Post by turdferguson on Feb 24, 2017 19:07:53 GMT
Off Camera
2.6.17
Seattle, Washington
Amidst her watering eyes and burning throat, it was tough for Bailey to pinpoint exactly where or when the initial post-victory jubilation had worn off. "Shit," she muttered as she continued to lean hunched over the porcelain bowl backstage in the women's restroom, grabbing her stomach. Taking a stumbling half-step to the side, she stuck her hand out to brace herself against the stall in an attempt to regain her bearings. Everything was a haze at the moment --her surroundings, how long she'd been puking her guts out--all but the crippling stress and panic which had set in. For all her bravado and brash swagger, this was the curse of expecting success and always thinking a step ahead-- it left very little time to actually savor the fruits of your labor. However, even with that caveat and mindset where she never quite felt satisfied, this feeling of dread was something different.
Flinging the seat down, she plopped down to try and compose herself-- too caught up in the heat of the moment to even be bothered by the fact that the stall really was not designed with the comfort of someone with her long, splindly limbs in mind. She tried to control her breathing with the hope that she could calm down enough to think matters through and approach the situation that lay ahead in a rational manner. That proved to be a struggle, however, as the more cognizant she became? The more she realized that it was not like her to become overwhelmed by the reality of a challenge, or a grand stage. Her whole run throughout this tournament, she had carried herself with the air of someone who was aware of her underdog status, but at the same time managed to use her inexperience to her advantage-- wearing the confidence that came with the inability to truly comprehend how improbable her run was and that she should not be succeeding on this stage.
This conflict between what she knew she needed to do-- calm down-- and the urge coursing through her veins to continue melting down caused her face to continue reddening. For someone who prided herself on always being in control, this helplessness in escaping the reality that lay before her-- and all that came with it--was unbearable. It wasn't even the stakes or the indisputable fact that everyone left from this point on was a straight up killer that made this situation so different. The issue was her obsessive nature and the countless amount of tape study she had done. She knew what the semifinals of the last Iron King tournament had entailed and what might very well be next for her-- a Tapei Death Match.
Bailey could do all the mental gymnastics she wanted to convince herself a street fight was winnable, but this? Potentially giving a boxer the caliber of Cassius Reed broken glass to glue to his hands? That notion absolutely horrified her and the thought of dropping down for a kneebar, only to have her facial features re-arranged, quite easily in danger of losing an eye? Well, that was enough to make her question whether the price of glory was actually worth it. Even telling herself that there was no guarantee what the semifinal stipulation would be, that history would repeat itself, was not good enough. Because sitting there, feeling both physically and emotionally wracked while hoping against hope what the stipulation might be was a concession that her fate might be out of her hands. A concession that for somebody who needed that feeling of control, more than anything else, was absolutely horrifying.
Off Camera
2.8.17
Detroit, Michigan
The post-match horrors Bailey had endured were a distant memory at this point, seeming like a lifetime ago. Upon finding out that her bout would be contested under MMA rules, she went from completely shutting down to displaying a swagger and enthusiasm that bordered on manic. In the gym, on the basketball court, during tape study, she was a veritable machine. No matter how she engaged herself, her 'all-in' mentality and unbridled thirst to find ways not only to train, but to stay mentally sharp, could not be sated. That restlessness was starting to drive her nuts tonight as she had already hit the gym, done film study and cleaned her apartment, but still sought something to keep her mind occupied. This mindset, where she felt like she was bursting at the seams, is what had motivated her to plop down on the beanbag chair and fire up the laptop. Maybe Stabby Mcpenface was right, maybe she did need to stop bottling everything up. With that in mind, she opened up her e-mail and began her catharsis:
Dear Mr. Reed,
Sup? Just to be clear, so you don't get anything mixed up, I'm writing you as my VP of Talent Relations not as my opponent. That means it's like, part of your job to keep this under wraps for confidentiality and all. I realize that the timing is kinda awk, but OH WHALE. Fact is, from what I understand, your position basically means you're like my HR rep, so you're the one I need to talk to. Anyways, my time in RISE has gotten me some top notch training and all, but there's still a lot left to be desired. So, for both of our benefits really-- I mean I'm sure you want employees to do well-- this is my list of grievances:
- Just because I forgot to wipe the weight bench down one time, every time something like that happens, or someone doesn't put a weight back I get blamed for it. At this point it seems like instead of a nurturing environment where 'iron sharpens iron' and we help each other grow, my fellow trainees are trying to push me out.
- On that same note, Coach Andy seems to like to employ fear tactics and intimidation as a way to motivate. That really doesn't fit my learning style and I feel like he should be more accommodating.
- From the scuttlebutt I've gathered, the coaches didn't put me on the list of recommended talents to be drafted to the main roster this year. At this point it feels like stuff is being done to spite me, because I've exceeded expectations here in Iron King and made them look bad for not putting me on TV yet.
TBC
On Camera
Present Day
Portland, Oregon
Carrying a bounce and vigor in her step that was almost enough to distract from the visible bags under her eyes, Bailey bounded across the shot and plopped back in her now familiar beanbag chair--which made the trip with her to this Portland hotel room-- while kicking her feet high in the air. As she sat up and leaned forward, the Canadian waved to the viewing audience.
"Can you feel it?"
She tapped her right foot against the floor in an attempt to control her legs, which were shaking.
"We're almost at the finish line and man, I dunno about anyone else, but these potential two matchups in one night scenario have always seemed weird to me. Like, as far as the mindset you go into it with, all that good stuff. Granted, what we're doing is probably way more physically intensive and all that good stuff, but doing BJJ tourneys where I had to compete multiple times was sorta a similar deal. Do you pace yourself early to save energy if you advance, or go all out to make sure you do, risking being worn out and beaten up? All the factors that come into play in a scenario like this are just, like, amplified for me in this situation."
An affirmative nod of her head followed as she, per habit, started to fidget around in search of a stick of gum.
"It's kind of hard not to think ahead to what could happen in the finals, even though Cassius Reed is one dangerous dude with some thunder and lightning in his hands. Something I'd have to get by, since no matter how awesome my submission skills are, every fight starts on the feet. Even though some would argue that he's got just as much, if not more, confidence than me and has taken a tougher road to get to the semifinals –“
After fishing the gum wrapper out of her pocket, she tossed it aside and popped the stick in her mouth.
"-- Even though all conventional wisdom says I'm in no position to be looking ahead at the big picture here, it's kinda hard not to, you know?"
A shrug.
"Like, just take a gander at who I could face in the finals. First you've got one of my trainers at the RISE gym, someone who's gotten a firsthand look at how I like to train, what my temperament is like, maybe even some of what I haven't gotten to show off yet. The individual who has been the person to beat here in Phoenix Wrestling since, well, her big ass husband was that person. She's turned one of the most low percentage in actual combat chokes out there, the gogoplata, into something people fear when they face her. There's special considerations which go into an opponent like that. Then there's Ana Starling, someone I can speak on and not just be giving lip service. This is someone who when she started out, absolutely sucked, was screwing up moves all over the place. Then she started to get better and-- a lot of it in my Uncle's promotion the SSWA-- grew into one of the best high flyers out there, not to mention someone who keeps fighting when she gets screwed over."
Bailey blows a large bubble and pops it.
"I'm not blowing smoke up her cooch here to puff her up, I'm trying to make the point that this is someone I've gotten to take a close look at the growth of. Someone who while Aurora can understand my drive from watching me firsthand, Ana can from having had to have worked as hard as anyone to improve. Again, this is someone who deserves special consideration. Sooo, what do I do here, considering I'm in there with a row of killers and with all due respect to the people I've faced, most will say I didn't have to knock off an elite to get here like they did? How do I balance that?"
After holding her hands out to feign trying to weigh her options, Huff confidently exclaimed.
"I do exactly what I've been doing this whole time! That's what!"
A wide grin.
"Because I will absolutely game plan the heck out of my opponents, but I will not let them dictate my preparation. I will not let them take away my strengths, my ability to game plan and see the big picture, because I'm afraid of failure or afraid of them. It’s not a strategy everyone can keep up, but not everyone has my dedication to greatness. Not to mention, as sucky as it would be to lose in the semis, making it all the way to the finals and then realizing I wasn’t ready for the moment because I decided to approach this night with tunnel vision? That would be unforgivable."
Her ponytail bobbed as she shook her head.
"Despite all the disadvantages I might have, I still firmly believe I have prepared for this the best. It might seem ridiculous to say, but I believe it more and more when I see my opposition going around on Twitter looking for 'MMA training'. Like, shouldn't they have been already prepared for this? The MMA fight should just be the culmination of all the skills they've had to display to get to this point, why are they waiting until the direct lead up to be sharpening those skills? I mean sure there's some aspects that are specific to MMA-- the rounds, the ability to ground and pound without a ref pulling you off, but it freaking baffles me."
She threw her hands up.
"Legit, I fully acknowledge they all know more about wrestling than me, but I know darn sure that how to win is a universal skill and to see all these competitors who should have every advantage over me, seeing them scrambling? Well that tells me that for as great as they are, the sum of the body of their preparation from start to finish was not as air tight as mine and they left me an opening. Guess what, when you leave me an opening I'm going to grab it, put you in a hold and torque a limb or choke you out."
A wink.
"Maybe I wouldn't have a great chance right now with Cassius in a wrestling match, especially but the way I see it? Lethal as his punches are, my legs are longer than his arms, so he can choose to get kicked a bunch or catch my leg to trip me up and end up on the ground, which is the last place he wants to be with me. "
Leaning forward, she stared straight ahead.
"Of course, maybe I'm full of crap and don't know what I'm talking about. But y'know what? If that is the case, I'm too green and headstrong to know any better, to know that I don't have a chance-- and that makes me dangerous in a way nobody left is. There's nothing worse than preparing to face someone who know in your head is doing everything the wrong way, but somehow makes it work—not to mention who is at a stage of development where the improvement between every fight makes scouting an exercise in futility. But make no mistake, what puts me over the top won’t be any of that, it’ll be me—apologies for the triteness—being a different breed."
A deep breath.
"And I can't really put what competition, what it means to me into words, or conceptualize it. The best I can say is it's just ... part of who I am. But, let me try to make myself as clear as I can. I didn't enter this to have a good showing, to make crappy royalty puns like half of the field, or be happy to raise my stock, I entered this to win and when I have a goal I'll see it all the way through. As for what would happen after that? The possibility of a rookie being Champion of a company she's competing for as a guest right now? Who know, I'll let you all worry about that and figure it out when I get there. My only concern right now?"
At this point, the smile dissipated for a brief second.
"Finishing what I started."
Off Camera
E-mail to Cassius Reed
Continued Later On
- Additionally, I was under the impression I would be the star of a reality show about training at the RISE gym and instead I just got stuck on ring crew.
That concludes my list of grievances, with the exception of the biggest one. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that training here has been the most miserable experience of my life. The company of my trainees is miserable, I'm pretty sure re-locating and devoting my energy to training there has pretty much killed my relationship with my boyfriend, I'm stuck living in frickin' Detroit and worst of all I have no idea what it is I'm doing wrong. I know I'm better than these other kids athletically, I know I'm smarter than them, I know I'm more skilled than them and I know I have just as much desire to be great. So what am I missing? That's not even blaming anyone at this point, I am just absolutely baffled and am at my wits end because I've actually had moments where I start to doubt myself and what I'm doing here.
I don't doubt myself, that just doesn't happen.
I'm not trying to spin you a sob story here, I'm really not and I'm totally aware that everyone prob has to experience the realities and frustrations of this business. That they have to deal with breaking in and realizing that they might not have all the answers. I'm telling you this --with the reminder that this is still a confidential correspondence-- as a courtesy heads up to let you know what you're dealing with.
You're dealing with someone who those realizations everyone has had to deal with are still really raw for right now. Who's just now coming to terms with the fact that for as miserable as this makes me? As much as I might be giving up to continue on this path that makes me so miserable? It would be against every fiber of my being and my competitive spirit to stop now. I can't stop, because I can't deal with failure, never mind admitting that I might have bitten off more than I can chew. So that's going to be a really sore spot for me, a still open wound when we face off. I'm going in there 100% sure in my mind that the only way to salvage this journey I can't stop now is to bleed this sport dry until I've taken everything I can from it.
That means defeating you.
That means defeating whoever I face in the finals.
That means flying back to Detroit, walking into the gym with that PW Rebirth Championship on my shoulder to let the trainers and everyone else know they can suck my clit.
That also means I'm totes serious about my grievance demands, see ya soon.
Fin.
2.6.17
Seattle, Washington
Amidst her watering eyes and burning throat, it was tough for Bailey to pinpoint exactly where or when the initial post-victory jubilation had worn off. "Shit," she muttered as she continued to lean hunched over the porcelain bowl backstage in the women's restroom, grabbing her stomach. Taking a stumbling half-step to the side, she stuck her hand out to brace herself against the stall in an attempt to regain her bearings. Everything was a haze at the moment --her surroundings, how long she'd been puking her guts out--all but the crippling stress and panic which had set in. For all her bravado and brash swagger, this was the curse of expecting success and always thinking a step ahead-- it left very little time to actually savor the fruits of your labor. However, even with that caveat and mindset where she never quite felt satisfied, this feeling of dread was something different.
Flinging the seat down, she plopped down to try and compose herself-- too caught up in the heat of the moment to even be bothered by the fact that the stall really was not designed with the comfort of someone with her long, splindly limbs in mind. She tried to control her breathing with the hope that she could calm down enough to think matters through and approach the situation that lay ahead in a rational manner. That proved to be a struggle, however, as the more cognizant she became? The more she realized that it was not like her to become overwhelmed by the reality of a challenge, or a grand stage. Her whole run throughout this tournament, she had carried herself with the air of someone who was aware of her underdog status, but at the same time managed to use her inexperience to her advantage-- wearing the confidence that came with the inability to truly comprehend how improbable her run was and that she should not be succeeding on this stage.
This conflict between what she knew she needed to do-- calm down-- and the urge coursing through her veins to continue melting down caused her face to continue reddening. For someone who prided herself on always being in control, this helplessness in escaping the reality that lay before her-- and all that came with it--was unbearable. It wasn't even the stakes or the indisputable fact that everyone left from this point on was a straight up killer that made this situation so different. The issue was her obsessive nature and the countless amount of tape study she had done. She knew what the semifinals of the last Iron King tournament had entailed and what might very well be next for her-- a Tapei Death Match.
Bailey could do all the mental gymnastics she wanted to convince herself a street fight was winnable, but this? Potentially giving a boxer the caliber of Cassius Reed broken glass to glue to his hands? That notion absolutely horrified her and the thought of dropping down for a kneebar, only to have her facial features re-arranged, quite easily in danger of losing an eye? Well, that was enough to make her question whether the price of glory was actually worth it. Even telling herself that there was no guarantee what the semifinal stipulation would be, that history would repeat itself, was not good enough. Because sitting there, feeling both physically and emotionally wracked while hoping against hope what the stipulation might be was a concession that her fate might be out of her hands. A concession that for somebody who needed that feeling of control, more than anything else, was absolutely horrifying.
Off Camera
2.8.17
Detroit, Michigan
The post-match horrors Bailey had endured were a distant memory at this point, seeming like a lifetime ago. Upon finding out that her bout would be contested under MMA rules, she went from completely shutting down to displaying a swagger and enthusiasm that bordered on manic. In the gym, on the basketball court, during tape study, she was a veritable machine. No matter how she engaged herself, her 'all-in' mentality and unbridled thirst to find ways not only to train, but to stay mentally sharp, could not be sated. That restlessness was starting to drive her nuts tonight as she had already hit the gym, done film study and cleaned her apartment, but still sought something to keep her mind occupied. This mindset, where she felt like she was bursting at the seams, is what had motivated her to plop down on the beanbag chair and fire up the laptop. Maybe Stabby Mcpenface was right, maybe she did need to stop bottling everything up. With that in mind, she opened up her e-mail and began her catharsis:
Dear Mr. Reed,
Sup? Just to be clear, so you don't get anything mixed up, I'm writing you as my VP of Talent Relations not as my opponent. That means it's like, part of your job to keep this under wraps for confidentiality and all. I realize that the timing is kinda awk, but OH WHALE. Fact is, from what I understand, your position basically means you're like my HR rep, so you're the one I need to talk to. Anyways, my time in RISE has gotten me some top notch training and all, but there's still a lot left to be desired. So, for both of our benefits really-- I mean I'm sure you want employees to do well-- this is my list of grievances:
- Just because I forgot to wipe the weight bench down one time, every time something like that happens, or someone doesn't put a weight back I get blamed for it. At this point it seems like instead of a nurturing environment where 'iron sharpens iron' and we help each other grow, my fellow trainees are trying to push me out.
- On that same note, Coach Andy seems to like to employ fear tactics and intimidation as a way to motivate. That really doesn't fit my learning style and I feel like he should be more accommodating.
- From the scuttlebutt I've gathered, the coaches didn't put me on the list of recommended talents to be drafted to the main roster this year. At this point it feels like stuff is being done to spite me, because I've exceeded expectations here in Iron King and made them look bad for not putting me on TV yet.
TBC
On Camera
Present Day
Portland, Oregon
Carrying a bounce and vigor in her step that was almost enough to distract from the visible bags under her eyes, Bailey bounded across the shot and plopped back in her now familiar beanbag chair--which made the trip with her to this Portland hotel room-- while kicking her feet high in the air. As she sat up and leaned forward, the Canadian waved to the viewing audience.
"Can you feel it?"
She tapped her right foot against the floor in an attempt to control her legs, which were shaking.
"We're almost at the finish line and man, I dunno about anyone else, but these potential two matchups in one night scenario have always seemed weird to me. Like, as far as the mindset you go into it with, all that good stuff. Granted, what we're doing is probably way more physically intensive and all that good stuff, but doing BJJ tourneys where I had to compete multiple times was sorta a similar deal. Do you pace yourself early to save energy if you advance, or go all out to make sure you do, risking being worn out and beaten up? All the factors that come into play in a scenario like this are just, like, amplified for me in this situation."
An affirmative nod of her head followed as she, per habit, started to fidget around in search of a stick of gum.
"It's kind of hard not to think ahead to what could happen in the finals, even though Cassius Reed is one dangerous dude with some thunder and lightning in his hands. Something I'd have to get by, since no matter how awesome my submission skills are, every fight starts on the feet. Even though some would argue that he's got just as much, if not more, confidence than me and has taken a tougher road to get to the semifinals –“
After fishing the gum wrapper out of her pocket, she tossed it aside and popped the stick in her mouth.
"-- Even though all conventional wisdom says I'm in no position to be looking ahead at the big picture here, it's kinda hard not to, you know?"
A shrug.
"Like, just take a gander at who I could face in the finals. First you've got one of my trainers at the RISE gym, someone who's gotten a firsthand look at how I like to train, what my temperament is like, maybe even some of what I haven't gotten to show off yet. The individual who has been the person to beat here in Phoenix Wrestling since, well, her big ass husband was that person. She's turned one of the most low percentage in actual combat chokes out there, the gogoplata, into something people fear when they face her. There's special considerations which go into an opponent like that. Then there's Ana Starling, someone I can speak on and not just be giving lip service. This is someone who when she started out, absolutely sucked, was screwing up moves all over the place. Then she started to get better and-- a lot of it in my Uncle's promotion the SSWA-- grew into one of the best high flyers out there, not to mention someone who keeps fighting when she gets screwed over."
Bailey blows a large bubble and pops it.
"I'm not blowing smoke up her cooch here to puff her up, I'm trying to make the point that this is someone I've gotten to take a close look at the growth of. Someone who while Aurora can understand my drive from watching me firsthand, Ana can from having had to have worked as hard as anyone to improve. Again, this is someone who deserves special consideration. Sooo, what do I do here, considering I'm in there with a row of killers and with all due respect to the people I've faced, most will say I didn't have to knock off an elite to get here like they did? How do I balance that?"
After holding her hands out to feign trying to weigh her options, Huff confidently exclaimed.
"I do exactly what I've been doing this whole time! That's what!"
A wide grin.
"Because I will absolutely game plan the heck out of my opponents, but I will not let them dictate my preparation. I will not let them take away my strengths, my ability to game plan and see the big picture, because I'm afraid of failure or afraid of them. It’s not a strategy everyone can keep up, but not everyone has my dedication to greatness. Not to mention, as sucky as it would be to lose in the semis, making it all the way to the finals and then realizing I wasn’t ready for the moment because I decided to approach this night with tunnel vision? That would be unforgivable."
Her ponytail bobbed as she shook her head.
"Despite all the disadvantages I might have, I still firmly believe I have prepared for this the best. It might seem ridiculous to say, but I believe it more and more when I see my opposition going around on Twitter looking for 'MMA training'. Like, shouldn't they have been already prepared for this? The MMA fight should just be the culmination of all the skills they've had to display to get to this point, why are they waiting until the direct lead up to be sharpening those skills? I mean sure there's some aspects that are specific to MMA-- the rounds, the ability to ground and pound without a ref pulling you off, but it freaking baffles me."
She threw her hands up.
"Legit, I fully acknowledge they all know more about wrestling than me, but I know darn sure that how to win is a universal skill and to see all these competitors who should have every advantage over me, seeing them scrambling? Well that tells me that for as great as they are, the sum of the body of their preparation from start to finish was not as air tight as mine and they left me an opening. Guess what, when you leave me an opening I'm going to grab it, put you in a hold and torque a limb or choke you out."
A wink.
"Maybe I wouldn't have a great chance right now with Cassius in a wrestling match, especially but the way I see it? Lethal as his punches are, my legs are longer than his arms, so he can choose to get kicked a bunch or catch my leg to trip me up and end up on the ground, which is the last place he wants to be with me. "
Leaning forward, she stared straight ahead.
"Of course, maybe I'm full of crap and don't know what I'm talking about. But y'know what? If that is the case, I'm too green and headstrong to know any better, to know that I don't have a chance-- and that makes me dangerous in a way nobody left is. There's nothing worse than preparing to face someone who know in your head is doing everything the wrong way, but somehow makes it work—not to mention who is at a stage of development where the improvement between every fight makes scouting an exercise in futility. But make no mistake, what puts me over the top won’t be any of that, it’ll be me—apologies for the triteness—being a different breed."
A deep breath.
"And I can't really put what competition, what it means to me into words, or conceptualize it. The best I can say is it's just ... part of who I am. But, let me try to make myself as clear as I can. I didn't enter this to have a good showing, to make crappy royalty puns like half of the field, or be happy to raise my stock, I entered this to win and when I have a goal I'll see it all the way through. As for what would happen after that? The possibility of a rookie being Champion of a company she's competing for as a guest right now? Who know, I'll let you all worry about that and figure it out when I get there. My only concern right now?"
At this point, the smile dissipated for a brief second.
"Finishing what I started."
Off Camera
E-mail to Cassius Reed
Continued Later On
- Additionally, I was under the impression I would be the star of a reality show about training at the RISE gym and instead I just got stuck on ring crew.
That concludes my list of grievances, with the exception of the biggest one. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that training here has been the most miserable experience of my life. The company of my trainees is miserable, I'm pretty sure re-locating and devoting my energy to training there has pretty much killed my relationship with my boyfriend, I'm stuck living in frickin' Detroit and worst of all I have no idea what it is I'm doing wrong. I know I'm better than these other kids athletically, I know I'm smarter than them, I know I'm more skilled than them and I know I have just as much desire to be great. So what am I missing? That's not even blaming anyone at this point, I am just absolutely baffled and am at my wits end because I've actually had moments where I start to doubt myself and what I'm doing here.
I don't doubt myself, that just doesn't happen.
I'm not trying to spin you a sob story here, I'm really not and I'm totally aware that everyone prob has to experience the realities and frustrations of this business. That they have to deal with breaking in and realizing that they might not have all the answers. I'm telling you this --with the reminder that this is still a confidential correspondence-- as a courtesy heads up to let you know what you're dealing with.
You're dealing with someone who those realizations everyone has had to deal with are still really raw for right now. Who's just now coming to terms with the fact that for as miserable as this makes me? As much as I might be giving up to continue on this path that makes me so miserable? It would be against every fiber of my being and my competitive spirit to stop now. I can't stop, because I can't deal with failure, never mind admitting that I might have bitten off more than I can chew. So that's going to be a really sore spot for me, a still open wound when we face off. I'm going in there 100% sure in my mind that the only way to salvage this journey I can't stop now is to bleed this sport dry until I've taken everything I can from it.
That means defeating you.
That means defeating whoever I face in the finals.
That means flying back to Detroit, walking into the gym with that PW Rebirth Championship on my shoulder to let the trainers and everyone else know they can suck my clit.
That also means I'm totes serious about my grievance demands, see ya soon.
Fin.