Justin Brooks
04-27-2008, 11:38 PM
[February 27,2008.]
[Downtown New York.]
My screams broke out in the back of the ambulance as I clutched my right shoulder tightly. I could feel the warmth of my tears fall down the sides of my face and into my ears as I laid back on the gurney as I opened my eyes to look up at the dimly lit lights in the back of the ambulance looking around to see the paramedic sitting in the Captains chair in front of me on the phone with the hospital.
"Yeah...this is Medic One with a Patient Care Report. We have a twenty-three year old male suffering trauma to his right shoulder. Upon patient assessment, there is crepitus and patient experienced extreme pain upon movement and there is no further injuries noted. Vital signs are as follows: blood pressure is one fourty-eight over eighty two...pulse of ninety six..."
My shoulder was killing me, I couldn't even focus on the Paramedic's voice to even take my mind away from the pain that was scorching down my shoulder. I looked around the ambulance through the jolts of electric pain to notice that for the first time in my career in the HRW...I was all alone. No one was here with me.
No Ernie Banks.
No Finn McCullough.
No Alice Shadowcross.
No fans.
No family.
I was all alone. I closed my eyes and continued to clutch my injured shoulder, feeling every uneven bump in the New York City as it created another bit of pain in my shoulder. I knew one thing was for sure...
...I was going to -kill- Cobra for this.
I clenched my teeth, trying to muscle through the pain but I could feel the tendons and the muscles in the started to twitch underneath my skin. Something was broken...I knew when I landed in the middle of the ring. Maybe dislocated if I was lucky...but for some strange reason, I knew that I wasn't that lucky...maybe I would be out for a few weeks...
[March 18th, 2008]
[Mount Vernon, New York.]
A broken collarbone.
The diagnosis?
Two to three months...if I was lucky.
The thing that impressed the doctor was the fact that no surgery was required. If that was the case...I was looking at six months of recovery and several months after that just for physical therapy.
But yet what was I so pissed about?
Why was I so fuckin' upset?
Because the HRW stripped me of -my- Prestige Title...
...they took away from me what no one else in the HRW could....they took my Prestige Title and to make it worse, I had to watch Cobra fight Dusty Griffith for it. And that's what hurt most of all...
I hated being at home. I hated having to sit in my living room of my one-bedroom apartment with my right arm in the sling and have to watch. Of course if I wanted to, I could change the channel, but why would I do something like that? I wanted to see Griffith bust Cobra right in the face and hopefully win the Prestige Title and maybe that would take the sting out of it. But yet...I never would've expected this:
Looking to the fans, Dusty grunted... and those fans chanted his name. "DUS-TY! DUS-TY! DUS-TY!" Dusty grinned, and lumbered forward, grabbing Cobra. Dragging Cobra to the ring corner, Dusty shoved the masked man into the corner. Cobra hammered a fist into Dusty's jaw, and Dusty immediately retaliated with one of his own!
Cobra went for a jab to the throat, but Dusty grabbed the Serpentalist's hand, grinning brightly. Twisting back and up, Cobra's knees bent as he hissed in pain. Dusty hammered a fist into Cobra's jaw, and bent, scooping Cobra up, and placing him on the top rope.
Climbing up there with Cobra, Dusty fired off a few right hands... And bent, hooking Cobra's thigh and shoulder. Leaning back, Dusty went for a super fallaway slam, right off the top rope... but Cobra rolled, not wanting to go completely overhead! The two landed in a heap, Cobra bouncing off of Dusty, smashing his face on the mat when he hit!
The fans gasped, as Dusty lay there, Cobra rolling slowly onto his back. Dusty groaned softly, as the ref looked over the two... And decided to try counting the double knockout.
Cobra was down, and Griffith was down as well... But the big Idahoan was shaking a fist, trying to get back to his feet! As he forced himself to his knees, Cobra in a heap, the ref began the count!
"Com'n...Dusty...get up you sonuvabitch...", I said as I leaned forward on my sofa.
Cobra was down, and Griffith was down as well... But the big Idahoan was shaking a fist, trying to get back to his feet! As he forced himself to his knees, Cobra in a heap, the ref began the count!
"ONE!"
If it went to ten, then both guys would be counted out! That's not what the fans want! The chant started up! "DUS-TY! DUS-TY!" Griffith was slowly forcing himself up, but as a foot went to the mat, trying to shove himself up... And Griffith's leg spasmed, the big man taking a header and spilling to the ground!
"THREE!"
The fans weren't happy! The chant got louder, Dusty trying to force himself to a sitting position! The big man was slowly forcing himself up, fists clenching as he tried to get back up. Coming to his knees, Dusty pounded his fists on the mat, trying to gather the strength to get back to his feet!
"FIVE!"
The big man slowly planted a foot, coming fully to a crouch. Dusty staggered, but forced his crouch... And staggered forward, dropping to a knee once more! Cobra was flat on his back, eyes closed! If Dusty got to his feet, there was NO WAY Cobra would be able to beat him to his feet!
"SEVEN!"
Dusty gritted his teeth, and SHOVED with his legs, coming to his feet fully, and those fans lit up! Dusty's up! Dusty's taking the title! He's got to!
"NINE!"
Dusty staggered back, as the ref went to count the last count... And a finger stabbed out at the ref!
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO WIN THAT WAY!"
"Fuck.", I shook my head slowly.
The ref stopped in his tracks, and turned away from the two, waving to the timekeeper. He'd honor Dusty's request, to finish like a man! Dusty pumped his hands in the air, signalling for that Super Driver II... But as the ref turned away, Cobra leapt to his feet, hand clapping to his throat! Eyes widened under that mask..
Like a viper, a mouthful of green poisonous mist bloomed from Cobra's lips, spattering Dusty's face, dying his hair green, sweat mixing that mist with salt and all in Dusty's eyes and oh god, it was the exact opposite of a good thing! Cobra dropped back to his knees, grinning as he nearly dropped to the mat, the ref turning around...
And what the hell just happened? Griffith was clawing at his eyes, Cobra was down and unconscious, nobody else was in the ring...
Cobra slowly began pushing himself to his feet, Griffith throwing punches and trying to get a contact with Cobra... but Griffith staggered away, Cobra slipping back to his feet, wriggling up to a standing basis. With that vile grin, Cobra looped his arms through Griffith's, around the neck and the arm... Hoisted Griffith into the air, and spiked Griffith down, directly on his head, with a HUGE Cobra Clutch Slam!
Cobra rolled Griffith up, the ref sliding up to check the shoulders... And just to make sure, and throw that last "Fuck You" into Griffith, grabbed a handful of the back of Griffith's tights, twisting the handful up tight and making DAMN sure to hold Griffith's shoulders down!
One. Two. Three.
And that was it. Cobra rolled off, fists pumping in the air as Griffith rolled to his chest, pressing his forehead and eyes into the mat.
"Goddamnit!", I yelled out as I threw my drinking glass against the far wall as glass and water shattered and splashed everywhere. I reached a level of anger that I never knew existed in life...ever.
I felt sick to my stomach and if I could vomit...
...I would've thrown up all over the television.
But fortunate for me, the pain medication I was on required not to eat after ten in the evening.
I looked down at my cell phone that sat on my coffee table in front of the television as I reached down and instantly dialed Ernie's number...and of course I got the voicemail.
"Ernie...this is Justin, you know...the guy who used to be the Prestige Title before I was stripped of it...find McCullough and tell him that once I'm one-hundred percent...I'm coming for Cobra AND my title."
I ended the phone call as sat back on my leather sofa as reached up and rubbed my right shoulder gently.
Fuckin' collarbone...
...Fuckin' Cobra...
This wasn't over not be a long shot.
This wasn't over.
[Downtown New York.]
My screams broke out in the back of the ambulance as I clutched my right shoulder tightly. I could feel the warmth of my tears fall down the sides of my face and into my ears as I laid back on the gurney as I opened my eyes to look up at the dimly lit lights in the back of the ambulance looking around to see the paramedic sitting in the Captains chair in front of me on the phone with the hospital.
"Yeah...this is Medic One with a Patient Care Report. We have a twenty-three year old male suffering trauma to his right shoulder. Upon patient assessment, there is crepitus and patient experienced extreme pain upon movement and there is no further injuries noted. Vital signs are as follows: blood pressure is one fourty-eight over eighty two...pulse of ninety six..."
My shoulder was killing me, I couldn't even focus on the Paramedic's voice to even take my mind away from the pain that was scorching down my shoulder. I looked around the ambulance through the jolts of electric pain to notice that for the first time in my career in the HRW...I was all alone. No one was here with me.
No Ernie Banks.
No Finn McCullough.
No Alice Shadowcross.
No fans.
No family.
I was all alone. I closed my eyes and continued to clutch my injured shoulder, feeling every uneven bump in the New York City as it created another bit of pain in my shoulder. I knew one thing was for sure...
...I was going to -kill- Cobra for this.
I clenched my teeth, trying to muscle through the pain but I could feel the tendons and the muscles in the started to twitch underneath my skin. Something was broken...I knew when I landed in the middle of the ring. Maybe dislocated if I was lucky...but for some strange reason, I knew that I wasn't that lucky...maybe I would be out for a few weeks...
[March 18th, 2008]
[Mount Vernon, New York.]
A broken collarbone.
The diagnosis?
Two to three months...if I was lucky.
The thing that impressed the doctor was the fact that no surgery was required. If that was the case...I was looking at six months of recovery and several months after that just for physical therapy.
But yet what was I so pissed about?
Why was I so fuckin' upset?
Because the HRW stripped me of -my- Prestige Title...
...they took away from me what no one else in the HRW could....they took my Prestige Title and to make it worse, I had to watch Cobra fight Dusty Griffith for it. And that's what hurt most of all...
I hated being at home. I hated having to sit in my living room of my one-bedroom apartment with my right arm in the sling and have to watch. Of course if I wanted to, I could change the channel, but why would I do something like that? I wanted to see Griffith bust Cobra right in the face and hopefully win the Prestige Title and maybe that would take the sting out of it. But yet...I never would've expected this:
Looking to the fans, Dusty grunted... and those fans chanted his name. "DUS-TY! DUS-TY! DUS-TY!" Dusty grinned, and lumbered forward, grabbing Cobra. Dragging Cobra to the ring corner, Dusty shoved the masked man into the corner. Cobra hammered a fist into Dusty's jaw, and Dusty immediately retaliated with one of his own!
Cobra went for a jab to the throat, but Dusty grabbed the Serpentalist's hand, grinning brightly. Twisting back and up, Cobra's knees bent as he hissed in pain. Dusty hammered a fist into Cobra's jaw, and bent, scooping Cobra up, and placing him on the top rope.
Climbing up there with Cobra, Dusty fired off a few right hands... And bent, hooking Cobra's thigh and shoulder. Leaning back, Dusty went for a super fallaway slam, right off the top rope... but Cobra rolled, not wanting to go completely overhead! The two landed in a heap, Cobra bouncing off of Dusty, smashing his face on the mat when he hit!
The fans gasped, as Dusty lay there, Cobra rolling slowly onto his back. Dusty groaned softly, as the ref looked over the two... And decided to try counting the double knockout.
Cobra was down, and Griffith was down as well... But the big Idahoan was shaking a fist, trying to get back to his feet! As he forced himself to his knees, Cobra in a heap, the ref began the count!
"Com'n...Dusty...get up you sonuvabitch...", I said as I leaned forward on my sofa.
Cobra was down, and Griffith was down as well... But the big Idahoan was shaking a fist, trying to get back to his feet! As he forced himself to his knees, Cobra in a heap, the ref began the count!
"ONE!"
If it went to ten, then both guys would be counted out! That's not what the fans want! The chant started up! "DUS-TY! DUS-TY!" Griffith was slowly forcing himself up, but as a foot went to the mat, trying to shove himself up... And Griffith's leg spasmed, the big man taking a header and spilling to the ground!
"THREE!"
The fans weren't happy! The chant got louder, Dusty trying to force himself to a sitting position! The big man was slowly forcing himself up, fists clenching as he tried to get back up. Coming to his knees, Dusty pounded his fists on the mat, trying to gather the strength to get back to his feet!
"FIVE!"
The big man slowly planted a foot, coming fully to a crouch. Dusty staggered, but forced his crouch... And staggered forward, dropping to a knee once more! Cobra was flat on his back, eyes closed! If Dusty got to his feet, there was NO WAY Cobra would be able to beat him to his feet!
"SEVEN!"
Dusty gritted his teeth, and SHOVED with his legs, coming to his feet fully, and those fans lit up! Dusty's up! Dusty's taking the title! He's got to!
"NINE!"
Dusty staggered back, as the ref went to count the last count... And a finger stabbed out at the ref!
"NO! I DON'T WANT TO WIN THAT WAY!"
"Fuck.", I shook my head slowly.
The ref stopped in his tracks, and turned away from the two, waving to the timekeeper. He'd honor Dusty's request, to finish like a man! Dusty pumped his hands in the air, signalling for that Super Driver II... But as the ref turned away, Cobra leapt to his feet, hand clapping to his throat! Eyes widened under that mask..
Like a viper, a mouthful of green poisonous mist bloomed from Cobra's lips, spattering Dusty's face, dying his hair green, sweat mixing that mist with salt and all in Dusty's eyes and oh god, it was the exact opposite of a good thing! Cobra dropped back to his knees, grinning as he nearly dropped to the mat, the ref turning around...
And what the hell just happened? Griffith was clawing at his eyes, Cobra was down and unconscious, nobody else was in the ring...
Cobra slowly began pushing himself to his feet, Griffith throwing punches and trying to get a contact with Cobra... but Griffith staggered away, Cobra slipping back to his feet, wriggling up to a standing basis. With that vile grin, Cobra looped his arms through Griffith's, around the neck and the arm... Hoisted Griffith into the air, and spiked Griffith down, directly on his head, with a HUGE Cobra Clutch Slam!
Cobra rolled Griffith up, the ref sliding up to check the shoulders... And just to make sure, and throw that last "Fuck You" into Griffith, grabbed a handful of the back of Griffith's tights, twisting the handful up tight and making DAMN sure to hold Griffith's shoulders down!
One. Two. Three.
And that was it. Cobra rolled off, fists pumping in the air as Griffith rolled to his chest, pressing his forehead and eyes into the mat.
"Goddamnit!", I yelled out as I threw my drinking glass against the far wall as glass and water shattered and splashed everywhere. I reached a level of anger that I never knew existed in life...ever.
I felt sick to my stomach and if I could vomit...
...I would've thrown up all over the television.
But fortunate for me, the pain medication I was on required not to eat after ten in the evening.
I looked down at my cell phone that sat on my coffee table in front of the television as I reached down and instantly dialed Ernie's number...and of course I got the voicemail.
"Ernie...this is Justin, you know...the guy who used to be the Prestige Title before I was stripped of it...find McCullough and tell him that once I'm one-hundred percent...I'm coming for Cobra AND my title."
I ended the phone call as sat back on my leather sofa as reached up and rubbed my right shoulder gently.
Fuckin' collarbone...
...Fuckin' Cobra...
This wasn't over not be a long shot.
This wasn't over.