Post by Jesse Jamester on Nov 6, 2021 19:34:36 GMT -5
“In war, you have to kill or be killed. Surviving the onslaught until you’re the last one standing. Nothing can prepare you for that hell…”
Every time the lights went out and that theme song played, fans would unleash their undying passion for the wrestler about to come out. For twenty-five years he had surrendered his personal life for the business he loved. Love was lost, family forgotten, friends almost non-existent outside the locker room. To say it was a lesson in commitment, a tale of dedication, or a curse of wanting your cake and not being able to eat it; that was all a matter of perception.
Experience had molded Jesse Jamester to be the man he was today. In his Halifax Convention Q&A he touched on the personal side of his life, explaining his lack of trust for anyone. Was this a rational way to live life? Certainly not. Though it could be said that in this business, alliances were a matter of the roads traveled and the desires of men who sought greener pastures.
The ReVenants had run through many companies, both as a unit and as singles competitors. None of what they did though resonated to the Canadian Nightmare and his outlook on how to handle yourself. Two sides of the coin, that was undoubtedly the case. On one, we saw the snide confidence of eager young talent, seeking recognition and fame, marquees and money. On the other, a man who had seen the globe and performed in more rings and arenas than he could count. His legacy was being defined in every appearance he made now. Now his focus was to build a company that reinvigorated that desire to perform and leave it better than when he entered. Age was not kind to those in this business, but the Canadian Nightmare had somehow found the secret formula to keep it from being a focus point.
“When the world is harsh, we become defensive. Thinking hard times require us to bend our nature to meet its bleeding edge. Keith tried to force me to bend my principles to being the same as his; he fought with every trick in his arsenal. Exposing that last rabbit he could pull out of his ass was not enough. Again and again, I see the potential of men like Keith, dwindling from stardom to stardust.”
Sighing, Jesse Jamester comes into focus as he wraps up his hands. The black tape for the evening was just another example of the traditions he kept; first his left forearm, then the right, followed by his left wrist and hand, and then back to the right.
“Oxford claiming that the way or the other as it suits my narrative. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m all my time in Northern Pro, I have had but one opportunity for the North American Double Crown - and I gave it up for Eric Dane. I have never asked for a match, nor have I forced my clear and obvious benefit of being a leader on Gus Arnold to acquire it. It was by choice of a champion determined, battle ready, and wanting to prove his worth that I found myself in that ring with a chance.”
The tape finishes wrapping around his hands as the camera focuses on the untied boots now. Lacing his left boot one hole at a time, he continued.
“A CHANCE! That’s what you don’t get Keith. I took a chance on the ReVenants. I took a chance on you! I knew what I had been told, what rumors followed the pack as they entered this companies doors and began a new chapter for themselves. Everyone warned me of the cancer you were, and I nodded and dismissed it. Everyone deserves a second chance. Not everyone gets the luxury of one though.”
Left boot done, Jesse lifts his right up on a chair and begins tying it.
“Maybe you didn’t care for the way your former boss treated you. We’ve all been there. I didn’t care for many of mine, but I did my job. I did what a respectable man does when he’s put to the test. I climbed up from every hole I was left for dead in and rewrote the story the way I saw fit! Quitting was never an option, it was a cowards way out; and Canada doesn’t breed cowards Keith.”
The right boot finishes before we see the mask lifted off the chair, and as the long hair dangles in front of his face, he slides it over his head and adjusts it. Flicking his hair back, and stares at the camera dead on.
“Great Northern War will be no second chance. Reconciliation will not be on the menu. Your time to pay for the crimes of war are now due. Flesh, blood, sweat, disappointment — it all will fall like the gavel on the judgement I have planned for you. No more will we hear the Great White Terror who runs the asylum, rant on and on of his triumphs and terror taking a chokehold on this company. No. Instead, the heart of this business will pump new blood into the stadiums, and the cheers will drown out that obnoxious voice. You’re 15 minutes of fame will be over. The ReVenants will be a memory of when Northern Pro’s finest stepped up and proved once and for all; that cancers can be cut out and removed. That life after hell is possible. The Bastards and myself, we will return this promotion to glory, and remind the world why they love wrestling once again.”
The leather trench coat slips over his back as the Canadian Nightmare Jesse Jamester lifts up the North American Double Crown Championship and throws it over his right shoulder. Ready to go to war.
Every time the lights went out and that theme song played, fans would unleash their undying passion for the wrestler about to come out. For twenty-five years he had surrendered his personal life for the business he loved. Love was lost, family forgotten, friends almost non-existent outside the locker room. To say it was a lesson in commitment, a tale of dedication, or a curse of wanting your cake and not being able to eat it; that was all a matter of perception.
Experience had molded Jesse Jamester to be the man he was today. In his Halifax Convention Q&A he touched on the personal side of his life, explaining his lack of trust for anyone. Was this a rational way to live life? Certainly not. Though it could be said that in this business, alliances were a matter of the roads traveled and the desires of men who sought greener pastures.
The ReVenants had run through many companies, both as a unit and as singles competitors. None of what they did though resonated to the Canadian Nightmare and his outlook on how to handle yourself. Two sides of the coin, that was undoubtedly the case. On one, we saw the snide confidence of eager young talent, seeking recognition and fame, marquees and money. On the other, a man who had seen the globe and performed in more rings and arenas than he could count. His legacy was being defined in every appearance he made now. Now his focus was to build a company that reinvigorated that desire to perform and leave it better than when he entered. Age was not kind to those in this business, but the Canadian Nightmare had somehow found the secret formula to keep it from being a focus point.
“When the world is harsh, we become defensive. Thinking hard times require us to bend our nature to meet its bleeding edge. Keith tried to force me to bend my principles to being the same as his; he fought with every trick in his arsenal. Exposing that last rabbit he could pull out of his ass was not enough. Again and again, I see the potential of men like Keith, dwindling from stardom to stardust.”
Sighing, Jesse Jamester comes into focus as he wraps up his hands. The black tape for the evening was just another example of the traditions he kept; first his left forearm, then the right, followed by his left wrist and hand, and then back to the right.
“Oxford claiming that the way or the other as it suits my narrative. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m all my time in Northern Pro, I have had but one opportunity for the North American Double Crown - and I gave it up for Eric Dane. I have never asked for a match, nor have I forced my clear and obvious benefit of being a leader on Gus Arnold to acquire it. It was by choice of a champion determined, battle ready, and wanting to prove his worth that I found myself in that ring with a chance.”
The tape finishes wrapping around his hands as the camera focuses on the untied boots now. Lacing his left boot one hole at a time, he continued.
“A CHANCE! That’s what you don’t get Keith. I took a chance on the ReVenants. I took a chance on you! I knew what I had been told, what rumors followed the pack as they entered this companies doors and began a new chapter for themselves. Everyone warned me of the cancer you were, and I nodded and dismissed it. Everyone deserves a second chance. Not everyone gets the luxury of one though.”
Left boot done, Jesse lifts his right up on a chair and begins tying it.
“Maybe you didn’t care for the way your former boss treated you. We’ve all been there. I didn’t care for many of mine, but I did my job. I did what a respectable man does when he’s put to the test. I climbed up from every hole I was left for dead in and rewrote the story the way I saw fit! Quitting was never an option, it was a cowards way out; and Canada doesn’t breed cowards Keith.”
The right boot finishes before we see the mask lifted off the chair, and as the long hair dangles in front of his face, he slides it over his head and adjusts it. Flicking his hair back, and stares at the camera dead on.
“Great Northern War will be no second chance. Reconciliation will not be on the menu. Your time to pay for the crimes of war are now due. Flesh, blood, sweat, disappointment — it all will fall like the gavel on the judgement I have planned for you. No more will we hear the Great White Terror who runs the asylum, rant on and on of his triumphs and terror taking a chokehold on this company. No. Instead, the heart of this business will pump new blood into the stadiums, and the cheers will drown out that obnoxious voice. You’re 15 minutes of fame will be over. The ReVenants will be a memory of when Northern Pro’s finest stepped up and proved once and for all; that cancers can be cut out and removed. That life after hell is possible. The Bastards and myself, we will return this promotion to glory, and remind the world why they love wrestling once again.”
The leather trench coat slips over his back as the Canadian Nightmare Jesse Jamester lifts up the North American Double Crown Championship and throws it over his right shoulder. Ready to go to war.
