…….”wrestling doesn’t owe us anything.” And it’s true. It’s a cruel mistress that wants everything you have, ever had, and could ever have. And then it gives you a four hour trip and a pat on the back, a sore neck and nerve pain. A bad memory and takes all your memories. And then you get home and take off your boots, you sit on the edge of the tub with your hands on your knees, the steam pouring onto your back, every ache and pain. You look in the mirror and see your busted ear, an ear that’s never gonna be the right shape again still bleeding. You see the boot laces printed on the side of your head and you don’t remember how they got there. Did the kick that left them knock the memory of the kick out of your head? And then you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, thinking tomorrow I’m done. I’m never doing this again. And then the alarm buzzes at 6 a.m. and you roll yourself off of the couch, cause you were too sore to walk to your bed, and lace up your shoes and go lift weights even though when the weight gets to the top of the lift your shoulder screams and you don’t know why. And you keep doing it because you still don’t look good. Not good enough. Every day. Every single day. With the slim hope it pays off. This is my life. And I hate it and I love it. And it’s all I know and all I’ve got. And I don’t know how I feel about that at all.