Post by George Duke on Feb 26, 2007 20:02:06 GMT -6
Many men have entered through the ropes in this sport. Some have been beaten and mangled, some have been the ones dishing it out. Some men have suffered injuries and even death. True wrestlers are a rare breed with a rare spirit. They fight for a living. They do it for more than the money. They fight for a living, because fighting keeps them alive. A true wrestler keeps going until he drops. He goes until he he can't go any longer. Men like Stan Hansen went until they could barely move. Terry Funk is a living example of a true wrestler. NO cartilage in his left knee and severe arthritis all over his body. This man should not be able to walk down the street, let alone get wrapped up in barbed wire and swing a chair around. Terry Funk has defied logic and reasonable notions of retirement - because the sport is in him. He, along with countless others, are filled with the fighting spirit. If they stop, they'll be eaten away and die. For these men, it is better to die in the ring than be away from it. George Duke is in the ranks of men who have tossed caution to the wind and will someday wrestle himself to death. He has stayed in pretty great shape, considering what happens to most of his contemporaries. He has a few nagging injuries here and there, but he has never had to retire because of it. George Duke retired two decades ago, because of the limited opportunities in the business. He'd been blacklisted from major players and had no desire to be in his forties and broke. He opened a school and worked as a trainer. This was enough to keep him alive - but it ate him up inside. He had to come back. As soon as Frank Christian was retired by a back injury, George took his spot in GCW. He took his friend's spot in SCCW. Now he has moved on to POW on his own. George Duke is already a champion and a feared man. He has run through his opponents and spilled blood in almost all of his matches so far. George Duke has displayed that fighting spirit, and he will continue to do so for as long as his legs can carry him.
He has had his celebration at Fitz's and has already gone back to training and working out. Unlike boxing, a professional wrestler works every week. He takes the damage and has to move on. Injuries carry over, and training time is 5 days for a commuter like George. It's always been his lifestyle and his body has adapted to it. He's spent the weekend alone, pumping and lifting. In the morning, he works out in his home gym, gazing at his title rack. His eyes run over the photos and clippings and he thinks about all the blood spilt and bones broken - and he envisions a future of the same. At night, he runs the city streets. They are mostly empty and cold. He jogs through the dark, praying someone jumps out of the shadows to take a beating. He comes home around midnight, and he reads about fighting or anatomy, or he watches old wrestling tapes. He grows stronger, in body and mind, with each passing week. In the afternoons, George takes a break from active training, but usually spends it thinking and planning as he goes about his daily tasks.
The rain has iced over the mushy snow and the streets seem endlessly long. The supermarket is crowded with rush hour buyers, grabbing goods on their way home from work. George has just finished his training and other errands when he noticed his empty pantry. George isn't what you would call a "people person", so dealing with crowded places and long lines is a bad idea. George has been mumbling to himself has he pushes his way through the crowded isles and grabs the items he came for.
"d**n morons...coudln't do this the other day? You were all off yesterday, why weren't you shopping then...cocksuckers..."
He finally finds some empty space by the deli area. He grabs a number and stands around, shaking with annoyance. Suddenly, he sees something that makes his already hot blood boil. An older man wanders around a corner, carrying a cane and pushing a cart filled with assorted items. George quietly sets his basket down and strolls over to the man.
"Vic Regal..."
Regal turns and his eyes instantly fill with horror. Duke kicks out his cane and pushes him into the cart, all the while grasping him by the coat. Duke spits in his enemy's face and moves in close. Regal can feel the hot breath of George Duke against his face. Other shoppers have spread out and watch in anticipation.
"You sunuvabitch... you cost me everything. I swore that you'd get yours every time we met - and this is no exception. I'm sure you'll be pained to know that I'm a champion. Hell yes- I went out West, Vic. I'm a champion, and I'm up against the Heavyweight champion this week. No title - but it's a chance to earn myself a shot. Every sin you've committed will be visited upon the head of Shawn Stevens. A younger man will suffer for everything you've done. f**k you, Vic Regal - f**k you."
Duke shoves the cart into display of canned peas. The cans go crashing to the floor, many of them burying Regal even deeper in the cart. Duke looks around him at the other shoppers and shouts with fire.
"You see? Do you see what happens when people get in my way? Stevens will see - and he'll pay. He'll be beaten down so the world can see that his title is rightfully mine! Just as Mr. Regal, here - Shawn Stevens is a doomed man."
Duke rushes to the front with his items. After this outburst, no one stands in his way. The line clears and Duke is hurriedly checked out.
He has had his celebration at Fitz's and has already gone back to training and working out. Unlike boxing, a professional wrestler works every week. He takes the damage and has to move on. Injuries carry over, and training time is 5 days for a commuter like George. It's always been his lifestyle and his body has adapted to it. He's spent the weekend alone, pumping and lifting. In the morning, he works out in his home gym, gazing at his title rack. His eyes run over the photos and clippings and he thinks about all the blood spilt and bones broken - and he envisions a future of the same. At night, he runs the city streets. They are mostly empty and cold. He jogs through the dark, praying someone jumps out of the shadows to take a beating. He comes home around midnight, and he reads about fighting or anatomy, or he watches old wrestling tapes. He grows stronger, in body and mind, with each passing week. In the afternoons, George takes a break from active training, but usually spends it thinking and planning as he goes about his daily tasks.
The rain has iced over the mushy snow and the streets seem endlessly long. The supermarket is crowded with rush hour buyers, grabbing goods on their way home from work. George has just finished his training and other errands when he noticed his empty pantry. George isn't what you would call a "people person", so dealing with crowded places and long lines is a bad idea. George has been mumbling to himself has he pushes his way through the crowded isles and grabs the items he came for.
"d**n morons...coudln't do this the other day? You were all off yesterday, why weren't you shopping then...cocksuckers..."
He finally finds some empty space by the deli area. He grabs a number and stands around, shaking with annoyance. Suddenly, he sees something that makes his already hot blood boil. An older man wanders around a corner, carrying a cane and pushing a cart filled with assorted items. George quietly sets his basket down and strolls over to the man.
"Vic Regal..."
Regal turns and his eyes instantly fill with horror. Duke kicks out his cane and pushes him into the cart, all the while grasping him by the coat. Duke spits in his enemy's face and moves in close. Regal can feel the hot breath of George Duke against his face. Other shoppers have spread out and watch in anticipation.
"You sunuvabitch... you cost me everything. I swore that you'd get yours every time we met - and this is no exception. I'm sure you'll be pained to know that I'm a champion. Hell yes- I went out West, Vic. I'm a champion, and I'm up against the Heavyweight champion this week. No title - but it's a chance to earn myself a shot. Every sin you've committed will be visited upon the head of Shawn Stevens. A younger man will suffer for everything you've done. f**k you, Vic Regal - f**k you."
Duke shoves the cart into display of canned peas. The cans go crashing to the floor, many of them burying Regal even deeper in the cart. Duke looks around him at the other shoppers and shouts with fire.
"You see? Do you see what happens when people get in my way? Stevens will see - and he'll pay. He'll be beaten down so the world can see that his title is rightfully mine! Just as Mr. Regal, here - Shawn Stevens is a doomed man."
Duke rushes to the front with his items. After this outburst, no one stands in his way. The line clears and Duke is hurriedly checked out.
