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Post by James Edwards on Jul 11, 2019 17:42:31 GMT -5
"I got fuckin' nothing."
Maybe it's the weight of self-loathing or embarrassment, it could be both, but James Edwards' tone is full of resignation as he sits on the back deck of his Toronto condo at dusk. A few bottles of Shiner Bock lay nearby the lawn chair he is hunched over in.
"The night of the Gold Rush Rumble marks the third year of me signing with FGA. I came in with nothing to my name, except my name. I had to practically get on my hands and knees to get booked in a fight back then."
A forlorn sigh escapes his lips. The skunky taste of beer that accompanies it inspires him to reach down for the closest bottle. He shakes it and finding no liquid within. He slams the bottle on the ground, lucky it doesn't crack and cut his hand.
"Ain't much changed, has it, folks? Three years in and I still got fuckin' nothing. Go to the section about me on the FGA website, and what do you see? A Gold Rush Rumble win? Deep runs in the Frontier Lion's Cup? Fuck no! All you'll see is my stats and a run with the U.S. Championship I'd rather forget, that's it. And don't tell me about the clips of fights with Mark Storm, Brian Stryker or Ricky Valero. I don't need or want to remember grudge matches that never got me anywhere close to the top."
He grabs the long neck of the closest beer bottle and flings it off into the Canadian dusk.
"I bought into the idea that if I kept winning, eventually I'd get rewarded, and we all know that sure as shit didn't happen. So I tried what every other fighter in this company has at one point or another, I threw a shit fit. Guess what? That didn't work either. I made an ass of myself. I pissed off the entire damn locker room, and for what? Nothing."
The final word escapes from his lips like they are dripping with acid, ready to sear its way through anything that gets in its way.
"I'm not proud of the way I acted, but I'll be damned if I'm going to be embarrassed like I was in Milwaukee. Nobody deserves to get ganged up on like that, especially by people who don't have a leg to stand on morally speaking. The whole thing still makes me want to cut half those fuckers with a rusty nail. Shit, make that all of em'. But what would that get me?"
He throws his hands up in annoyance.
"Nothing!"
James sighs and slumps back into his chair.
"I can't even figure out where I go from this point. I'm dead last in line for a shot at the belt I want and I sure as hell don't want a rematch for Salem's precious. Honestly, I want to be left the hell alone. Don't touch me and don't talk to me. Don't laugh at me or taunt me. Leave me be, and I promise things will be peachy. Both me, and it's your ass, FGA."
He sighs again in a gruff manner before waving for the camera crew to cut the video.
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Post by James Edwards on Jul 11, 2019 19:20:23 GMT -5
You open up your Gmail account. You scan the assorted pieces of electronic correspondence until one from FGA.com catches your eye.
New Items From the Offical FGA Store reads the subject line.
You click it and scroll. So far, nothing appears out of the ordinary, and then you see it.
A t-shirt. An ordinary black graphic tee to most. The face on it, her face, the bitch's face smiles back at you.
She casually sits on a broom looking like the witch from that old TV show on Nick at Nite your mom watched when you were a kid. She's wearing a patriotic witch ensemble. Below her is a flaming bag of garbage freefalling toward a dumpster.
It doesn't take a fucking moron to figure out what the shirt is saying. For $19.99 FGA is encouraging fans to celebrate the worst night of your career.
The assholes in the front office make plenty of money off your name, and this time, its your pain.
Fuck them. You'll find a way to get back at them. You need time to think about how.
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Post by James Edwards on Aug 13, 2019 19:40:34 GMT -5
The following is the notes portion available to subscribers on the $1 tier of James Edwards' Patreon page.
So here's the deal, I thought about making a YouTube channel, but camera equipment is expensive as hell, and after doing some reading, it turns out you can't make much money off of YouTube channels, at least at first. Patreon is a hell of a better way to make some money off what I got to say, but don't think for a minute this is all about cash. If it is was, I wouldn't be charging y'all a buck for written shit and five for audio. The reason for me doing is because I know my worth and I need to tell the true story of what's going on in my career because you can't trust a word that FGA says about me, not anymore, but let's step back a few weeks.
After Only the Strong Survive, I was in a low mood. I got my ass kicked, and I knew I deserved it. It was the most embarrassing night of my career. I came into Milwaukee with all the momentum in the world and pissed it away. I had nothing then and still don't have anything now. What I wanted then and now was space. All I needed was time away from people, especially the jackass gallery from FGA. If I'd had that I would've been good, nothing bad would have happened to anyone or anything.
Flash forward to this week's show. I get to the arena early put my stuff in the locker room, get some food, and maybe walk the stairs in the upper deck for a workout. Nothing fancy. I did all that. Everything was fine. I was in a good mood. Then I saw that damn shirt in my locker. I saw a witch in red, white and blue dropping a flaming bag of garbage in a dumpster. It doesn't take a mental heavyweight to figure out what the meaning of the shirt is!
Listen, I'm not going to blame Salem. I don't know who specifically to point my finger at so as far I'm concerned the whole company is on my shit list, and here's my reason why. I didn't come into this sport with a ready-made reputation because of who my family is. I didn't and still don't have a look that makes me stand out. All I had that was worth anything was my name. Over the past four years, I've busted my ass to make sure it's associated with toughness and winning. Put my name on a poster, and eyes will find it. Say it over a loudspeaker and heads will turn. I'm a fighter that commands attention, and I did it all just by using my feet and fists. I'm damn proud of that. Nobody made my name mean anything except me. I'm one of the few self-made men in professional wrestling today, and fucking shirts like that are a slap in the face to everything I've worked for. That shirt is a monument to one of the worst nights of my life, and FGA is celebrating that. I've bleed buckets for this company. I've fought hurt, and I've fought everyone put in front of me without complaint until recently. FGA had made thousands of dollars off of my name, and I was more than happy to let them use it until as long as they showed me a little respect. That t-shirt is far from respectful. Now I can't tell them that they can't use my likeness while I'm under contract, but I can tell the few loyal fans I have left not to buy any James Edwards FGA merchandise. I can tell them to meet me in the parking lot before every show and buy a shirt straight from me to support me. I can tell FGA interviewers like Amanda Johnson to fuck off with their inaccurate stories about me. I'll tell the truth right here behind a paywall, no spin, and just the facts.
Anyways, getting back to the other night, believe me when I say I was justifiably pissed off. It isn't hard to read when I am. I warn people to stay away, and that's a courtesy I don't owe them either. Chris Madison wasn't smart enough to take his warning shot, and he paid the price. Maybe he'll listen next time.
Before I get off of here, I face Ashely Marie Chase this week on Flashpoint. I don't know much about her, but good luck to her, because I'm coming to win, not show the world some pure fighting exhibition.
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Post by James Edwards on Aug 15, 2019 15:20:52 GMT -5
The following is the audio portion available to subscribers on the $5 tier of James Edwards' Patreon page:
"I know y'all want me to get to the Chris Madison situation and I will, but I'd be a poor excuse of a fighter if I didn't talk about my match with Ashley Marie Chase. I didn't know what to expect from her, and I was pleasantly surprised. She gave me a helluva fight, but a helluva fight isn't going to beat me. You need to be better than your best to keep me down. Next time Ashley's got to go beyond her current ability level. The second thing I wanted to talk about from the match is why I fought the way I did. Did I push the rules a bit by holding till five after a rope break and by spending some of the match on the outside? Yeah, I did. Let's get one thing straight, y'all, I ain't going to cheat, but I'll do what I have to within the rules to get the W. My goal is still the same, to win a world title, and the only way to earn a shot at Savannah is to move up the ladder. I ain't going to beg anymore like an ass. I'm going back to basics and am going to earn my shot."
"Aight, let's talk Old Man Mayhem. Some of y'all wanted to know why I didn't apologize after I left him laying. Well, the answer is simple; he put his hands on me first. I warned him to cut it out, and it was easy to see that I was in a bad mood. He ignored the obvious, so he felt the Double Tap. Anyway, while I was out in the parking lot sellin' shirts and meeting with you good people, the Old Man kept running his mouth about me. Hell man, he yapped about me on AfterBurn too. I say he yapped because all he made was a bunch of annoying noise. Christ, he thanked Salem for making me tap. What did he have to thank her for? What I did with the U.S. Championship didn't concern the fucker. I messed up and acted like an asshole, but I'm movin' on. If he's going to be pissed, maybe he should rant about how I knock him the fuck out. That'd get my attention more than trying to lecture me."
"This is what I don't get. How in the hell was Mayhem trying to help by sayin' I didn't act like a champion and some such shit like that? Or reminding us all about how great a Pride Champion he was? None of that matters to me. I hear his words, and they fly right over my head, and they do that because he doesn't know shit about me. Old Man Mayhem has always had me pegged as an underdog. Go back and watch tape from Vertigo last year. That's all he ever said about me. In what world am I an underdog? I'm one of the best pure strikers in the world. I've consistently held my own with the best in this company since I signed here three years ago. Hell, I'd consider it an upset if anyone on the roster beat me. Maybe he does it because it makes it easier for him to think that anyone wants his advice. I'm sure the Old Man knows a few tricks, but nobody wants them forced down their throat because they don't fit Mayhem's idea of how a fighter should act. Trust me. If I listened to him, I'd be stuck being grateful for being the U.S. Champion. The thing is I don't want to settle like he did when he was Pride Champion. I want to the belt that says I'm the best. No matter what secondary title you hold, no matter how prestigious you make it, it doesn't measure up to being a world champion. Shit, right after he lost the Pride Championship the Old Man bolted back to 4CW for a shot at their world title. He has no right to lecture me when he jumped at a chance to win the big one instead of going for a third run with the Pride Championship."
"So yeah, he pissed me off. I know he's waitin' for an answer on LA. I know what I'm going to do, but I'm going to make him wait because I'm a petty son of a bitch. Thanks for listenin', y'all, I'm out."
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Post by James Edwards on Aug 16, 2019 15:13:43 GMT -5
The following is the audio portion available to subscribers on the $5 tier of James Edwards' Patreon page:
"This week's show is going to be shorter than normal. If y'all ain't happy with that, blame Chris Madison. He forced my hand on Flashpoint. I was going to accept his challenge for ASE here. I never once considered not going through with the fight, but I'll say a little more about that at the event. FGA and I are talkin' a little business about my promo for the show. So stay tuned for that."
"Some of y'all are wonderin' why I walked out of the main event. I ain't going to lie. I did it to spite Savannah Taylor. That bitch ain't going to get to be a hometown hero on my watch. She's draggin' down the prestige of the International Heavyweight Championship every second she holds it. Lookin' back, I wish I'd dropped her on her head. That would've made Jimmy's job a helluva lot easier."
"The last piece of business before I sign off, I'm not going to be at the fan festival shit going on in LA. That thing is a scam. Y'all pay over a hundred bucks to stand in line and buy even more expensive merch. Fuck that. You deserve better. I'll be signing autographs in the parking lot for free. I'll be sellin' shirts too. Even better I'll be grillin' out. We're going to tailgate! I hope to see y'all there. Thanks for subscribing."
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