Now...if you move towards the center of the city...the incubator, so to speak...you would find a pro wrestler there. You'd find one that just finished a world tour with the biggest wrestling show in the world. One that pays the best, gets the best ratings, and unlike other global programs, actually remembers the actual sport of wrestling. You would find this gentleman getting a few pickup games in at Georgia State, looking like he should be at the D-League showcase in Vegas instead of putting his body on the line each week in tights and boots, but while he likes basketball...he was born to wrestle.
You would find him running the streets that he grew up on, getting that cardio in. Don't always need that fancy workout equipment to make a body strong. Sometimes all you need are the streets and a will to succeed. Money too...cause clothes and shoes ain't free. Every now and again he'll go west on I-20 across the state line and visit his mentor for skill refinement, but this kid is his own man, doing it his own way.
He isn't some psychopath who relies on barbwire, broken lightbulbs and paint to make him a star, nor is he the walking embodiment of the biggest loser either. He isn't regarded as a lion, or does he need to carry a weapon into the ring at all times, then brag like he actually did something great. He doesn't need to beat down an old man in front of a kid to be feared, nor does he need to embarrass an old vet to gain a morsel of respect.
He doesn't pretend to be some God on earth, nor does he think he's the be all end all of this business. At least, not yet.
Most importantly, he doesn't have to portray himself as a myriad of different things. He never had to hide behind some false character to ward off the pain from a dead tormentor and a cracked out ##### of a mother. He's seen plenty of lost bros, cousins, friends and enemies in this concrete jungle. Blood bubbling up from the hard concrete, hot bullets piercing flesh...the cold steel in his hand as he pulls the trigger to survive. He wouldn't have to run from a brother who just wants answers...whom just wants the truth.
He wouldn't run to the megalomaniac in charge to make his career whole because he's failed to be anything more than a flash in the pan. That on his best day, he couldn't shine the boots of even the most transitional champion in HWA history, Renegade.
He wouldn't shun his name, family and heritage, only to have to run back to it as a last ditch effort to save a fledgeling career. Human Horror Reel, huh? One persona borne of a family heritage like you're part of a sect of la costa nostra of something, the other fueled from repressed memories of a ##### mother and a broken childhood. Yet neither of these personas are the real Antonio Romano, are they? My mentor was truly a Gemini in many ways...he really did have two personas within him...both of which were destructive on their own, but when properly harnessed, made a hall of famer, and one of the best in this business. Clearly, I'm not him. But even more clearly...neither are you. Not even in his universe.
I see the front page of HWA.com and I see that they got it mostly right. The best wrestlers in the business could work the mic better than a comedian, yet be a 10 move or less wrestler between the ropes. Everybody's got their story to tell...but that's all they are...just spoken words on a screen and braggards of having a thousand moves in their arsenal. That's all you are to me Antonio...you're just talk. All you talk about is what you're gonna do. That you're gonna win this, that you're gonna be the next world champion...please. Just quit while you're ahead. We both know you're not capable of beating either Senester or Butch Parker. You've proven as much countless times before. There's no name change, no new persona, no breakthrough in therapy that will make you anything more than what you are.
Not good enough.
You don't have the fire Antonio. Maybe once upon a time, when you were the youngest to hold the gold, you had it, but now you're just a few glowing embers looking for that spark to ignite once more. And at BST, my Sting will stomp out whatever spark you were hoping to get from this match.
Freddie Styles is his own man, and unlike you, that's all I need to succeed.
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