A Bastard's Promise (Buster Gloves vs. Holden Ross)
Jan 13, 2023 22:27:34 GMT -5
Lee Stone likes this
Post by Buster Gloves on Jan 13, 2023 22:27:34 GMT -5
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I may be a bastard, but I'm a loyal bastard.
~ Buster Gloves ~
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Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you the most terrifying, the most fearsome, the most monstrous creature to ever step foot in a wrestling ring. This beast, this bastard, clawed his way to championship after championship, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He’s an abomination of the wrestling world, and he’s here to claim his throne.
This gigantic monster is as big as he is ugly. A sight to behold. He'll crush your bones and shatter your dreams with ease. He’s horrible and disgusting and mean. He’s invincible and he’s probably the best friend I have in this business.
I’d love to tell you that the Bastard and the Bull go way back, that we grew up together, but that would be a lie. Holden and I were best friends at work before I went and left him for bigger things.
I heard his booming voice before I ever met him. Not unlike a bear in a cave. He’s got this class of rookies, in the gym, he’s got them all just sh*tting their pants. Clearly the scariest human being they’ve ever been around. This one kid in particular, must have quit the business after just one class. Holden was just screaming at him. Calling him softer than a velvet tittie or something like that. Typical boot camp drill instructor stuff. That kid was just absolutely crushed, and it was hilarious.
Holden was being a bit of a d*ckhead, but that was his job. People in this business don’t hold your hand and wipe your *ss. They cannibalize you. Holden was doing that kid a favor. He was showing them the reality of pro-wrestling. Big personalities, horrible words, and deep respect. That’s just how Holden is. Unfiltered, ugly truth. He’s a real hardass. Has a really rough exterior. But he’s a pro. The tattoos, the beard, the snarl. It’s meant to intimidate. There’s no doubt that he’s a true bastard, in every sense of the word. But he’s a loyal bastard. And a good person.
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Back before the professional wrestling, before the pain pills and the drinking, before his wife died of leukemia, Buster Gloves was happier than a dog with two tails. He had no real cares in the world. He’d have an MMA fight every couple of months and spent the rest of the time at home, training and being with his growing family.
Those days were simpler. Instead of cutting promos on horrible people, he was cutting his grass and taking out the trash. Instead of keeping up with social media accounts, he was kissing his high-school-sweetheart on the cheek and teaching his sons how to ride bikes. He did what he loved and never worked a day in his life.
It’s difficult to remember what those days were like. He tried for a while, but no amount of alcohol could bring them back. It couldn’t bring HER back. If it weren’t for the two young boys he was responsible for, he may have just ended it all. But he didn’t. The wrestling gods had other plans. The book of Buster Gloves would take him out of that phase where self-pity and regret dominated his life. It took him out of the cage and put him into the ring.
These days, he can’t even remember what his wife looked like. She’s like a long lost legend to him. But occasionally, he would hear something. A song. A conversation. And it would take him back. And he would see her face smiling at him again. Telling him that he needs to keep on going.
When he looks at the faces of his teenage sons, who live in Florida with their grandfather most of the time, he’s reminded of those nights, when he’d sit in their bedroom, reading books and telling stories. This match at CCPE vs. the World reminds Buster of a story he used to read to them. He can’t remember the name of the book. And is still a little fuzzy on the details, but this is how he remembers it.
There's a man who lived in a small town on the outskirts of a dense forest. One day, while on his way to visit the grave of his deceased wife, he comes across an enormous creature in the woods. At first, the man is terrified by its looks and the horrible sounds coming from its mouth. He almost runs away, but something in his core tells him not to. It tells him to trust the creature that looks awful but seems friendly.
As the man gets to know the creature, he realizes that it's not a monster at all, but rather a misunderstood being with a kind heart. The man names the creature "Holden" and the two of them become fast friends, spending their days exploring the forest, laughing at their adventures, and appreciating each other's company.
The man had never had a brother. He had friends, but never one like Holden. The creature is loyal and always there for him, no matter what, and doesn’t ask for anything in return. In time, the man starts to feel like he has a real purpose in life, and he's grateful to have a friend like Holden by his side.
But not everyone in town is happy about the new friendship. Many of the townsfolk are afraid of Holden and poke fun at the man for being friends with unsavory creatures. They try to convince the man that if he ever wants to be part of the town elite, then he has to stay away from the creature. They warn the man that Holden is dangerous, untrustworthy, and that the creature will eventually turn on him. The man doesn’t believe them, though. Or perhaps he does believe them, but he still doesn’t care what they say.
One day, while the man and Holden are out in the forest, they’re ambushed by a group of hunters. The hunters try to take Holden away. Their motivations are unclear, but are nefarious, no doubt. The man is terrified by what the hunters may do, but he decides that he won’t let them take Holden away, no matter what they try.
With all of his strength, the man fights off the hunters, using every trick he knows to keep them at bay. But brute force doesn’t work when on the defense. The man is badly outnumbered, but still doesn’t give up. When you have a friend who doesn’t expect anything from you except for your company, you protect them, no matter what.
Despite the odds, the man emerges victorious. The Hunters retreat and leave Holden safe to carry on in his homewoods. The man however, is bruised and battered, near death himself. But in that state, bleeding and on the fringe of society, he never felt more alive. He's proud of what he's done for Holden.
In the years that follow, the man and Holden continued to explore the forest and had many more adventures together. There were periods of time where the man moved away, but he would always return to the woods to visit his old friend. To make sure the creature was still happy in his deep wood and to remind him of the value of true friendship.
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People lose half of their close friends every seven years. Sometimes it’s because there’s a falling out, but more often than not, friends just get forgotten about. Communications breakdown. Distance creates distance. New friends come into the picture. For whatever reason, people grow apart. It’s inevitable.
Friendships die on the vine when you spend less time together. And when you spend less time together, you have less to talk about when you do see each other. I’m talking about the gradual erosion of a friendship, and it’s happening to you, in your own life, right now.
Holden and I were best friends, but we grew apart. When he arrived at the WGWF he showed up without telling me he was on the way. It felt bad, Man.
You can hardly blame him though. A man of his size is instantly in the main event picture. He’s got so much more going on than I do. Why would he think about what I’m up to?
Holden, how’s it going? How's your girl doing? I read about your championship in EWHF, congrats. Also heard you held the “Violent” Championship at the House of Wrestling for a while. That’s pretty impressive. You’re killing it, Bro. I’m really happy for you.
You’ve probably been really busy. I know how it is. Working in a different city every night. You probably hear this a lot, but I'm your biggest fan. I even bought a Holden T-shirt for my kids when I signed with XWF. I know we don’t work at the gym together and it’s kind of impossible to just hang out and shoot the sh*t, but it’s hard not having friends you can have a conversation with without being judged or taken advantage of. I need friends I can trust. I need a partner I can trust. I'm going crazy trying to do this on my own. After this match, you’ll see how this business means to me and how much I respect you.
Just think about it. You and I as a tag team. We can do things your way. I'll put up with all the things you say that piss other people off. I won’t try to hit on your girlfriend and I won’t say a thing about your religious beliefs. No judgments from me. Just work. Tag up with me and we can give zero f*cks about what the rest of these other pearl crushers say.
Anyways, I hope you hear this. I hope you feel the same. Hit me up sometime.
Truly yours, your biggest fan
Buster
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Just then, his phone vibrates. It has to be his girlfriend Emily having some sort of minor crisis somewhere in this god forsaken hotel.
Upon closer investigation, the screen reads ‘TERRY MARSHALL’, a number he had programmed a long time ago.
Why would Terry Marshall, owner of Thunder Pro Wrestling, call Buster Gloves? In fact, who calls anybody anymore? Only old people make actual phone calls.
A bit startled, he takes a deep breath and presses the answer button to put Terry on speakerphone.
"This is Buster." he says in a rehearsed tone, still unconvinced that the call isn’t a scam.
"Buster. Hi. How are you doin’, Brother?" Terry Marshall boomed from the end of the line. "I've been watching your matches lately. Pretty impressive work.”
Still skeptical, Buster answers, “Are you f*cking with me? Am I being punked?”
“No, I’m serious. You can wrestle. And that’s why I’m calling. As you probably know, Thunder Pro Wrestling shut down about a year ago. We had you lined up for an appearance and it didn’t work out.”
The comment brings up some hard feelings. That TPW match would have boosted Buster’s career and saved him months of grinding away inside a failing mid-level wrestling federation like Level Up. The promised match that never happened, set Buster back for a while. It would have been his first match with Holden Ross as his tag team partner, but it didn’t happen. Buster and Holden never ended up tagging together.
“Yeh, I remember very well.”
“First, I want to apologize for that. You would have been a star under our roof. I’m sure of it. So sure, that I want to ask you to give me another chance.”
“What kind of chance?”
“TPW is open for business again. We brought back all the old champions and most of the roster. I want that roster to include YOU."
“What about Holden Ross? Have you invited him as well?”
“Well, that’s up to you. He was supposed to be your partner. And I know about the stipulation in your CCPE match. When you beat him, and you have the choice of whichever fed you want to challenge for the belts, I want you to consider TPW. You have the heart of a champion. Don’t let that go to waste.”
“Can I think about it? There’s no guarantee that I beat Holden and I’m not sure I can convince him to come to TPW.”
“Well how about this? Win or lose, you still come to TPW. And you bring any partner you want.”
Buster is flattered by the entire conversation. "Thank you, Mr. Marshall. That's a generous offer. I’ll give you a call in a couple weeks after the show."
"I know you will," Terry replies. “In the meantime, I'll send over the details of the offer. Good luck, Buster. Talk to you soon."
As he hangs up the phone, Buster can't help but feel a sense of excitement and determination wash over him. He knows that this is his best chance to prove himself as a quality tag team performer. He won’t let it slip through his fingers again.
Just then the front door bursts open and there is Buster’s girlfriend, Emily Simms with a couple Pepsi’s and containers of takeout food. “Take off your pants William! We’re watching Netflix and eating chicken tendies tonight!”
“Sure Em… Whatever you want.”
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We open to a slow motion, black and white vignette of Buster Gloves walking into an MMA gym. Ambient uplifting music plays as he steps through the front doors. We rotate around the Bull to reveal the logo of the Champions Advantage Performance Center on the walls. This place, a training ground for the next generation of fighters, is familiar to him. He had been a coach here for many months but left for greener pastures.
He's greeted by familiar faces. Trainers that used to work with him. Larry Gowan, Rob Budai, Jacoby Spencer, Runa Olsen, etc. This sacred place is where William Bernard Glover met his current opponent, The Bastard, The Abomination, The Head Striking Coach, Holden Ross.
A black and white vignette shows Buster walking through the gym. A lot has changed. There’s new training equipment and nicer facilities. A lot more cars parked in the lot. The energy in the room feels different, but at the same time, everything feels familiar.
Buster makes his way over to his old training area, the grappling ring. He begins stripping off his shirt, his pants, and removes a jiu-jitsu gi from his gym bag. He puts on the gear while the camera pans around him, cutting from wide angle shots of the room to close up shots of his face. He ties his black belt in a vertical knot and then a horizontal knot before kneeling at the center of the ring. He bows, placing his forehead on the mats. Then closes his eyes, inhaling the aura of the room. The wrestling gods are being invoked as a voiceover from Buster plays.
If I win, Holden becomes my partner, and we chase glory. We’re calling it a loser-comes-to-town match. And regardless of the outcome, I get what I want. I get a brother back. And we’re certain to earn tag team gold. May we both get what we want, but never what we deserve.
This event is bigger than just one match though. It’s about the World proving that it’s bigger than an Enterprise. This den of snakes that hisses and bites at each other has been straight up ‘lording’ for so long that the abused have actually started applauding the abusers. So, when the opportunity arose to be a part of this super show, I called my shot.
Yes, I want to beat Holden to earn his respect. Yes, I want to beat CCPE to prove that they are beatable. I want it so bad that I’d drink it from a sponge, but the CCPE members I’ve faced in the past are probably willing to share notes with Holden. It’s whatever. I want to give my team a head start at winning the whole show, but one man can do only so much.
I’m fully aware of what the stakes are. Getting into that 12-man finale would allow me to work with modern day legends, like Raion Kido, Centurion, John Cable, Jason Cashe, and my mentor, James Raven, all at once. So, what do you think I’m gonna do? Anyone who knows me knows that I go hard every time. I don’t sandbag, I don’t play games, I come to that ring to collect.
Holden is a formidable opponent. So am I. He’s big, strong, and skilled in the ring. So am I. But he doesn’t have any extra motivation to work hard. And I have the speed advantage. I love the guy, but he moves slower than a redneck ordering Mexican food.
Lord knows that CCPE will probably try to put their d*ck in our mashed potatoes and interfere. There’s a dozen troglodytes standing behind him, expecting him to do the heavy lifting for them, but I’ve got the whole goddamn planet on my side. They aren’t on my shoulders, I’m on theirs, and I take this responsibility very seriously. There’s only two ways this match can go, and my way is much, MUCH better.
He's got 3 inches and 50 lbs on me, but he doesn’t have the heart that I do. He doesn’t have the stamina. He doesn’t have the grappling ability. While Holden is smoking bowls and fighting in alleys like Dank the Clown, I’m killing myself in the gym and getting my back rubbed every night.
What I like about Holden most is that he expects the best out of people. He’s brutally honest. Makes no excuses. Which is good because he’s a terrible liar. People like him are exactly who you should surround yourself with because they keep you honest. They tell you when you look like an *sshole. And when they give you compliments, you can trust that it’s genuine.
Holden is bringing 100 percent of his effort. Whether or not we’re friends won’t make a lick of difference, but when we’re done, we both sign that canvas in our blood. That big sumbitch is gonna shake my hand and leave the ring with honor. Don’t judge me if I cry a little bit when it happens. Men cry when their hearts are full. This match just means so much to me and what I’m trying to accomplish. I cannot achieve my dream of being a World Champion until I beat Holden. James Raven told me that. And he’s a wrestling god.
This ain’t no buddy comedy folks. This isn’t some ‘odd couple’ bullsh*t where we come out and wrestlef*ck each other for 10 minutes. Individually, we’re nasty and dangerous, but together, we’re a damn symphony of destruction. Neither one of us cares about who’s in front of us. We put on our boots and commit violence for money. We plan on running roughshod over the tag teams of the world, but first, we need to become blood brothers.
Holden, let me speak directly to you. I don’t know if you think you’re better than me. I don’t really care. Whatever abuse you want to put on me, I can take it. You’re gonna drop bombs on me and hit me harder than I’ve been hit in a long time, but I’m gonna take it and keep coming back. I’m like a weed that thrives on things that would kill normal people. When you run out of piss and vinegar, my gas tank will still be half-full, and I’ll drag you into the deep water to put you to sleep, my sweet, sweet prince.
What I won’t do is make the mistake that everyone makes when they look at you. They think you’re something that you’re not. They either think you’re more than a man or less than a man. Truth is, you’re just a guy. You have flaws and weaknesses, just like me. I’m gonna catch an arm out there and turn your shoulder inside out. I’ll break an ankle and make you walk funny for a week. I’ll crank your neck and read you bedtime stories.
You’re a better person than the lizard people in your frat house, Holden. Don’t let them change who you are. All snakes are bastards, but not all bastards are snakes.
Never forget what you are… for surely… THE WORLD… will not.
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