL isn’t about winning and losing. Hell, a lot of teams in a lot of sports win a hell of a lot of games, but when the metal meets the marrow, they can’t get the job done when it matters most.
So don’t tell me how often you win … tell me WHEN you win.
Kinda like I just did...
~~~~~
Well, I've been 'fraid of changin'
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm gettin' older, too
-Fleetwood Mac
~~~~~
“Tank isn’t as full as it once was, is it?”, the gruff voice of the head trainer at the Fallout Shelter knew how to cut to the chase when it came to the blonde. While it may have been worded like a question, she knew it was more a statement of fact.
“What the hell happened to me?”, the blonde asked, already knowing the answer. “I used to be able to go forever.” Her trainer smiled from the floor next to the ring apron as he threw a towel up toward her face. “You? You mean us. We went and got old, girl. Especially me. That’s why I done told ya, you shoulda’ stayed in Hollywood and let those stuntwomen handle this kinda stuff for ya. This vendetta you got with Buchannan ain’t worth it. You’re on the wrong side of thirty-five these days, and for what Netflix was payin’ ya to play pretend, why the hell do ya still wanna do this for real?”
He wasn’t lying. They did somehow get old. She remembered the days -- long before she’d transitioned to being an actress -- when her trainer's burly hair was still jet black. The etched lines on his face and the grey in his hair gave it away these days, though. While her looks were still holding up, it wouldn’t be long before age and wisdom would start to take its toll. Once known for her ability to absorb ungodly amounts of damage and fight forever -- “for a girl that looks like her” -- as the boys in the back used to say, Sahara knew she was on borrowed time. Sure, she could still go balls to the wall, but only for short periods of time these days. And with each passing day, that time grew shorter and shorter. That’s why she was heaving for breath after just fifteen minutes in the practice ring. The longer a match went these days, the more risks she’d have to take in order to keep the playing field level, especially against bigger opponents. That meant dangerous high flying shit she once reserved for only the most dire of circumstances.
It was a weakness she was very cognizant of.
“Don’t worry yourself too much, though. You still got more than enough to get it done. And now you got the experience that a lot of these younger types could only dream of. Only one problem though…”, Luther raised an eyebrow, as she did the same in response to his statement.
“What problem is that?!”
“Have you ever seen Rocky III?”
Sahara let out a little laugh, “Of course I did, asshat, who hasn’t?! That’s the one that featured some good ol’ fashioned wrasslin!”
“Yeah, well…”, Luther rubbed his chin as he spoke a bit more softly, “You remember that scene where Mick has to break it to Rocky that while he still had the mind, he no longer had the heart or the hunger?”
She didn’t need to hear the rest. She already knew.
“Yeah, I know. I ain’t hungry anymore but for one damn thing. Blair Buchannan.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the fucking problem. You ain’t fighting Blair Buchannan. You’re fighting Tommy Kain, so get with it. He’s got a couple of inches on ya and outweighs you by a good forty pounds, and that matters in this business...so get your ass up and train until you ain’t got nothin’ left!”
This scolding somehow brought a smile to Sahara’s face. She never knew how he did it, but Luther could take a negative or a personal weakness and somehow find a way to turn it into motivation to press on...
Heaving a sigh, she grabbed the top ropes and yanked herself upright and tossed the towel out of the ring.
“No point in towlin’ off if all I’m gonna do is get sweaty again.”
Nodding at the disheveled blonde that had just qualified for the Stairway 2 Heaven event, Luther cracked a knowing smile.
“That’s my girl…”
~~~~~
Staking everything about your stature in that ring on a win/loss record is like slamming the gas in a Bugatti Veyron that’s heading toward a brick wall. It may not be this week, or even next, but eventually you’re gonna collide with that inevitable defeat.
Then what?!
If that’s your gimmick, your gimmick is dead on arrival.
But that brings me to “Too Cool” Tommy Kain.
You ain’t like some of the others. I’ll give ya that. You’ve made quite the name for yourself here in the OPW, and I ain’t gonna take that from ya. You ain’t quite my cup of tea, but hey, beauty and style lie in the eye of the beholder.
That’s not my game, Tommy Kain.
I want you to understand somethin’ about me. Unlike pretty much anyone else you’ve faced in the OPW, I don’t care about winnin’ a match that has nothin’ at stake. It doesn’t involve Blair Buchannan, and according to the marquee, it doesn’t look like you’re putin’ that gold on the line, either. So win or lose … eh, who cares? I'd just suggest you go back and watch what I've done to other opponents I didn't care about fightin' just so ya know what to expect. So go ahead with your bad self and make fun of my wrasslin’ name like I saw you do with Dark Tiger, because, you know, that’s gonna be what puts you over the top. I’m sure you’ll even come up with something original about dry, sandy deserts like the, you know … Sahara?!
I know your kind, Tommy. You like to come up with cute little sayings, slogans and nicknames designed to mock your opponent, get into their heads and live there rent free until you can dispose of ‘em in the ring where it matters. But you ain’t gonna get in my head. Not like that. So go on, crack open another Zima … cuz they’re about as cool as you are, and I can’t wait to smash a cold one over your empty fuckin’ head.
I ain’t got the time left in this business to fuck around anymore, and you know exactly what I mean by that. You ain't exactly a spring chicken yourself. Unfortunately, Tommy Boy, we didn’t stay young forever, and the clock is tickin’ on us both.
...and I ain't about to spend the time I got left wastin' any more of it on you.
Toodles, bitch!
~~~~~
Some are like water, some are like the heat
Some are a melody and some are the beat
Sooner or later they all will be gone
Why don't they stay young?
-Alphaville