Bruised Brain

A puddle of sweat or perhaps it is blood, I can not tell, rapidly turns into a lake beneath my head. It is hot, just like the air I am trying to breathe through lungs that just will not quite fill. My eyes are closed and opening them would only result in seeing strands of hair, my hair, and that pool of blood, but it is still not yet time. Instead I work on getting my lungs to right themselves and envision the stain my soul is forever adding among the thousands of others upon the aged hardwood floor of the Hamburg Fieldhouse. I could be laying just where Superstar Billy Grahm, Nikoli Volkoff, Bruno Sammartino, Zbysko, Blassi, Backlund, Rogers, shall I go on? had once laid. Cool.
“Okay what’s next?” I think to myself running the next several sequences I want to attempt through my head. The pace will be fast, time short. “I really want to get that Russian Leg Sweep and Slingshot Suplex in, but how?After the moonsault? Perfect I will have him throw me in, work me to a corner, reverse and then hit him with the Russian leg sweep. Do I go for a pin or submission with the octopus? What will the fans buy?”
Slowly I open my eyes and stagger to my feet finding my opponent nowhere in sight. That’s good. The hundreds of fans are shouting, urging me on, urging me to turn around. “JJ, JJ, JJ….” This is good too, as they are into the match. We are doing exactly what we wanted. The crowd is in the palm of our hands. I let the drama build, take a few steps like I am drunk before flicking the hair from out of my eyes and slowly turning around. Too late, or just right depending on your point of view. Fast Eddie is already airborne from the top rope. All I see is a blur of black and gold tights, a trace of blond hair and an extremely hairy chest. No one can forget that chest I assure you. I reach outward in self defense and the next image is that of a size 12 boot slamming me in the jaw followed by a flash of light. Downward I travel the hardwood floor meets my skull and another bright light fills the darkness.
I would love to finish, but that is all I remember. That is what happens when you get a concussion. Sometimes you remember bits and pieces, most of the time nothing. I did continue to wrestle and finish the match which remarkably went on for another four minutes. Eventually I did lose thanks to my opponent’s personal groomer/manager Sebastion Night’s interference. I have been told was a phenomenal match, I even have pictures and yes that was “The Moonsault” you see. I guess I have to take their word for the rest of those four minutes. I am sure it was a great finish, with Fast Eddie I have no doubt it was epic.

This blog was inspired by a recent post on Prosource.net pertaining to a CBC medical report on multiple concussions among athletes of which I have had plenty.

But wait this is not the end of the story. Oh no this was only match #7 on a 12 match card. I was also scheduled to wrestle match #11 and #12 too!
Stay tuned kiddies to see how the mighty Ring Crew Guy fared. Did he wrestle? Was he rushed to the hospital? What happened on that night of non stop action? Same Bat channel, same Bat time.

Ahh Grasshopper you have returned for more training. Contemplate this: “The superior man respectfully appreciates the cycles of increase and decrease…. External ploys will not put an end to the natural cycle of deterioration. Time Will. Nurture your mind and body… Look for wisdom in your acceptance of the times.” I Ching #23

Tune-age of the day: AIC, Can anyone kill the rooster?