Book of Misery, Ch. 1 [vs. Anton Chase]
Jan 21, 2013 21:06:34 GMT -5
Post by Bondo on Jan 21, 2013 21:06:34 GMT -5
If you’re reading this story in the hopes that it is a cautionary tale of what happens when gluttony merges with a modern convenience, then your read is going to be a huge letdown.
This is the story of one man’s life through his own words. A recollection of events taken from excerpts of a journal that was left to this author. While his story is one of heartbreak, triumphs and tragedies, the one thing that is most intriguing is that even in the face of overwhelming obstacles, such as the abandonment of his biological father, the death of his mother, and having been raised by an abusive and alcoholic stepfather, Christopher Rockridge, a man known publicly in the wrestling world as ‘Chris Bond’ managed to claw his way from heartache to find a mild success in the professional wrestling world.
This is his story. These are his words. This was his life.
I remember my days in the FGA very vividly. It was my last hurrah in the wrestling world. And while I have my heartbreak, I also have some of the fondest memories.
It was in January of Thirteen that I debuted for the much smaller company. I gave interviews in the years following my heartache, where I said that the FGA had begged and offered me a chance that none of the other, larger companies had been willing to offer. But honestly, it was all a lie.
The FGA was a foot in the door. There wasn’t a prominent organization that was willing to take it’s chances on me. I had just walked away from a huge financial failure, having to close the doors to a moderately successful promotion that was run out of Chicago with a couple of friends in the industry. While it did enjoy it’s successes, our inability to agree on numerous decisions was eventually the beginning of the end. And while we may have walked away from the venture in a position where we weren’t owing anybody any money, it was a huge blow to all of our self-confidences. But my real problem wasn’t that. It was my knee. In 2011, I suffered a torn ACL. I spent months in physical rehab, only to have been told that there was a 60-percent chance at reinjury. My bastard of a knee had been through years of major physical assault, and that was it’s way of getting back at me. I didn’t listen.
But after two years of intense rehab, I felt like I knew better. I knew my body better than some lab coat, so I pressured them into clearing me for competition.
I tried all of the big names in the industry. I made call after call after call. And they all fell on deaf ears. “Sorry, Chris. We just can’t take a chance on somebody with your history.” In the time following the demise of REVIVAL and the resurrection of my wrestling career, I had kind of become a connoisseur of rejections. I thought I had heard everything during that time. “If it wasn’t for your knee...” or “We just can’t take a chance on a liability such as yourself” were favorites of those rejecting my desire for employment. But my favorite was from a little known company based out of Connecticut: “We don’t have a spot on our roster for a man with your history or your addictions.” Ouch. Not only did they throw my knee in my face, but they through in my fondness for pain pills and booze. Classy bastards up there.
But somehow, for some reason unbeknownst me, Frontier gave me an opportunity. And I kept telling myself that I wasn’t going to blow it this time.
His first contest under the FGA banner was held in Providence, Rhode Island. At the Rhode Island Convention Center on January 27, 2013, Chris would compete against a 30-year old Anton Chase. I would later find out that their contest was the first time either man had ever met in the squared circles.
Now, a six-year age difference isn’t necessarily a liability. Where one competitor may be advanced in age and may lack the speed and agility their opponent may hold, more often than not an experienced ring technician such as Bond would have tricks and (for the lack of better terms) smarts that were developed in the years that he has spent competing. But Anton Chase was an anomaly in the wrestling world. Here was a guy who was literally groomed from a very young age to be a fighter. The younger Chase had literally been competing for almost as long as the older Bond had, and honestly, was probably a more versed competitor.
My first impression of Anton Chase wasn’t one of respect. I saw a punk-kid who made his way up in this business as an honest-to-God glorified stuntman. He took the gigs in places where the uneducated masses wanted nothing more than a reenactment of the Christians being thrown to the lions. But since it was inhumane and probably illegal, they settled for hardcore wrestling.
Chase got most of his notoriety and glory from taking chairs to the head, being put through tables, and flying off from ladders on a regular basis. Up until then, most of the guys who I met that did that every night were about four quarters short of a dollar. But this Chase kid, I could see something in him that I recognized in myself.
He was hungry. Just like I was. Here was a kid who honestly at the age of 30 had the skills to be competing in the big leagues. But he was playing around on the indy-circuit. He didn’t have colorful past such as myself that hindered him from playing on the grandest stage of all. No, he was hopping around from indy-joint to bingo-hall all in the name of what, competition? Nah, that kid was an adrenaline junky and cared more about going down in the history books than the safety of his own body.
I can’t say that I blame him, because I honestly would love to be remembered in this business not for my accident, not as some kind of cautionary tale to the younger generation, but for my talents in the ring.
It may sound bitter, but in the years following our first encounter, I held a huge amount of resentment towards Anton Chase. Maybe it was because of the fact that he went on to enjoy years of active wrestling competition. Maybe it was the fact that he spent years treating his body like a ragdoll night in and night out and still got to retire from this business on his own accord. Whatever it was, it took me many, many years to get over the fact that it wasn’t Chase’s fault I wound up in this condition. It was my own fault.
Many people have looked back on that first encounter between Anton Chase and Chris Bond as one of the most underappreciated contests in FGA history.
There wasn’t a soul around who would have guessed that either man would be able to put on a contest of the caliber that their showdown in Rhode Island offered. Technicality, grace, an overall evenly paced throwdown between two veterans of the wrestling circuit.
Years later, one child who was in the audience would go on to become a professional wrestler. While he had never achieved the greatness of being a mainstay on national television, Eric Anderson, professionally known as The Belveteen Butcher, would hearken back to this particular contest as one of the best examples in ring showmanship. Anderson believed “Not a single fan left that night disappointed. Those two [Bond & Chase] managed to do what little could ever achieve. They brought every fan to the edge of their seats, and by the time that match ended, everyone was on their feet and clamoring for a rematch.”
As an outside observer, one could only ever assume that at the end of the night, that would really be all that mattered. To put on a show so great, that every fan in attendance couldn’t help but wait for an encore presentation of two gifted performers: one destined for perpetual performances, the other facing an untimely curtain call.
This is the story of one man’s life through his own words. A recollection of events taken from excerpts of a journal that was left to this author. While his story is one of heartbreak, triumphs and tragedies, the one thing that is most intriguing is that even in the face of overwhelming obstacles, such as the abandonment of his biological father, the death of his mother, and having been raised by an abusive and alcoholic stepfather, Christopher Rockridge, a man known publicly in the wrestling world as ‘Chris Bond’ managed to claw his way from heartache to find a mild success in the professional wrestling world.
This is his story. These are his words. This was his life.
January 21, 2048
I remember my days in the FGA very vividly. It was my last hurrah in the wrestling world. And while I have my heartbreak, I also have some of the fondest memories.
It was in January of Thirteen that I debuted for the much smaller company. I gave interviews in the years following my heartache, where I said that the FGA had begged and offered me a chance that none of the other, larger companies had been willing to offer. But honestly, it was all a lie.
The FGA was a foot in the door. There wasn’t a prominent organization that was willing to take it’s chances on me. I had just walked away from a huge financial failure, having to close the doors to a moderately successful promotion that was run out of Chicago with a couple of friends in the industry. While it did enjoy it’s successes, our inability to agree on numerous decisions was eventually the beginning of the end. And while we may have walked away from the venture in a position where we weren’t owing anybody any money, it was a huge blow to all of our self-confidences. But my real problem wasn’t that. It was my knee. In 2011, I suffered a torn ACL. I spent months in physical rehab, only to have been told that there was a 60-percent chance at reinjury. My bastard of a knee had been through years of major physical assault, and that was it’s way of getting back at me. I didn’t listen.
But after two years of intense rehab, I felt like I knew better. I knew my body better than some lab coat, so I pressured them into clearing me for competition.
I tried all of the big names in the industry. I made call after call after call. And they all fell on deaf ears. “Sorry, Chris. We just can’t take a chance on somebody with your history.” In the time following the demise of REVIVAL and the resurrection of my wrestling career, I had kind of become a connoisseur of rejections. I thought I had heard everything during that time. “If it wasn’t for your knee...” or “We just can’t take a chance on a liability such as yourself” were favorites of those rejecting my desire for employment. But my favorite was from a little known company based out of Connecticut: “We don’t have a spot on our roster for a man with your history or your addictions.” Ouch. Not only did they throw my knee in my face, but they through in my fondness for pain pills and booze. Classy bastards up there.
But somehow, for some reason unbeknownst me, Frontier gave me an opportunity. And I kept telling myself that I wasn’t going to blow it this time.
His first contest under the FGA banner was held in Providence, Rhode Island. At the Rhode Island Convention Center on January 27, 2013, Chris would compete against a 30-year old Anton Chase. I would later find out that their contest was the first time either man had ever met in the squared circles.
Now, a six-year age difference isn’t necessarily a liability. Where one competitor may be advanced in age and may lack the speed and agility their opponent may hold, more often than not an experienced ring technician such as Bond would have tricks and (for the lack of better terms) smarts that were developed in the years that he has spent competing. But Anton Chase was an anomaly in the wrestling world. Here was a guy who was literally groomed from a very young age to be a fighter. The younger Chase had literally been competing for almost as long as the older Bond had, and honestly, was probably a more versed competitor.
June 07, 2036
My first impression of Anton Chase wasn’t one of respect. I saw a punk-kid who made his way up in this business as an honest-to-God glorified stuntman. He took the gigs in places where the uneducated masses wanted nothing more than a reenactment of the Christians being thrown to the lions. But since it was inhumane and probably illegal, they settled for hardcore wrestling.
Chase got most of his notoriety and glory from taking chairs to the head, being put through tables, and flying off from ladders on a regular basis. Up until then, most of the guys who I met that did that every night were about four quarters short of a dollar. But this Chase kid, I could see something in him that I recognized in myself.
He was hungry. Just like I was. Here was a kid who honestly at the age of 30 had the skills to be competing in the big leagues. But he was playing around on the indy-circuit. He didn’t have colorful past such as myself that hindered him from playing on the grandest stage of all. No, he was hopping around from indy-joint to bingo-hall all in the name of what, competition? Nah, that kid was an adrenaline junky and cared more about going down in the history books than the safety of his own body.
I can’t say that I blame him, because I honestly would love to be remembered in this business not for my accident, not as some kind of cautionary tale to the younger generation, but for my talents in the ring.
It may sound bitter, but in the years following our first encounter, I held a huge amount of resentment towards Anton Chase. Maybe it was because of the fact that he went on to enjoy years of active wrestling competition. Maybe it was the fact that he spent years treating his body like a ragdoll night in and night out and still got to retire from this business on his own accord. Whatever it was, it took me many, many years to get over the fact that it wasn’t Chase’s fault I wound up in this condition. It was my own fault.
Many people have looked back on that first encounter between Anton Chase and Chris Bond as one of the most underappreciated contests in FGA history.
There wasn’t a soul around who would have guessed that either man would be able to put on a contest of the caliber that their showdown in Rhode Island offered. Technicality, grace, an overall evenly paced throwdown between two veterans of the wrestling circuit.
Years later, one child who was in the audience would go on to become a professional wrestler. While he had never achieved the greatness of being a mainstay on national television, Eric Anderson, professionally known as The Belveteen Butcher, would hearken back to this particular contest as one of the best examples in ring showmanship. Anderson believed “Not a single fan left that night disappointed. Those two [Bond & Chase] managed to do what little could ever achieve. They brought every fan to the edge of their seats, and by the time that match ended, everyone was on their feet and clamoring for a rematch.”
As an outside observer, one could only ever assume that at the end of the night, that would really be all that mattered. To put on a show so great, that every fan in attendance couldn’t help but wait for an encore presentation of two gifted performers: one destined for perpetual performances, the other facing an untimely curtain call.
OOC Note: This is a new style I've been toying with. I'm not sure how it will be received considering it's set in the future and is mostly past tense, but I was hoping for something unique. I'd like to offer a special good luck to my opponent this week, I can't wait to see what you've got to offer.
