Post by papapancho on Apr 28, 2013 3:10:14 GMT -4
“I have given a name to my pain.” Yanzel spoke softly. “And its name is Sang Réal.”
Yanzel Holmes stepped in front of the camera in a black Nike profit combat long sleeve with matching black shorts. He stares into the camera as he continues to talk.
“Normally I write my thoughts down and post them on the website. But the two of you have earned that extra bit of attention. In fact you’ve downright demanded it. After all you’re nobility, you’re second generation wrestlers, you were born for this.”
The camera zooms out from being focused on Yanzel Holmes and we realize we are in a training gym. Different weight machines fill the room. Near all the machines are children varying from ages of six all the way up to teenage years. The acronym UFPR is emblazoned on the wall.
“I’m here at the Universidade Federal do Paraná along with my helpers for the day.” Yanzel taps one of the boys on the head and he smiles laughing it up. “If there’s one thing that’s been crystal clear from the start with you two it’s what you are and what you represent. It started with the both of you taking advantage of commentary in between my match with Robina Hood. Your words downplayed a physical contest and made it a mockery all in an effort to show the world the kind of men you were. So now I’m going to show you and tell you the kind of man I am.”
The camera turns around to show many heavy bags’s set up ranging in different sizes and different weights to match up with the kids. The kids rush to a selected bag only realizing now that all their hands were already wrapped before. Yanzel steps in front of a heavy bag himself and gives out instructions as the translator repeats them into Portuguese for the children to follow along. He strikes the bag with a jab and watches as the rest follow suit. He points out the firmness and straightness of the wrists in order to avoid injury. He puts out his hand and shows the kids how to make a proper fist. He fires off a three punch combination and asks the children to repeat it.
“You see Sang Réal you’ve made a terrible assumption with me. You said when it comes to Yanzel Holmes the going quit and try to find something easier. At first I was furious. Who are these rich privileged sons of bitches to tell me that I’m taking the easy route? Exactly what part of my life has been easy? But then I remembered it’s all just talk. You’ve nothing but that haven’t you is just talk and talk and talk. I realized that you were physically going to have to prove your points and I smiled. I smiled the biggest smile the world has ever seen.”
Yanzel brings over a teenage boy and with the help of the translator points out how he should turn his hips into his punches to generate more power.
“See all your talk about privilege and nobility is just a rouse to make us forget about your lack of ability. I might not have grown up sleeping and breathing about wrestling. Color me guilty on that one. But I am 100% battle tested. While you two may have been born with everything I was born with nothing but my mind and this body. I wanted something I was going to have to earn it. How else do you expect a young black man to be standing here in Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil giving boxing lessons to kids who can’t speak English? So I made it out the ghetto. I made it all the way to the halls of Westwood and all along the way I had people just like you tell me I didn’t deserve it, I couldn’t do it, I didn’t have what it takes.”
Yanzel grabs a water bottle and squeezes some into his mouth swallowing it.
“I proved them wrong. I continue to prove them wrong. Just like I’m going to prove the both of you wrong. Everything you two are telling me is like having a bad record on replay. Heard it all before. I’m probably going to keep hearing it in the hopes that one time I’m going to stay down and accept it. But I don’t have the luxury of tucking tail and running. I’ve got a family that counts on me to provide for them. Make all the jokes you want about Meemaw and Pop-pop you just thank the lord that you’re facing the tag team of me and Warren Peace instead of them. They don’t play nearly as nice as I do and the last thing you two need is to be humiliated in your wrestling debut by a pissed of 60 year old black woman.”
Yanzel turns back to the class and moves back to his heavy bag. He gets everyone attention again as he points out the spacing between his feet warning the kids not to spread themselves out too far. He fires a body body head combination and then instructs the kids to follow suit. He walks around them making adjustments where he can but continues to talk to the camera.
“But you see these kids working their tails off? That’s hard work. That water dripping off their foreheads? That’s sweat. This is what it takes to get anywhere in life. It’s what got me all the way to Brazil and who knows one day maybe one of these kids is going to work hard enough to make it to the USA and we’ll all be buying a ticket to watch him fight. But in a gym there are no fathers. The only blood that matters it the one you’re willing to shed. It’s why I couldn’t ask for a better partner than Warren Peace. Warren very easily could have been one of you … hell as he tells it he WAS one of you. Lucky for me he grew up. Bad for you. My hope is that one day the both of you are going to look back at your debut match and just shake your head at yourselves.”
“Were we really that big of a douche? Was I that big of a cunt? And the answer is going to be yes and yes but hopefully while you’re acknowledging the overall assholeness of your demeanor you’re going to look back fondly at the nice pair of gentlemen who beat the douchyness out of you. Then you’re going to say thank you and look us up hoping to apologize one more time and buy us a round of cold ones. And me and Warren will happily say you’re welcome.”
“But let’s get back to reality. It’s going to take a long time for the both of you to pull your heads out of your asses and realize the truth. We’re all insignificant. Not a single one of us matters at all until the fans in that crowd start chanting your name. That starts happening and the glory, the fame, and the legacy they give you will warp anything that your royal blood can provide. Whether they’re chanting their heads off to support you or there screaming bloody murder to happen to you nothing will change until they start responding to you. So save your royal bloodlines for your role-playing in the bedroom. It doesn’t amount to dick out in that ring.”
Yanzel stops talking as something catches something out of the corner of his eye. He watches as a little boy wearing no shoes and torn clothes punches a heavy bag repeatedly with focus and technique. He watches as the punches land beautifully after the other hearing a solid thud as they land successfully. Yanzel smiles another big grin as he approaches the boy. With the help of translator Yanzel speaks to him giving him confidence. You can see as the conversation continues the boy smiles from ear to ear as his ears perk up and his eyes glimmer with hope. They fist bump together and Yanzel points back to the bag. He turns around facing back to the camera.
“I take that back. Getting beat up by a 60 year old black woman is not the most embarrassing thing that could happen to you. That boy has a fire in him that won’t let him quit. I let him know to remember my name because in 15 years I was going to be asking for his autograph. The only thing that’s anyone going to be asking you in 15 years won’t be your blood type. It will be paper or plastic.
Yanzel pushes the camera away and returns back to his original heavy bag. He slams a few punches as the video cuts out.
Yanzel Holmes stepped in front of the camera in a black Nike profit combat long sleeve with matching black shorts. He stares into the camera as he continues to talk.
“Normally I write my thoughts down and post them on the website. But the two of you have earned that extra bit of attention. In fact you’ve downright demanded it. After all you’re nobility, you’re second generation wrestlers, you were born for this.”
The camera zooms out from being focused on Yanzel Holmes and we realize we are in a training gym. Different weight machines fill the room. Near all the machines are children varying from ages of six all the way up to teenage years. The acronym UFPR is emblazoned on the wall.
“I’m here at the Universidade Federal do Paraná along with my helpers for the day.” Yanzel taps one of the boys on the head and he smiles laughing it up. “If there’s one thing that’s been crystal clear from the start with you two it’s what you are and what you represent. It started with the both of you taking advantage of commentary in between my match with Robina Hood. Your words downplayed a physical contest and made it a mockery all in an effort to show the world the kind of men you were. So now I’m going to show you and tell you the kind of man I am.”
The camera turns around to show many heavy bags’s set up ranging in different sizes and different weights to match up with the kids. The kids rush to a selected bag only realizing now that all their hands were already wrapped before. Yanzel steps in front of a heavy bag himself and gives out instructions as the translator repeats them into Portuguese for the children to follow along. He strikes the bag with a jab and watches as the rest follow suit. He points out the firmness and straightness of the wrists in order to avoid injury. He puts out his hand and shows the kids how to make a proper fist. He fires off a three punch combination and asks the children to repeat it.
“You see Sang Réal you’ve made a terrible assumption with me. You said when it comes to Yanzel Holmes the going quit and try to find something easier. At first I was furious. Who are these rich privileged sons of bitches to tell me that I’m taking the easy route? Exactly what part of my life has been easy? But then I remembered it’s all just talk. You’ve nothing but that haven’t you is just talk and talk and talk. I realized that you were physically going to have to prove your points and I smiled. I smiled the biggest smile the world has ever seen.”
Yanzel brings over a teenage boy and with the help of the translator points out how he should turn his hips into his punches to generate more power.
“See all your talk about privilege and nobility is just a rouse to make us forget about your lack of ability. I might not have grown up sleeping and breathing about wrestling. Color me guilty on that one. But I am 100% battle tested. While you two may have been born with everything I was born with nothing but my mind and this body. I wanted something I was going to have to earn it. How else do you expect a young black man to be standing here in Curitiba, Paraná, Brazil giving boxing lessons to kids who can’t speak English? So I made it out the ghetto. I made it all the way to the halls of Westwood and all along the way I had people just like you tell me I didn’t deserve it, I couldn’t do it, I didn’t have what it takes.”
Yanzel grabs a water bottle and squeezes some into his mouth swallowing it.
“I proved them wrong. I continue to prove them wrong. Just like I’m going to prove the both of you wrong. Everything you two are telling me is like having a bad record on replay. Heard it all before. I’m probably going to keep hearing it in the hopes that one time I’m going to stay down and accept it. But I don’t have the luxury of tucking tail and running. I’ve got a family that counts on me to provide for them. Make all the jokes you want about Meemaw and Pop-pop you just thank the lord that you’re facing the tag team of me and Warren Peace instead of them. They don’t play nearly as nice as I do and the last thing you two need is to be humiliated in your wrestling debut by a pissed of 60 year old black woman.”
Yanzel turns back to the class and moves back to his heavy bag. He gets everyone attention again as he points out the spacing between his feet warning the kids not to spread themselves out too far. He fires a body body head combination and then instructs the kids to follow suit. He walks around them making adjustments where he can but continues to talk to the camera.
“But you see these kids working their tails off? That’s hard work. That water dripping off their foreheads? That’s sweat. This is what it takes to get anywhere in life. It’s what got me all the way to Brazil and who knows one day maybe one of these kids is going to work hard enough to make it to the USA and we’ll all be buying a ticket to watch him fight. But in a gym there are no fathers. The only blood that matters it the one you’re willing to shed. It’s why I couldn’t ask for a better partner than Warren Peace. Warren very easily could have been one of you … hell as he tells it he WAS one of you. Lucky for me he grew up. Bad for you. My hope is that one day the both of you are going to look back at your debut match and just shake your head at yourselves.”
“Were we really that big of a douche? Was I that big of a cunt? And the answer is going to be yes and yes but hopefully while you’re acknowledging the overall assholeness of your demeanor you’re going to look back fondly at the nice pair of gentlemen who beat the douchyness out of you. Then you’re going to say thank you and look us up hoping to apologize one more time and buy us a round of cold ones. And me and Warren will happily say you’re welcome.”
“But let’s get back to reality. It’s going to take a long time for the both of you to pull your heads out of your asses and realize the truth. We’re all insignificant. Not a single one of us matters at all until the fans in that crowd start chanting your name. That starts happening and the glory, the fame, and the legacy they give you will warp anything that your royal blood can provide. Whether they’re chanting their heads off to support you or there screaming bloody murder to happen to you nothing will change until they start responding to you. So save your royal bloodlines for your role-playing in the bedroom. It doesn’t amount to dick out in that ring.”
Yanzel stops talking as something catches something out of the corner of his eye. He watches as a little boy wearing no shoes and torn clothes punches a heavy bag repeatedly with focus and technique. He watches as the punches land beautifully after the other hearing a solid thud as they land successfully. Yanzel smiles another big grin as he approaches the boy. With the help of translator Yanzel speaks to him giving him confidence. You can see as the conversation continues the boy smiles from ear to ear as his ears perk up and his eyes glimmer with hope. They fist bump together and Yanzel points back to the bag. He turns around facing back to the camera.
“I take that back. Getting beat up by a 60 year old black woman is not the most embarrassing thing that could happen to you. That boy has a fire in him that won’t let him quit. I let him know to remember my name because in 15 years I was going to be asking for his autograph. The only thing that’s anyone going to be asking you in 15 years won’t be your blood type. It will be paper or plastic.
Yanzel pushes the camera away and returns back to his original heavy bag. He slams a few punches as the video cuts out.
