Post by Lord Blake on Aug 30, 2016 21:47:37 GMT
Something happens when you lose two pints of blood. Yes, there is the clammy skin, the shallow breathing, the weak heartbeat. There is also the light-headedness, confusion and spontaneous loss of consciousness.
Lord Blake suffered from the latter symptoms at the best of times but losing two pints of blood certainly wasn't going to help.
The cameras cut away too soon after the final three count was made in the Supreme Championship match. We saw EMTs rush the ring for Archer and Raven rush the ring for Lord. We saw the referee have the Ready, Set, Wrestle Supreme Championship to its new owner but if we stayed a while longer we would have seen him drop it almost immediately, the strength to hold onto it no longer in his body. The title belt hit the mat and Lord's blood began pouring onto it like a faucet.
Maybe it was the light-headedness, maybe it was the confusion, maybe he was about to spontaneously lose consciousness but as Raven picked up the belt and clutched it to his chest he looked puzzled.
Lost in the last two weeks had been the fact he was competing but only against a hated enemy, but also for the top prize in the company. He was so exhausted and satisfied by the sound of his boot hitting Archer’s jaw and getting the win that the Title was an afterthought.
As he held the cold leather and metal to his chest, the gravity of the situation sank in. This was no longer an afterthought.
Nine out of ten doctors in the San Francisco General emergency room recommended that he get bed rest for at least one full week, if not two.
Of course he went on a four day bender.
He remembered very little of it except for ending up with re-opened wounds at least once a day and waking up with Ravey in his arms each morning. His passport was stamped for the Philippines, so he may have ended up there at some point.
One night - or maybe it was day time - he had a conversation with a desert cactus that looked strangely like his father which he mistook for a deity. “Lord,” it had said, “you are My gift to professional wrestling. I have made you in My image. You are to go forth and tell the world of my existence. Show them I exist with your every move. With your every victory exalt my name. I know you will do this as I have created you to be the Supreme Being is professional wrestling. In my name.”
At the time it was an extremely profound moment for Lord Blake. In retrospect, his wins seemed only possible through some Divine intervention. He spread his arms out wide and tilted his head up towards the moon - or maybe the sun - and basked in the revelation of his life’s purpose.
Of course, when he woke up in the morning he didn't remember 99% of his hallucination. Losing that much blood and then thinning the remainder with alcohol can also lead to memory loss.
When he woke up in his own bed with Ravey Mac cuddled into his chest and his belt on the night stand, that was the feeling of perfection.
And dehydration.
Lord Blake suffered from the latter symptoms at the best of times but losing two pints of blood certainly wasn't going to help.
The cameras cut away too soon after the final three count was made in the Supreme Championship match. We saw EMTs rush the ring for Archer and Raven rush the ring for Lord. We saw the referee have the Ready, Set, Wrestle Supreme Championship to its new owner but if we stayed a while longer we would have seen him drop it almost immediately, the strength to hold onto it no longer in his body. The title belt hit the mat and Lord's blood began pouring onto it like a faucet.
Maybe it was the light-headedness, maybe it was the confusion, maybe he was about to spontaneously lose consciousness but as Raven picked up the belt and clutched it to his chest he looked puzzled.
Lost in the last two weeks had been the fact he was competing but only against a hated enemy, but also for the top prize in the company. He was so exhausted and satisfied by the sound of his boot hitting Archer’s jaw and getting the win that the Title was an afterthought.
As he held the cold leather and metal to his chest, the gravity of the situation sank in. This was no longer an afterthought.
Nine out of ten doctors in the San Francisco General emergency room recommended that he get bed rest for at least one full week, if not two.
Of course he went on a four day bender.
He remembered very little of it except for ending up with re-opened wounds at least once a day and waking up with Ravey in his arms each morning. His passport was stamped for the Philippines, so he may have ended up there at some point.
One night - or maybe it was day time - he had a conversation with a desert cactus that looked strangely like his father which he mistook for a deity. “Lord,” it had said, “you are My gift to professional wrestling. I have made you in My image. You are to go forth and tell the world of my existence. Show them I exist with your every move. With your every victory exalt my name. I know you will do this as I have created you to be the Supreme Being is professional wrestling. In my name.”
At the time it was an extremely profound moment for Lord Blake. In retrospect, his wins seemed only possible through some Divine intervention. He spread his arms out wide and tilted his head up towards the moon - or maybe the sun - and basked in the revelation of his life’s purpose.
Of course, when he woke up in the morning he didn't remember 99% of his hallucination. Losing that much blood and then thinning the remainder with alcohol can also lead to memory loss.
When he woke up in his own bed with Ravey Mac cuddled into his chest and his belt on the night stand, that was the feeling of perfection.
And dehydration.
