Post by James Edwards on Mar 26, 2018 8:55:36 GMT -8
From the private writings of James Edwards:
I won't admit it aloud or on social media. I can barely admit it to myself, but sometimes you can't deny the truth no matter how hard you want to suppress it.
I'm fucking bored. I'm tired of the backstage politics in FGA and the anti-foreigner sentiment in Japanese promotions. I didn't get into this sport for any of that shit. Well, to be fair I got into this sport for the money and to get away from a warehouse job that was going nowhere. And money is why I won't walk from my other gigs.
But that doesn't mean I can't find happiness elsewhere, right?
That's the thing; I couldn't remember the last time I was happy in the ring; the times when the thrill of competition seduced me into thinking that maybe, just maybe, that fighting could more than a job.
Those moments are fleeting and rare, but I love them. There is nothing like taking a guy's best punch and just smiling right back at him, daring the fucker to throw it again. Or dropping a cocky bastard cold, watching his head snap back when your foot collides with the side of his skull, his last thoughts being that he just got humbled. The best, though, is when the guy across from you won't quit, when keeps demanding you up your effort level or you are going down; the fight that pushes you to limits you didn't know existed and then you surpass them.
So I went back to the tapes of my matches from last year. I saw passion and apathy, but no love, except when I got to one: the bout against Erik Holland in Seattle Pro.
That crazy bastard accepted an open challenge from me sight unseen. He didn't want anything, just the challenge of walking into hostile territory and trying to take down another promotion's ace. I beat him, but just barely. The win isn't what sticks out the most in my mind. It is the moment where he could barely stand, and collapsed on his knees. Holland looked me right in the eyes, and yelled: "Finish it!".
And I did. And I smiled because that moment is what the beauty of violence is: a warrior going out on his back, giving the honor of putting him down to the man he knows is his better on that night at least.
I haven't had felt that in months like I wrote earlier. I need it, that spark, and I know just the place to do it. The place Holland told me to come if I wanted real fights without the bullshit.
The Last Kingdom.
I won't admit it aloud or on social media. I can barely admit it to myself, but sometimes you can't deny the truth no matter how hard you want to suppress it.
I'm fucking bored. I'm tired of the backstage politics in FGA and the anti-foreigner sentiment in Japanese promotions. I didn't get into this sport for any of that shit. Well, to be fair I got into this sport for the money and to get away from a warehouse job that was going nowhere. And money is why I won't walk from my other gigs.
But that doesn't mean I can't find happiness elsewhere, right?
That's the thing; I couldn't remember the last time I was happy in the ring; the times when the thrill of competition seduced me into thinking that maybe, just maybe, that fighting could more than a job.
Those moments are fleeting and rare, but I love them. There is nothing like taking a guy's best punch and just smiling right back at him, daring the fucker to throw it again. Or dropping a cocky bastard cold, watching his head snap back when your foot collides with the side of his skull, his last thoughts being that he just got humbled. The best, though, is when the guy across from you won't quit, when keeps demanding you up your effort level or you are going down; the fight that pushes you to limits you didn't know existed and then you surpass them.
So I went back to the tapes of my matches from last year. I saw passion and apathy, but no love, except when I got to one: the bout against Erik Holland in Seattle Pro.
That crazy bastard accepted an open challenge from me sight unseen. He didn't want anything, just the challenge of walking into hostile territory and trying to take down another promotion's ace. I beat him, but just barely. The win isn't what sticks out the most in my mind. It is the moment where he could barely stand, and collapsed on his knees. Holland looked me right in the eyes, and yelled: "Finish it!".
And I did. And I smiled because that moment is what the beauty of violence is: a warrior going out on his back, giving the honor of putting him down to the man he knows is his better on that night at least.
I haven't had felt that in months like I wrote earlier. I need it, that spark, and I know just the place to do it. The place Holland told me to come if I wanted real fights without the bullshit.
The Last Kingdom.
