Post by CM Poor: DeepFigureValue on Feb 7, 2015 23:10:53 GMT -5
Redemption
"You understand I have my concerns?"
Didn't we all?
It hadn't quite struck me until the day that I finally pushed open the doors that expanded into the WFWF's corporate headquarters just how striking it was that I had, in fact, never pushed open the doors that expanded into the WFWF's corporate headquarters. My contract negotiations had taken place largely by phone. I'd only ever met a road agent once or twice, when they'd flown out to observe my work in person, and from that point, all signatures had been collected electronically after having been put to paper in the presence of a notary public. In fact, it wasn't until I actually got to the back door of the first arena I'd ever perform in and identified myself that I was convinced that this whole ordeal and getting signed by the WFWF wasn't just some elaborate ruse by some malicious colleague from Austin's independent promotion circuit. Even as young as I was in the world, even in the year 2014, it was still a bit unnerving to stop and take a look at the world and just fully appreciate how automated we'd become.
All the same, I'd finally found myself in a position in which I'd needed to ask the organization for something , and maybe it was the way I was raised, or maybe just my own fairy tale vision of the best sorts of dealings being done in person, but I thought it would serve my best interests to approach this request in person, rather than through the informality of a phone call or an e-mail, and it was that line of thinking that had finally led me to the central hub of the WFWF, seated across a desk, eye to eye with WFWF's own corporate work horse, Lila Sleater.
"I can fully appreciate that, Ms. Sleater, but I want to assure yo-"
"He's here?"
"I'm sorry?"
"He's here with you now?"
"Yes...ah, outside, yes."
Without a word, Lila began rifling through a drawer within her desk. Producing two visitor badges attached to the black lanyards emblazoned with the WFWF logo, she intently passed them across her desk to me.
"Those will get you right back here without having to repeat the check in process. Both of you."
"I'm sorry?"
"Bring him here. I need to see him."
Respect
In the early waking days of 2015, I once again found my name listed across from that of Joshua Dean. I don't know if it works the same way for everyone, or if maybe it's a notion specific to this sort of industry in which your work is bound to pit you against individuals who, through the very chance of having chosen the same career path, are put in the most indelible position of being able to shape the very course of where you go in life mere hours after squaring off against them, but I've always found a sort of charm in the way two words - a proper given name and a proper family name - can jar up such an introspective look at one's journey from point A to point B. In this business, your life is sort of broken up into tiny little fragments, separated by boundaries formed by each point in your career - match to match to match. Once upon a time, you might break a professional wrestler's career into more broad segments - series and feuds and title runs and pursuits - but the world is a constantly changing place, and the landscape of our business within that world is no exception. When the status quo shifts on a daily basis, new faces coming as quickly as the old ones go, each match is of the more dire importance. Wins propel us, move us up in the world, inch over inch. Losses stall us. Humble us. Break us. If any man or woman who's stepped into that ring can tell you that they're the same exact person today that they were when they first set out from behind the curtain, then they're either content to commit sin in the eyes of The Lord, or they're doing something vastly wrong.
Less than a year prior to the weeks since I'd returned from London, a young man named Daniel Kirkbride climbed into a WFWF ring for the first time to square off against a perennial loser named Enchanted, one half of the tag team of Slanted & Enchanted. In the weeks following his debut, a much different young man by the name of Daniel Kirkbride would step into the ring and square off against another new arrival, the wife of former Intercontinental Champion Joshua Dean. As weeks turned to months and the shape of his career twisted and turned, no two competitors within the WFWF would face the same Daniel Kirkbride, in the same manner in which he would never face the same competitor as those that came before him.
If you've made it this far, I don't think you'll draw any sort of otherworldly conclusions in regard to an array of "different" men named Daniel Kirkbride competing within the WFWF. Put simply, I am of the mind that each match, from my very first to the very last, has shaped me in some way, sometimes immediately, sometimes over the course of time, so that as I come to sit and reminisce on my career, I've lived a numerous amount of lives, all through the gradual changes that scab encounter in the ring has bright upon me.
When I first found myself staring down the prospect of Joshua Dean, fear might best describe my outlook as I made my strides toward the ring to do battle against a man who just come off a violent, brash, and nearly deadly encounter with the WFWF's resident psychopath, Phillip Schneider. I pondered deeply for days on the circumstances that could drive a man to act in such a manner as to not only attempt to best another living being, but draw him inches upon inches closer to the realization of his own mortality. Surely, if chance encounters with those who shared the lower totem of the nightly card with me could shape me as a man and as a competitor, then to do battle all over creation amid chairs and tables and syringes and skewers and katanas could no doubt leave a lasting impression on a man that would do a tick more than simply alter him for the rest of his living days. An encounter like that was likely to downright wrap a man'a sense of reality.
I can't begin to tell you what it is that drove Joshua Dean during those days, nor could I tell you now what it is that guides him through the walks of life that we all traverse. I knew Joshua Dean as a fierce competitor, a loyal friend to those who'd reciprocate the favor, and a loving husband and father. Whether or not there was any other spiritual hand which aided Josh along his journey in compliment to the forces that already made him the man that he was, I could not say. Whether or not Josh had ever sought the guidance of a spiritual advisor or a power greater than his own, the end result told a tale that could be put in simple, worldly, human terms - a good man.
Joshua Dean stepped into the ring with me at Grudge and before my eyes disproved the notion I'd formulated in my mind that his encounter against Schneider would somehow alter the way in which he conducted himself within the ring for years to come. He put forth a valiant effort, which thousands more beyond myself had come to expect as he proved time and time again what a viable and credible threat he posed to anyone who found themselves at the opposite end of the ring, and he did so in a manner that lent immense credit to the man that he was. Clean. Fierce. Competitive. Challenging. These adjectives and a workload more would come to describe the effort he put forth against me, and even in defeat, he stood firm in presenting the front that I'd come to familiarize with him prior to his violent encounter with Phillip Schneider, and at a distance he may have never come to understand, he forced more from me than just the very limit of my physical ability which it took for me to find myself with my hand raised in victory - Joshua Dean would, unbeknownst to himself and even me initially, come to shape the very way in which I perceived my fellow man.
Cautiously optimistic. Over the course of my career, as I'd come to reevaluate the way I looked at the world around me, those words would ultimately come to describe my approach to a human element to which I'd once been a bit more than slightly adverse. As a man, my previous apprehensions would shelter me as a citizen of the world. As a Christian, they'd come into direct conflict with the life I told myself and the world that I woke up to lead on a daily basis. Before squaring off against Joshua Dean, one could argue that I'd taken in David Brennan in his time of need, but it wasn't until well after the fact that I'd come to consider him a friend, and later an ally. Among many factors, my encounter with Dean at the WFWF Grudge event helped me come to accept the possibility of good in a vastly larger sample of the human race than I'd ever before thought possible. I might never come to understand how it was that Joshua Dean would cope with the sheer magnitude of what it was that drove his behavior in matches against the likes of Schneider or Yukio Blaze, but for as far as my own perception could see, he managed to do it while still presenting an honorable man who didn't let such manners define him, and for that, even as an uninvolved bystander, I'd come to respect him.
Josh and I would once again square off in Seattle, a city almost as synonymous with the WFWF as New York is with wrestling as a whole. There was a time early in my career where the notion of a match against such a powerful member of the Saviors of Salvation would have me on edge, and yet now, having had the opportunity to see first hand how Joshua Dean conducts himself against an opponent with no personal vesting in his personal mattress, I found myself almost anticipating the match. Rare is the occasion in which a man in this industry can look ahead to a match and know that while he will be put through he veritable wringer as his opponent pulls out every stop in order to achieve victory, he'll find himself a mutual beneficiary in that he'll be pushed to perform to the very apex limit of his capabilities. A second win over Joshua Dean would no doubt solidify a higher place on the rungs of the ladder that is the WFWF, but even in defeat, the very idea of a match of this magnitude was enough to remind me of why I yearned to get into this business in the first place. Above all else - above the pursuit of righteousness, above gold, above fame, fortune, and any over drive benefit that comes with a place in the WFWF, the opportunity to perform and compete at the highest level possible would be absolutely apparent any time I'd find myself fortunate to be facing off against the likes of Joshua Dean, and for that, and for all else he'd inadvertently done for me simply by being the very best example of himself, I'd walk through life eternally grateful.
It had been my hope from a very early point on that my career in the WFWF would bring me to new heights in regard to my athletic acumen, my competitive nature, and as a human being overall. When I look back now on my return to the states following our European trip, I can see with some degree of clarity how those things all at that moment were starting to come into play. I was, perhaps arguably, performing at peaks levels, climbing rung after rung in spite of minor setbacks that I was able to push forth and put behind me. I had in my hands an opportunity to go toe to toe against any of my peers at any time as we soldiered on toward the next pay-per-view, and I'd finally been presented with the chance to let go of some of the stubbornness that had ultimately created a rift in the momentum I'd been gaining when David Brennan offered his services as a manager of sorts - arranging my travel, getting me from point a to point b, and serving as a sort of liaison between myself and the rest of the WFWF. A man who'd been exiled from an organization as his demons had taken hold had not only served as a catalyst to my strides to do good in the eyes of The Lord, but had taken it upon himself as clarity set in to help me identify my own faults as a man and do what he could to help me overcome them. It would be a difficult arrangement, given his release the year before, but perhaps I could carry this method of reciprocation forward. David Brennan had thus far made the most of a second chance at life. Perhaps he was due for a do-over in regard to his own livelihood.
"You understand I have my concerns?"
Didn't we all?
It hadn't quite struck me until the day that I finally pushed open the doors that expanded into the WFWF's corporate headquarters just how striking it was that I had, in fact, never pushed open the doors that expanded into the WFWF's corporate headquarters. My contract negotiations had taken place largely by phone. I'd only ever met a road agent once or twice, when they'd flown out to observe my work in person, and from that point, all signatures had been collected electronically after having been put to paper in the presence of a notary public. In fact, it wasn't until I actually got to the back door of the first arena I'd ever perform in and identified myself that I was convinced that this whole ordeal and getting signed by the WFWF wasn't just some elaborate ruse by some malicious colleague from Austin's independent promotion circuit. Even as young as I was in the world, even in the year 2014, it was still a bit unnerving to stop and take a look at the world and just fully appreciate how automated we'd become.
All the same, I'd finally found myself in a position in which I'd needed to ask the organization for something , and maybe it was the way I was raised, or maybe just my own fairy tale vision of the best sorts of dealings being done in person, but I thought it would serve my best interests to approach this request in person, rather than through the informality of a phone call or an e-mail, and it was that line of thinking that had finally led me to the central hub of the WFWF, seated across a desk, eye to eye with WFWF's own corporate work horse, Lila Sleater.
"I can fully appreciate that, Ms. Sleater, but I want to assure yo-"
"He's here?"
"I'm sorry?"
"He's here with you now?"
"Yes...ah, outside, yes."
Without a word, Lila began rifling through a drawer within her desk. Producing two visitor badges attached to the black lanyards emblazoned with the WFWF logo, she intently passed them across her desk to me.
"Those will get you right back here without having to repeat the check in process. Both of you."
"I'm sorry?"
"Bring him here. I need to see him."
Respect
In the early waking days of 2015, I once again found my name listed across from that of Joshua Dean. I don't know if it works the same way for everyone, or if maybe it's a notion specific to this sort of industry in which your work is bound to pit you against individuals who, through the very chance of having chosen the same career path, are put in the most indelible position of being able to shape the very course of where you go in life mere hours after squaring off against them, but I've always found a sort of charm in the way two words - a proper given name and a proper family name - can jar up such an introspective look at one's journey from point A to point B. In this business, your life is sort of broken up into tiny little fragments, separated by boundaries formed by each point in your career - match to match to match. Once upon a time, you might break a professional wrestler's career into more broad segments - series and feuds and title runs and pursuits - but the world is a constantly changing place, and the landscape of our business within that world is no exception. When the status quo shifts on a daily basis, new faces coming as quickly as the old ones go, each match is of the more dire importance. Wins propel us, move us up in the world, inch over inch. Losses stall us. Humble us. Break us. If any man or woman who's stepped into that ring can tell you that they're the same exact person today that they were when they first set out from behind the curtain, then they're either content to commit sin in the eyes of The Lord, or they're doing something vastly wrong.
Less than a year prior to the weeks since I'd returned from London, a young man named Daniel Kirkbride climbed into a WFWF ring for the first time to square off against a perennial loser named Enchanted, one half of the tag team of Slanted & Enchanted. In the weeks following his debut, a much different young man by the name of Daniel Kirkbride would step into the ring and square off against another new arrival, the wife of former Intercontinental Champion Joshua Dean. As weeks turned to months and the shape of his career twisted and turned, no two competitors within the WFWF would face the same Daniel Kirkbride, in the same manner in which he would never face the same competitor as those that came before him.
If you've made it this far, I don't think you'll draw any sort of otherworldly conclusions in regard to an array of "different" men named Daniel Kirkbride competing within the WFWF. Put simply, I am of the mind that each match, from my very first to the very last, has shaped me in some way, sometimes immediately, sometimes over the course of time, so that as I come to sit and reminisce on my career, I've lived a numerous amount of lives, all through the gradual changes that scab encounter in the ring has bright upon me.
When I first found myself staring down the prospect of Joshua Dean, fear might best describe my outlook as I made my strides toward the ring to do battle against a man who just come off a violent, brash, and nearly deadly encounter with the WFWF's resident psychopath, Phillip Schneider. I pondered deeply for days on the circumstances that could drive a man to act in such a manner as to not only attempt to best another living being, but draw him inches upon inches closer to the realization of his own mortality. Surely, if chance encounters with those who shared the lower totem of the nightly card with me could shape me as a man and as a competitor, then to do battle all over creation amid chairs and tables and syringes and skewers and katanas could no doubt leave a lasting impression on a man that would do a tick more than simply alter him for the rest of his living days. An encounter like that was likely to downright wrap a man'a sense of reality.
I can't begin to tell you what it is that drove Joshua Dean during those days, nor could I tell you now what it is that guides him through the walks of life that we all traverse. I knew Joshua Dean as a fierce competitor, a loyal friend to those who'd reciprocate the favor, and a loving husband and father. Whether or not there was any other spiritual hand which aided Josh along his journey in compliment to the forces that already made him the man that he was, I could not say. Whether or not Josh had ever sought the guidance of a spiritual advisor or a power greater than his own, the end result told a tale that could be put in simple, worldly, human terms - a good man.
Joshua Dean stepped into the ring with me at Grudge and before my eyes disproved the notion I'd formulated in my mind that his encounter against Schneider would somehow alter the way in which he conducted himself within the ring for years to come. He put forth a valiant effort, which thousands more beyond myself had come to expect as he proved time and time again what a viable and credible threat he posed to anyone who found themselves at the opposite end of the ring, and he did so in a manner that lent immense credit to the man that he was. Clean. Fierce. Competitive. Challenging. These adjectives and a workload more would come to describe the effort he put forth against me, and even in defeat, he stood firm in presenting the front that I'd come to familiarize with him prior to his violent encounter with Phillip Schneider, and at a distance he may have never come to understand, he forced more from me than just the very limit of my physical ability which it took for me to find myself with my hand raised in victory - Joshua Dean would, unbeknownst to himself and even me initially, come to shape the very way in which I perceived my fellow man.
Cautiously optimistic. Over the course of my career, as I'd come to reevaluate the way I looked at the world around me, those words would ultimately come to describe my approach to a human element to which I'd once been a bit more than slightly adverse. As a man, my previous apprehensions would shelter me as a citizen of the world. As a Christian, they'd come into direct conflict with the life I told myself and the world that I woke up to lead on a daily basis. Before squaring off against Joshua Dean, one could argue that I'd taken in David Brennan in his time of need, but it wasn't until well after the fact that I'd come to consider him a friend, and later an ally. Among many factors, my encounter with Dean at the WFWF Grudge event helped me come to accept the possibility of good in a vastly larger sample of the human race than I'd ever before thought possible. I might never come to understand how it was that Joshua Dean would cope with the sheer magnitude of what it was that drove his behavior in matches against the likes of Schneider or Yukio Blaze, but for as far as my own perception could see, he managed to do it while still presenting an honorable man who didn't let such manners define him, and for that, even as an uninvolved bystander, I'd come to respect him.
Josh and I would once again square off in Seattle, a city almost as synonymous with the WFWF as New York is with wrestling as a whole. There was a time early in my career where the notion of a match against such a powerful member of the Saviors of Salvation would have me on edge, and yet now, having had the opportunity to see first hand how Joshua Dean conducts himself against an opponent with no personal vesting in his personal mattress, I found myself almost anticipating the match. Rare is the occasion in which a man in this industry can look ahead to a match and know that while he will be put through he veritable wringer as his opponent pulls out every stop in order to achieve victory, he'll find himself a mutual beneficiary in that he'll be pushed to perform to the very apex limit of his capabilities. A second win over Joshua Dean would no doubt solidify a higher place on the rungs of the ladder that is the WFWF, but even in defeat, the very idea of a match of this magnitude was enough to remind me of why I yearned to get into this business in the first place. Above all else - above the pursuit of righteousness, above gold, above fame, fortune, and any over drive benefit that comes with a place in the WFWF, the opportunity to perform and compete at the highest level possible would be absolutely apparent any time I'd find myself fortunate to be facing off against the likes of Joshua Dean, and for that, and for all else he'd inadvertently done for me simply by being the very best example of himself, I'd walk through life eternally grateful.
It had been my hope from a very early point on that my career in the WFWF would bring me to new heights in regard to my athletic acumen, my competitive nature, and as a human being overall. When I look back now on my return to the states following our European trip, I can see with some degree of clarity how those things all at that moment were starting to come into play. I was, perhaps arguably, performing at peaks levels, climbing rung after rung in spite of minor setbacks that I was able to push forth and put behind me. I had in my hands an opportunity to go toe to toe against any of my peers at any time as we soldiered on toward the next pay-per-view, and I'd finally been presented with the chance to let go of some of the stubbornness that had ultimately created a rift in the momentum I'd been gaining when David Brennan offered his services as a manager of sorts - arranging my travel, getting me from point a to point b, and serving as a sort of liaison between myself and the rest of the WFWF. A man who'd been exiled from an organization as his demons had taken hold had not only served as a catalyst to my strides to do good in the eyes of The Lord, but had taken it upon himself as clarity set in to help me identify my own faults as a man and do what he could to help me overcome them. It would be a difficult arrangement, given his release the year before, but perhaps I could carry this method of reciprocation forward. David Brennan had thus far made the most of a second chance at life. Perhaps he was due for a do-over in regard to his own livelihood.