Post by Daron Smythe on Oct 4, 2023 12:25:25 GMT -5
It's late now. Much later than most people have even been at the building. Parade of Champions has been done for several hours and only a few people remain in the building, random workers still cleaning up that celebration confetti, others changing the trash, security keeping a watchful eye on everyone. But in that locker room, Daron Smythe still sits, alone.
It's mostly a feeling of numbness. Being held upside down, the sudden snap, the intense pain felt when your neck and shoulder blades sharply hit the mat from a brainbuster. There have been many, many bumps over Daron's long career but something felt different about this one. It was almost an out of body experience, half aware, half dazed, staring up at those bright lights, hearing that cheering crowd, feeling the referee's hand slam on the mat three times. It's been said that disassociation is a defense mechanism, and in that moment, Daron Smythe completely disconnects from the world.
A lifetime of memories flash in an instant...
That chair hitting the wall, mere inches from his head, shattering into what looked like a million pieces. The not quite right look on his father's face, a mixture of alcohol, cocaine, and anger. The rage in his mother's eyes as she finally stood her ground after months of this type of abuse, standing tall, all five foot three inches, when she finally told him to GET THE F**K OUT.
The day his grandmother was buried - Daron barely 16 years old, unable to even muster up the strength to visit her in her final days, not being able to handle seeing her in such a weakened state. Beyond his mother, she was the strongest person he ever knew. Seeing her bed ridden and frail after her second bout from Lukemia was just something he wasn't able to handle at the time. At that point in time, the worst moment in his life.
Flash forward a few years, finally getting comfortable with the fact that he will never be in "the big leagues" but he will have his wife, his child, a steady job, and a wrestling school and promotion to help run. To find out it was all a lie, to handcuff him there, to keep him from knowing the truth about the opportunities that were really out there. A selfish ploy by a scumbag promoter to milk a few bucks out of a dead mall in a shithole suburb of McKeesport, Pennsylvania.
Suddenly, back in the moment. The realization that all that he has worked for is gone in an instant, with one three count. A snap back to reality. It's time to roll out of the ring and make that long walk to the locker room. The confetti rains down from all angles as Cory Chevelle has his moment, his time. One last long look at the ring, the cheers, the excitement, the title belt.
After a loss, that walk up the aisle seems so much longer. Alone with your thoughts in a crowded stadium - "The Man In The Arena" and that long walk gives even more to time to think, reflect, to dig deep...
There is a certain burden to success. You take on more and more plates, but at some point, you are over extended and you fail. And, because you crave that success, that perfection, you take on even more tasks as a way to make up for those disappointments but ultimately, that too fails.
In this case, that burden was the UWL World Championship. In professionial wrestling some say the chase is better than the conquest. When those greyhounds burst out of the gate to chase that mechanical rabbit, it's thrilling. No one ever stops to think what happens when and if a hound catches up to that elusive rabbit. "It's lonely at the top..."
So he stands there in the shower, head down, for who knows how long. What feels like minutes are actually hours. There is a comfort in the silence when you've been on your own for this many years. There is no obligation to fulfill or place to be next. There is only time for quiet reflection.
It's past midnight when a lowly arena worker finally peeks his head into the locker room, noticing that someone is, in fact, still there...
WORKER: Hey, buddy - we're locking up, you gotta get out of here...
DARON: Oh....oh, sorry. I'm just finishing up. Two minutes and I'll be walking out the door.
WORKER: Tough fight tonight, huh?
DARON: Yeah....yeah. Things didn't go my way...
WORKER: I don't know if you heard, but at the end of the show, they announced you're getting your rematch in two weeks. So, whatever funk you're in, you better dust yourself off and get back at it, ya hear?
Those words are like a lightning bolt in Daron's mind, engulfing the darkness in light, and snapping him out of this downtrodden state...
DARON: Yeah? Well, it seems like I've got work to do. Thanks, man.
The worker quietly closes the door as Daron gathers his things back together, metaphorically piecing his suitcase together like his life, like he has done several times before. He is down, but not out...
It's mostly a feeling of numbness. Being held upside down, the sudden snap, the intense pain felt when your neck and shoulder blades sharply hit the mat from a brainbuster. There have been many, many bumps over Daron's long career but something felt different about this one. It was almost an out of body experience, half aware, half dazed, staring up at those bright lights, hearing that cheering crowd, feeling the referee's hand slam on the mat three times. It's been said that disassociation is a defense mechanism, and in that moment, Daron Smythe completely disconnects from the world.
A lifetime of memories flash in an instant...
That chair hitting the wall, mere inches from his head, shattering into what looked like a million pieces. The not quite right look on his father's face, a mixture of alcohol, cocaine, and anger. The rage in his mother's eyes as she finally stood her ground after months of this type of abuse, standing tall, all five foot three inches, when she finally told him to GET THE F**K OUT.
The day his grandmother was buried - Daron barely 16 years old, unable to even muster up the strength to visit her in her final days, not being able to handle seeing her in such a weakened state. Beyond his mother, she was the strongest person he ever knew. Seeing her bed ridden and frail after her second bout from Lukemia was just something he wasn't able to handle at the time. At that point in time, the worst moment in his life.
Flash forward a few years, finally getting comfortable with the fact that he will never be in "the big leagues" but he will have his wife, his child, a steady job, and a wrestling school and promotion to help run. To find out it was all a lie, to handcuff him there, to keep him from knowing the truth about the opportunities that were really out there. A selfish ploy by a scumbag promoter to milk a few bucks out of a dead mall in a shithole suburb of McKeesport, Pennsylvania.
Suddenly, back in the moment. The realization that all that he has worked for is gone in an instant, with one three count. A snap back to reality. It's time to roll out of the ring and make that long walk to the locker room. The confetti rains down from all angles as Cory Chevelle has his moment, his time. One last long look at the ring, the cheers, the excitement, the title belt.
After a loss, that walk up the aisle seems so much longer. Alone with your thoughts in a crowded stadium - "The Man In The Arena" and that long walk gives even more to time to think, reflect, to dig deep...
There is a certain burden to success. You take on more and more plates, but at some point, you are over extended and you fail. And, because you crave that success, that perfection, you take on even more tasks as a way to make up for those disappointments but ultimately, that too fails.
In this case, that burden was the UWL World Championship. In professionial wrestling some say the chase is better than the conquest. When those greyhounds burst out of the gate to chase that mechanical rabbit, it's thrilling. No one ever stops to think what happens when and if a hound catches up to that elusive rabbit. "It's lonely at the top..."
So he stands there in the shower, head down, for who knows how long. What feels like minutes are actually hours. There is a comfort in the silence when you've been on your own for this many years. There is no obligation to fulfill or place to be next. There is only time for quiet reflection.
It's past midnight when a lowly arena worker finally peeks his head into the locker room, noticing that someone is, in fact, still there...
WORKER: Hey, buddy - we're locking up, you gotta get out of here...
DARON: Oh....oh, sorry. I'm just finishing up. Two minutes and I'll be walking out the door.
WORKER: Tough fight tonight, huh?
DARON: Yeah....yeah. Things didn't go my way...
WORKER: I don't know if you heard, but at the end of the show, they announced you're getting your rematch in two weeks. So, whatever funk you're in, you better dust yourself off and get back at it, ya hear?
Those words are like a lightning bolt in Daron's mind, engulfing the darkness in light, and snapping him out of this downtrodden state...
DARON: Yeah? Well, it seems like I've got work to do. Thanks, man.
The worker quietly closes the door as Daron gathers his things back together, metaphorically piecing his suitcase together like his life, like he has done several times before. He is down, but not out...