Post by papapancho on May 27, 2013 6:21:54 GMT -4
Nothing against South America but godamn it’s good to be home.
Yanzel Holmes steps out of the cab and walks the concrete path to his grandparent’s house. He doesn’t get a step into the front yard when screaming and running out from the screen door are two of the most adorable twin boys ever.
“Daddy!” They scream out as they tackle Yanzel. He catches them but their momentum pushes him back falling on his butt. He lets out a laugh as they begin the thirty minute interrogation. “How was South America? Did you get us anything? Did you see a lama? Was it pretty? How many presents did you bring?” He picks them up as they scream and climb all over him. He’s tired. He’s jet lagged. All he wants to do is find a bed and crash. He’s sore as hell from all the wrestling but to hear them laugh gives him new energy to make it to the front door.
“Good to have you back baby. Now you children get off the man and let him come through the front door!” Nana barks orders and people listen. Otherwise they get a rolling pin upside the head. Even if they are APW Megastars. The children break their jaws of life hold on their father and giggle running off back into the house. “Have you been getting all of the money I sent?” Nana smiles and wraps her arm around her strapping young grandson. He drops his bag by the door and the aroma of home cooking smacks him in the face. But it’s his grandfather’s voice that grabs his attention. “Boy come here into the living room.”
Yanzel hugs his nana and walks over to the living room as his grandfather is watching wrestling DVD’s of the past APW Meltdown shows. “Boy what the hell is wrong with you?” His grandfather was never one to bite his tongue and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. “Gramps I’m really not in the mood right now. I just got back. I want to spend some time with the kids eat some food and have a beer with you. Can we just do that?” Grampa slaps Yanzel across the face. For a feeble old man he still has hands of stone. “The hell you are. You haven’t earned that kind of rest boy. Last time I checked some cocky young punk was carrying your ass to a victory. YOU my grandson who I love and adore … haven’t done JACK .”
It stung. It’s one thing to talk quietly about these things inside your own head but to hear a man you admire telling it to you to your face carries a whole different level of impact. “What? Got nothing to say? Good. Plant your butt in that seat kid.” Yanzel knows better than to argue with Gramps. He plots down on the seat and knows that he isn’t going to be talking that much and listening a whole lot. “Look at yourself. What do you see on that screen? Your technique isn’t terrible. Your combinations are solid. You’re following through on your punches. So tell me why a man your size with your level of training is losing to a girl half your size!? Losing to punks like Sang Real?”
“Gramps com on –“
“Oh I’m sorry did you think I wanted your opinion? I’ve been following you every week watching you with different opponent and different tag team partners and besides you losing only one thing constantly remains the same. You’re scared!” Grampa adds an affirming finger point in his direction.
Scared. Hell yes I’m scared. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
The children run through to the two living room innocently not aware of what they’re interrupting. One look from Grampa tells them that their presence isn’t wanted in the room and they quietly scurry off. Grampa looks back at Yanzel and can see that his comments are a new revelation to his grandson. “Son what’s going on in your head? Talk to me. Man to man.”
“You’re right. I am scared. I walk through that locker room and the focus, the determination, the sacrifice these people are willing to make. Those don’t come easy for me. I’m in the middle of the ring thinking about a move and wondering how much damage it’s going to do to me as much as it will my opponent. Some of these guys. This is all they’ve ever dreamed of. Hell this is all they have. But I’ve got more to live for!”
“Being backstage I can see the fans cheer their hearts out for their heroes but I’m the one who gets to see them collapse as soon as they make it to the curtain. I watch as men who look like they’re made of granite in the ring be wrapped with tons of bag of ice just so they can make the trip home. You don’t think that get’s to me? I look at these men and wonder if that’s my future. And I think of my kids. I think about tossing the ball around. Teaching how to get into a 3 point stance and I think that if I keep going am I even going to physically be able to do that.”
Grampa looks at his grandson. He rubs the white stubble on his chin. He looks back at Yanzel and tells him, “well then just quit.”
The bluntness strikes Yanzel.
“Quit?”
“that’s what you’re talking about right. You’re too scared to do your best in that ring and your holding back. What’s the point of continuing out there and pretending to be something your not.”
The finality of the word quit hits Yanzel like a bag of bricks. The answer’s so simple and it matches everything he wants. So why doesn’t he do it. All it would take is one phone call. One call and he’d be out of the contract. The company isn’t invested in him so it wouldn’t be a loss to them. Quit. It’s so easy. So why can’t Yanzel just do it?
“You better think long and hard about what you’re going to do boy. Before you actually DO get yourself hurt.”
**********
The following was uploaded to Yanzel Holmes.com
Stepping into the ring in a match where there are no rules isn’t going to be easy for me. As a man who practiced to defend the law I’ve seen what happens when lawlessness reigns supreme. People get hurt. Lives get shortened. Sang Real has been a real thorn in my side. They’ve trashed me in every way possible to try and rip me a new one. But going into Monday at the Rose Garden I’m not so much worried about their mouths as I am there bodies.
One look at the lowlights from their handicap match against Warren Peace and there’s plenty to be worried about. I should have been there for Peace. In a selfish world like pro wrestling he was the only man to even speak a word to me in the back. We weren’t friends but when we partnered up he didn’t treat me like some dead weight because unlike what Krown and Murphy would like you to believe I’m the most prepared for this kind of match.
No holds barred. Anything goes. The only reason the ref is in the ring is to count a pinfall or to ring for the bell when one of us taps out. The way Sang Real talks about this match it’s irrelevant that my partner is nearly seven feet tall and could swing any weapon with greater force than the both of them combined. It’s irrelevant that they would poke with a stick an APW Hall of Famer. They want to brag about their work in the indies honing their craft. Shadow has already made his name in the BIG LEAGUES. He’s bled on every continent, fought the toughest, the meanest, the baddest and has the gold to show it all off.
So go ahead: Discredit him. Make fun of his name. Poke him. But don’t look at the ref to save you when you’ve tugged on Superman’s cape and he turns around. It’s an honor to partner with a legend but I’ll let Shadow speak for himself.
You and I have something much more personal to discuss Sang Real. I’m tired of you guys painting the narrative about what you represent and what I am. You don’t know the first thing about me but because you had Wikipedia open on your laptops you’ve summarized my life into bulletpoints to fit your agenda.
1) I have no respect for the wrestling business.
Your biggest and boldest lie. Did I grow up dreaming of becoming a wrestler? No I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t respect the courage you must have to get in a ring and let your body pay the bills. I’m going into that ring every night and doing everything I can to compete. I’ve got the bumps and bruises to prove it. The real truth is you don’t respect a damn thing. You can try and call me out for taking a paycheck while you shoot your promo … from inside a private clothing store … wearing designer suits. Where I’m from they call people like that hypocrites.
2) I’m not on your level because I don’t have the experience
WRONG. No Holds Barred match your entering my world. You can lie to yourselves and pretend I was a failure as a police officer. But actually take your heads out of your asses and look up my jacket. It’s a matter of public record and right there in black and white. Nobody worked in tougher neighborhoods than I did. I rode the streets of L.A. – places like Boyle Heights, Southgate, Compton, Watts by myself in a black and white and I put boots to fucking asses. In a job like that in an environment like that I had more than my fair share of men come at me with weapons. Guess what they train cops to do? IMMOBALIZE THEM. But I guess that’s exactly what you meant by a man with “basic skills.”
And as if that training wasn’t enough … no holds barred? Welcome to the public education school system in the city of Los Angeles. You want to brag about a couple of body slams in some bingo hall getting ready for the big leagues? Try the corner of 6th and Wood. That’s right across the street from Garfield High School. You had beef you threw down. You and your boys wanted to rumble it happened there. So you want to compare no holds barred resumes. Be my guest. I’ve got you beat by a mile.
It’s time you two got dropped a peg or two. Birthright? Royalty? There’s a reason the only Kings and Queens left in this world are just for show. This is America jack. Nothings guaranteed but the opportunity. And I’ve been waiting for another opportunity with you two for a while now. So me and Shadow we’re going to show what NO HOLDS BARRED REALLY MEANS. Not just for us. But for Nana. For Gramps. For my kids. And for Warren Peace.
Yanzel Holmes steps out of the cab and walks the concrete path to his grandparent’s house. He doesn’t get a step into the front yard when screaming and running out from the screen door are two of the most adorable twin boys ever.
“Daddy!” They scream out as they tackle Yanzel. He catches them but their momentum pushes him back falling on his butt. He lets out a laugh as they begin the thirty minute interrogation. “How was South America? Did you get us anything? Did you see a lama? Was it pretty? How many presents did you bring?” He picks them up as they scream and climb all over him. He’s tired. He’s jet lagged. All he wants to do is find a bed and crash. He’s sore as hell from all the wrestling but to hear them laugh gives him new energy to make it to the front door.
“Good to have you back baby. Now you children get off the man and let him come through the front door!” Nana barks orders and people listen. Otherwise they get a rolling pin upside the head. Even if they are APW Megastars. The children break their jaws of life hold on their father and giggle running off back into the house. “Have you been getting all of the money I sent?” Nana smiles and wraps her arm around her strapping young grandson. He drops his bag by the door and the aroma of home cooking smacks him in the face. But it’s his grandfather’s voice that grabs his attention. “Boy come here into the living room.”
Yanzel hugs his nana and walks over to the living room as his grandfather is watching wrestling DVD’s of the past APW Meltdown shows. “Boy what the hell is wrong with you?” His grandfather was never one to bite his tongue and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. “Gramps I’m really not in the mood right now. I just got back. I want to spend some time with the kids eat some food and have a beer with you. Can we just do that?” Grampa slaps Yanzel across the face. For a feeble old man he still has hands of stone. “The hell you are. You haven’t earned that kind of rest boy. Last time I checked some cocky young punk was carrying your ass to a victory. YOU my grandson who I love and adore … haven’t done JACK .”
It stung. It’s one thing to talk quietly about these things inside your own head but to hear a man you admire telling it to you to your face carries a whole different level of impact. “What? Got nothing to say? Good. Plant your butt in that seat kid.” Yanzel knows better than to argue with Gramps. He plots down on the seat and knows that he isn’t going to be talking that much and listening a whole lot. “Look at yourself. What do you see on that screen? Your technique isn’t terrible. Your combinations are solid. You’re following through on your punches. So tell me why a man your size with your level of training is losing to a girl half your size!? Losing to punks like Sang Real?”
“Gramps com on –“
“Oh I’m sorry did you think I wanted your opinion? I’ve been following you every week watching you with different opponent and different tag team partners and besides you losing only one thing constantly remains the same. You’re scared!” Grampa adds an affirming finger point in his direction.
Scared. Hell yes I’m scared. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
The children run through to the two living room innocently not aware of what they’re interrupting. One look from Grampa tells them that their presence isn’t wanted in the room and they quietly scurry off. Grampa looks back at Yanzel and can see that his comments are a new revelation to his grandson. “Son what’s going on in your head? Talk to me. Man to man.”
“You’re right. I am scared. I walk through that locker room and the focus, the determination, the sacrifice these people are willing to make. Those don’t come easy for me. I’m in the middle of the ring thinking about a move and wondering how much damage it’s going to do to me as much as it will my opponent. Some of these guys. This is all they’ve ever dreamed of. Hell this is all they have. But I’ve got more to live for!”
“Being backstage I can see the fans cheer their hearts out for their heroes but I’m the one who gets to see them collapse as soon as they make it to the curtain. I watch as men who look like they’re made of granite in the ring be wrapped with tons of bag of ice just so they can make the trip home. You don’t think that get’s to me? I look at these men and wonder if that’s my future. And I think of my kids. I think about tossing the ball around. Teaching how to get into a 3 point stance and I think that if I keep going am I even going to physically be able to do that.”
Grampa looks at his grandson. He rubs the white stubble on his chin. He looks back at Yanzel and tells him, “well then just quit.”
The bluntness strikes Yanzel.
“Quit?”
“that’s what you’re talking about right. You’re too scared to do your best in that ring and your holding back. What’s the point of continuing out there and pretending to be something your not.”
The finality of the word quit hits Yanzel like a bag of bricks. The answer’s so simple and it matches everything he wants. So why doesn’t he do it. All it would take is one phone call. One call and he’d be out of the contract. The company isn’t invested in him so it wouldn’t be a loss to them. Quit. It’s so easy. So why can’t Yanzel just do it?
“You better think long and hard about what you’re going to do boy. Before you actually DO get yourself hurt.”
**********
The following was uploaded to Yanzel Holmes.com
Stepping into the ring in a match where there are no rules isn’t going to be easy for me. As a man who practiced to defend the law I’ve seen what happens when lawlessness reigns supreme. People get hurt. Lives get shortened. Sang Real has been a real thorn in my side. They’ve trashed me in every way possible to try and rip me a new one. But going into Monday at the Rose Garden I’m not so much worried about their mouths as I am there bodies.
One look at the lowlights from their handicap match against Warren Peace and there’s plenty to be worried about. I should have been there for Peace. In a selfish world like pro wrestling he was the only man to even speak a word to me in the back. We weren’t friends but when we partnered up he didn’t treat me like some dead weight because unlike what Krown and Murphy would like you to believe I’m the most prepared for this kind of match.
No holds barred. Anything goes. The only reason the ref is in the ring is to count a pinfall or to ring for the bell when one of us taps out. The way Sang Real talks about this match it’s irrelevant that my partner is nearly seven feet tall and could swing any weapon with greater force than the both of them combined. It’s irrelevant that they would poke with a stick an APW Hall of Famer. They want to brag about their work in the indies honing their craft. Shadow has already made his name in the BIG LEAGUES. He’s bled on every continent, fought the toughest, the meanest, the baddest and has the gold to show it all off.
So go ahead: Discredit him. Make fun of his name. Poke him. But don’t look at the ref to save you when you’ve tugged on Superman’s cape and he turns around. It’s an honor to partner with a legend but I’ll let Shadow speak for himself.
You and I have something much more personal to discuss Sang Real. I’m tired of you guys painting the narrative about what you represent and what I am. You don’t know the first thing about me but because you had Wikipedia open on your laptops you’ve summarized my life into bulletpoints to fit your agenda.
1) I have no respect for the wrestling business.
Your biggest and boldest lie. Did I grow up dreaming of becoming a wrestler? No I didn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t respect the courage you must have to get in a ring and let your body pay the bills. I’m going into that ring every night and doing everything I can to compete. I’ve got the bumps and bruises to prove it. The real truth is you don’t respect a damn thing. You can try and call me out for taking a paycheck while you shoot your promo … from inside a private clothing store … wearing designer suits. Where I’m from they call people like that hypocrites.
2) I’m not on your level because I don’t have the experience
WRONG. No Holds Barred match your entering my world. You can lie to yourselves and pretend I was a failure as a police officer. But actually take your heads out of your asses and look up my jacket. It’s a matter of public record and right there in black and white. Nobody worked in tougher neighborhoods than I did. I rode the streets of L.A. – places like Boyle Heights, Southgate, Compton, Watts by myself in a black and white and I put boots to fucking asses. In a job like that in an environment like that I had more than my fair share of men come at me with weapons. Guess what they train cops to do? IMMOBALIZE THEM. But I guess that’s exactly what you meant by a man with “basic skills.”
And as if that training wasn’t enough … no holds barred? Welcome to the public education school system in the city of Los Angeles. You want to brag about a couple of body slams in some bingo hall getting ready for the big leagues? Try the corner of 6th and Wood. That’s right across the street from Garfield High School. You had beef you threw down. You and your boys wanted to rumble it happened there. So you want to compare no holds barred resumes. Be my guest. I’ve got you beat by a mile.
It’s time you two got dropped a peg or two. Birthright? Royalty? There’s a reason the only Kings and Queens left in this world are just for show. This is America jack. Nothings guaranteed but the opportunity. And I’ve been waiting for another opportunity with you two for a while now. So me and Shadow we’re going to show what NO HOLDS BARRED REALLY MEANS. Not just for us. But for Nana. For Gramps. For my kids. And for Warren Peace.
