Post by Dontevius Ellis on May 8, 2016 4:07:58 GMT -5
“Um… Hello?”
The coach, who had been watching the football team practice, turned his head. The annoyance was very apparent in his facial expressions.
“What the hell do you want?” the coach growled as he turned back to the ongoing practice.
“Hello sir. I wanted to see if I could possibly join the team,” young Dontevius Ellis said meekly.
“You?” he asked dismissively. “Why you?”
“Because… Because I want to play.”
“What position you play?” the coach asked without looking at Dontevius.
“I don’t know. I just figured I’d try out and see where I fit,” Dontevius noted as he tried to round the coach to make eye contact.
“You mean to tell me you’ve never played football before and you think you’re going to get a spot on my team?”
“Please, give me a chance! I promise you won’t regret it!”
“This ain’t a charity event, son,” the coach sneered. “Go try the tennis team.”
“But I wanna play football,” Dontevius pleaded. “Just let me show you what I can do.”
“I’m trying to run a practice here, alright? Quit bothering me or I’ll have you suspended.”
“But I--”
Dontevius reacted quickly and stretched an arm out high above his head. The football that had been whizzing by stopped suddenly, gripped in Dontevius’ hand. He pulled it down and looked at it curiously.
“Jeremy! What the hell kinda throw was that?”
The kid who had been playing quarterback jogged over to the pair of them.
“Forget the throw! Did you see that catch?” Jeremy responded pointing at Dontevius.
Dontevius looked up and tossed the ball back to Jeremy.
“Sun shines on a dog’s ass every now and then,” the coach quickly retorted.
“C’mon. Give the kid a chance,” Jeremy said with a smile.
“Oh hell, not you too,” the coach grumbled.
“Do you really want Luke to be my number one this season?”
The trio looked across the field to a kid who was sitting on the bench. He was vigorously picking his nose. The trio shuddered as his finger travelled from nose to mouth.
“This kid hasn’t even played football before. A little early to be talking number one, don’t ya think?” the coach pointed out.
“He’s got the hands… Lean build, I bet the kid can run… The rest will be like riding a bike.”
“Fine, Jeremy. You know what? Fine. But if this kid can’t get the hang of it, you’ll be riding the pine for the rest of the season, you understand me?”
“No problem,” Jeremy said with a smile.
He put an arm around Dontevius and walked him onto the field. As soon as they were out of coach’s earshot, Jeremy turned to Dontevius.”
“You can run fast, right?”
Of course I can. I’ve been the underdog my whole life. I’m been overlooked and underrated as far back as I can remember. That’s what happens when you show up to school in raggedy ass clothes, smelling like an ashtray. That wasn’t an indicator of who I was. People don’t judge you based off of what you can do. They judge you based on a set of values they have in their own minds about who you are. They see shit like clothes and bad haircuts and they smell cigarette smoke and assume things about you. My situation was no different.
I didn’t get a ton of opportunities as a kid. My mom wasn’t responsible. She couldn’t take me to sports events when I was little. She was too busy trying to find love through the outside of the condom, or maybe not even that. She smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey - Jack Daniels Old No. 7 to be exact - and kept bringing men home hoping one of them would stick. Instead, they got what they wanted and never came back, which led to more bar nights for her and more nights alone for me. I didn’t mind the alone time. The silence was much better than the sounds of her headboard banging against the wall.
Either way, the point is that I didn’t get a chance to play sports. Once I was in high school, I started trying out for shit because she didn’t give a damn when I came home. I just walked to my practices and games when they weren’t immediately after school. If we had an away game, they typically offered a bus for us. I didn’t need her to take me anywhere and effectively, I didn’t need anything from her except the roof over my head.
People looked down on me, looked over me because of where I came from.
Some shit never changes.
The PCW medical staff continued to work on Dontevius Ellis following the Last Chance Battle Royal. He had been groaning and barely moving his arms and legs since he was taken to the back following the brutal shot he took from Murdoc. They opened his right eyelid and shined a flashlight into his pupils.
“Initial signs point toward a concussion. He exhibits all the symp--”
Dontevius shot up, knocking the flashlight from the doctor’s hand.
“What the fuck… Where am I? I need to be out there!”
The medical staff rushed forward and restrained Dontevius.
“What are you doing? I… I…”
“It’s over, Mr. Ellis,” the doctor said.
“It’s over? So that means…”
“You were eliminated by Murdoc and Michael Wryght. Murdoc then eliminated Wryght to win the match.”
“But… No… No, you don’t understand. That was my match. I was supposed to advance…”
The doctor smiled.
“You did great out there!”
Don’t treat me like I’m fucking handicapped.
“I needed to advance… John and I were supposed to meet in the finals. This can’t be happening…”
“Look, kid. You’re new and I’m sure you’re excited to be out there but you’re not going to win all of ‘em. You eliminated Camron Creed, a rising star in PCW, and you outlasted a PCW legend in Andy D. That sounds like a successful debut to me!”
“You don’t get it!”
He didn’t get it.
“Trust me. I work with all of the talent here. Everybody wants to win every match but it doesn’t work that way. Grimm hasn’t won every match. Justin Kaard hasn’t won every match. You did well for your first match. Just use that as your launching pad.”
All that was missing was a pat on the head and a dog treat. I go out there, work my ass off, and what do I get for my efforts? A lollipop and the Make-A-Wish Foundation treatment. I guess everyone would be surprised to know that, even when Murdoc came down and shoved ol’ Bucky over the top rope, I still considered myself the favorite to win. Legends, up-and-comers, none of that fazed me. Going in, I heard names like Showtime, Creed, Grimm as a surprise entrant, a whole shitload of predictions for the winner of that match. Not once did I hear anyone say that I had a chance. Nobody believed it. I announced that I’d be entering the battle royal days in advance. I didn’t try to hide and slide in at the last second like Andy D, Parsons, and Murdoc. I had the fucking balls to let everyone know and let everyone prepare for me. That’s just how high my expectations are for myself.
Yeah, I heard the criticism. People thought I shouldn’t have went straight for Murdoc but I don’t play small. He was the biggest guy in the yard and so I knew I needed to jack his jaw. Did that cost me? No. The critics can run off at the mouth all they want but I have no regrets and they don’t have ground to stand on.
To that point, I should’ve been the one to get rid of him. Just as I was about to dump Murdoc on his ass though, Creed and Andy stepped in to stop me because that was a great idea. That would’ve been the end for your eventual winner right there, your legend. Instead, I dumped Creed, Murdoc dispatched Andy D, and I was left with two of the supposed best PCW has ever had. Murdoc will get his. He hasn’t seen the last of me, I promise you. I still find it funny that everyone was shocked I lasted as long as I did. I was shocked that I didn’t win.
That’s the difference between you and me. I know what I’m capable of. You still underestimate me. Don’t worry, you’ll learn soon enough.
“Benton, my man!” Dontevius shouted as he sat down at the table.
Benton Ryan, agent for Dontevius Ellis, glanced up as he took a sip from his Starbucks coffee. Dontevius grinned as he leaned back in his chair.
“Tell me something good.”
“Well,” Benton began as he turned back to his laptop, “you’re booked on Trauma 192.”
“Another main event, right? Who against? Showtime? Grimm? PCW World Title match against Kaard?”
“No,” Benton replied.
“No what?” Dontevius asked, the smile hanging onto his lips by a thread.
“You’re not in the main event.”
“Ah, so I’m in the spot just before it. No biggie, I’m sure they--”
“You’re in the opener.”
Dontevius stopped, his expression blank.
“Against Parsons, Razor Blade, and a new guy named Gabriel Hawn.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No. I got the e-mail tod--”
“The opener? Were they watching my match this past week? Did they not see me outlast their so-called favorites?”
“What happened to your accent?” Benton interjected.
“My what?”
“Your accent. You usually talk in a more relaxed fashion. You incorporate more of an urban dialect usually, fringing on Ebonics.”
Well… Shit.
“That’s what you expect from me? You think, because I’m black, I’m supposed to talk black?”
Yeah, in hindsight maybe I shouldn’t have pulled the race card.
“No, that’s… Look, we can get through this. You go out there and destroy these guys and you’ll move up the card in no time. Look at Brenna Gordon. She started out as an unknown and a few matches in, she had a match-of-the-year candidate with Grimm. That can be you. You just have to--”
“That won’t be me,” Dontevius stated simply.
“Why not?” Benton asked.
“Because I’d beat Grimm.”
“Ah,” Benton acknowledged with a smile. “Great point. Then let’s get to work and take care of these three clowns.”
People tend to associate Ebonics with a lack of education. As I grew up, I talked that way because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. Now? Now I see what people think I’m supposed to do, who I’m supposed to be. They see me as the underdog. They view me as an afterthought. The Last Chance Battle Royal and everything surrounding it made me rethink everything I thought I knew. I’m not going to be who you think I should be because that guy… He’s garbage. I’m disappointed that it took me this long to realize it.
This week, I’m not going to be the underdog. With some reports in, I’m actually favored by a select few to win this week. I wasn’t on your lips last week. I didn’t make it to your blog posts. Now, like me, you’re rethinking Dontevius Ellis. You saw how I went toe-to-toe with Murdoc and almost came away the better man. Yeah, yeah, I know. Horseshoes and hand grenades. I get that. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m not Buck Brochamp. I’m not just some stepping stone for you spandex-wearing, baby-oil-lathering musclehead types. I’m the real deal. I’m All Day and now, you’re setting your clocks for Dontevius Savings Time.
Parsons couldn’t get rid of me last week. Razor Blade can’t seem to beat anybody. And Gabriel Hawn? His ‘Warhorse’ is going to look more like a Trojan Horse filled with multi-colored balloons and silly string. Parsons will try and teach us a lesson, Razor Blade will bring his power and obsession for a US Title that doesn’t exist, and Gabriel Hawn will use his low center of gravity and Jiu Jitsu technique to try and pull out a victory. Me? I’m bringing the highlight reel. I will outperform, outlast, and outclass all three of you. When they talk about this match, it’s my name they’ll be fixated on.
Prepare to be the afterthought.
Prepare to rethink Dontevius Ellis.
The coach, who had been watching the football team practice, turned his head. The annoyance was very apparent in his facial expressions.
“What the hell do you want?” the coach growled as he turned back to the ongoing practice.
“Hello sir. I wanted to see if I could possibly join the team,” young Dontevius Ellis said meekly.
“You?” he asked dismissively. “Why you?”
“Because… Because I want to play.”
“What position you play?” the coach asked without looking at Dontevius.
“I don’t know. I just figured I’d try out and see where I fit,” Dontevius noted as he tried to round the coach to make eye contact.
“You mean to tell me you’ve never played football before and you think you’re going to get a spot on my team?”
“Please, give me a chance! I promise you won’t regret it!”
“This ain’t a charity event, son,” the coach sneered. “Go try the tennis team.”
“But I wanna play football,” Dontevius pleaded. “Just let me show you what I can do.”
“I’m trying to run a practice here, alright? Quit bothering me or I’ll have you suspended.”
“But I--”
Dontevius reacted quickly and stretched an arm out high above his head. The football that had been whizzing by stopped suddenly, gripped in Dontevius’ hand. He pulled it down and looked at it curiously.
“Jeremy! What the hell kinda throw was that?”
The kid who had been playing quarterback jogged over to the pair of them.
“Forget the throw! Did you see that catch?” Jeremy responded pointing at Dontevius.
Dontevius looked up and tossed the ball back to Jeremy.
“Sun shines on a dog’s ass every now and then,” the coach quickly retorted.
“C’mon. Give the kid a chance,” Jeremy said with a smile.
“Oh hell, not you too,” the coach grumbled.
“Do you really want Luke to be my number one this season?”
The trio looked across the field to a kid who was sitting on the bench. He was vigorously picking his nose. The trio shuddered as his finger travelled from nose to mouth.
“This kid hasn’t even played football before. A little early to be talking number one, don’t ya think?” the coach pointed out.
“He’s got the hands… Lean build, I bet the kid can run… The rest will be like riding a bike.”
“Fine, Jeremy. You know what? Fine. But if this kid can’t get the hang of it, you’ll be riding the pine for the rest of the season, you understand me?”
“No problem,” Jeremy said with a smile.
He put an arm around Dontevius and walked him onto the field. As soon as they were out of coach’s earshot, Jeremy turned to Dontevius.”
“You can run fast, right?”
Of course I can. I’ve been the underdog my whole life. I’m been overlooked and underrated as far back as I can remember. That’s what happens when you show up to school in raggedy ass clothes, smelling like an ashtray. That wasn’t an indicator of who I was. People don’t judge you based off of what you can do. They judge you based on a set of values they have in their own minds about who you are. They see shit like clothes and bad haircuts and they smell cigarette smoke and assume things about you. My situation was no different.
I didn’t get a ton of opportunities as a kid. My mom wasn’t responsible. She couldn’t take me to sports events when I was little. She was too busy trying to find love through the outside of the condom, or maybe not even that. She smoked cigarettes, drank whiskey - Jack Daniels Old No. 7 to be exact - and kept bringing men home hoping one of them would stick. Instead, they got what they wanted and never came back, which led to more bar nights for her and more nights alone for me. I didn’t mind the alone time. The silence was much better than the sounds of her headboard banging against the wall.
Either way, the point is that I didn’t get a chance to play sports. Once I was in high school, I started trying out for shit because she didn’t give a damn when I came home. I just walked to my practices and games when they weren’t immediately after school. If we had an away game, they typically offered a bus for us. I didn’t need her to take me anywhere and effectively, I didn’t need anything from her except the roof over my head.
People looked down on me, looked over me because of where I came from.
Some shit never changes.
The PCW medical staff continued to work on Dontevius Ellis following the Last Chance Battle Royal. He had been groaning and barely moving his arms and legs since he was taken to the back following the brutal shot he took from Murdoc. They opened his right eyelid and shined a flashlight into his pupils.
“Initial signs point toward a concussion. He exhibits all the symp--”
Dontevius shot up, knocking the flashlight from the doctor’s hand.
“What the fuck… Where am I? I need to be out there!”
The medical staff rushed forward and restrained Dontevius.
“What are you doing? I… I…”
“It’s over, Mr. Ellis,” the doctor said.
“It’s over? So that means…”
“You were eliminated by Murdoc and Michael Wryght. Murdoc then eliminated Wryght to win the match.”
“But… No… No, you don’t understand. That was my match. I was supposed to advance…”
The doctor smiled.
“You did great out there!”
Don’t treat me like I’m fucking handicapped.
“I needed to advance… John and I were supposed to meet in the finals. This can’t be happening…”
“Look, kid. You’re new and I’m sure you’re excited to be out there but you’re not going to win all of ‘em. You eliminated Camron Creed, a rising star in PCW, and you outlasted a PCW legend in Andy D. That sounds like a successful debut to me!”
“You don’t get it!”
He didn’t get it.
“Trust me. I work with all of the talent here. Everybody wants to win every match but it doesn’t work that way. Grimm hasn’t won every match. Justin Kaard hasn’t won every match. You did well for your first match. Just use that as your launching pad.”
All that was missing was a pat on the head and a dog treat. I go out there, work my ass off, and what do I get for my efforts? A lollipop and the Make-A-Wish Foundation treatment. I guess everyone would be surprised to know that, even when Murdoc came down and shoved ol’ Bucky over the top rope, I still considered myself the favorite to win. Legends, up-and-comers, none of that fazed me. Going in, I heard names like Showtime, Creed, Grimm as a surprise entrant, a whole shitload of predictions for the winner of that match. Not once did I hear anyone say that I had a chance. Nobody believed it. I announced that I’d be entering the battle royal days in advance. I didn’t try to hide and slide in at the last second like Andy D, Parsons, and Murdoc. I had the fucking balls to let everyone know and let everyone prepare for me. That’s just how high my expectations are for myself.
Yeah, I heard the criticism. People thought I shouldn’t have went straight for Murdoc but I don’t play small. He was the biggest guy in the yard and so I knew I needed to jack his jaw. Did that cost me? No. The critics can run off at the mouth all they want but I have no regrets and they don’t have ground to stand on.
To that point, I should’ve been the one to get rid of him. Just as I was about to dump Murdoc on his ass though, Creed and Andy stepped in to stop me because that was a great idea. That would’ve been the end for your eventual winner right there, your legend. Instead, I dumped Creed, Murdoc dispatched Andy D, and I was left with two of the supposed best PCW has ever had. Murdoc will get his. He hasn’t seen the last of me, I promise you. I still find it funny that everyone was shocked I lasted as long as I did. I was shocked that I didn’t win.
That’s the difference between you and me. I know what I’m capable of. You still underestimate me. Don’t worry, you’ll learn soon enough.
“Benton, my man!” Dontevius shouted as he sat down at the table.
Benton Ryan, agent for Dontevius Ellis, glanced up as he took a sip from his Starbucks coffee. Dontevius grinned as he leaned back in his chair.
“Tell me something good.”
“Well,” Benton began as he turned back to his laptop, “you’re booked on Trauma 192.”
“Another main event, right? Who against? Showtime? Grimm? PCW World Title match against Kaard?”
“No,” Benton replied.
“No what?” Dontevius asked, the smile hanging onto his lips by a thread.
“You’re not in the main event.”
“Ah, so I’m in the spot just before it. No biggie, I’m sure they--”
“You’re in the opener.”
Dontevius stopped, his expression blank.
“Against Parsons, Razor Blade, and a new guy named Gabriel Hawn.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No. I got the e-mail tod--”
“The opener? Were they watching my match this past week? Did they not see me outlast their so-called favorites?”
“What happened to your accent?” Benton interjected.
“My what?”
“Your accent. You usually talk in a more relaxed fashion. You incorporate more of an urban dialect usually, fringing on Ebonics.”
Well… Shit.
“That’s what you expect from me? You think, because I’m black, I’m supposed to talk black?”
Yeah, in hindsight maybe I shouldn’t have pulled the race card.
“No, that’s… Look, we can get through this. You go out there and destroy these guys and you’ll move up the card in no time. Look at Brenna Gordon. She started out as an unknown and a few matches in, she had a match-of-the-year candidate with Grimm. That can be you. You just have to--”
“That won’t be me,” Dontevius stated simply.
“Why not?” Benton asked.
“Because I’d beat Grimm.”
“Ah,” Benton acknowledged with a smile. “Great point. Then let’s get to work and take care of these three clowns.”
People tend to associate Ebonics with a lack of education. As I grew up, I talked that way because I thought it was what I was supposed to do. Now? Now I see what people think I’m supposed to do, who I’m supposed to be. They see me as the underdog. They view me as an afterthought. The Last Chance Battle Royal and everything surrounding it made me rethink everything I thought I knew. I’m not going to be who you think I should be because that guy… He’s garbage. I’m disappointed that it took me this long to realize it.
This week, I’m not going to be the underdog. With some reports in, I’m actually favored by a select few to win this week. I wasn’t on your lips last week. I didn’t make it to your blog posts. Now, like me, you’re rethinking Dontevius Ellis. You saw how I went toe-to-toe with Murdoc and almost came away the better man. Yeah, yeah, I know. Horseshoes and hand grenades. I get that. The point I’m trying to make is that I’m not Buck Brochamp. I’m not just some stepping stone for you spandex-wearing, baby-oil-lathering musclehead types. I’m the real deal. I’m All Day and now, you’re setting your clocks for Dontevius Savings Time.
Parsons couldn’t get rid of me last week. Razor Blade can’t seem to beat anybody. And Gabriel Hawn? His ‘Warhorse’ is going to look more like a Trojan Horse filled with multi-colored balloons and silly string. Parsons will try and teach us a lesson, Razor Blade will bring his power and obsession for a US Title that doesn’t exist, and Gabriel Hawn will use his low center of gravity and Jiu Jitsu technique to try and pull out a victory. Me? I’m bringing the highlight reel. I will outperform, outlast, and outclass all three of you. When they talk about this match, it’s my name they’ll be fixated on.
“Do you remember when Dontevius …”
“Dontevius Ellis leaped higher than I’ve ever seen anyone jump!”
“Dontevius almost took his head off with that shot!”
Prepare to be the afterthought.
Prepare to rethink Dontevius Ellis.
