Jin Rhee vs. Pedro Gonzales

The weight of Pedro's clothes hang heavy on this dark and stormy night.
Drops of rain have hung on to his garments, the fractured remains of a
far away body. Possibly a lake or a pond or an ocean. This water being
absorbed has been rising and falling down to Earth since before he was born.
Before anybody was born. In a strange way, this is about as ancient as it
gets. Fuck the fossils laying underneath the earth. This is everything coming
back. Death and resurrection. Formed and yet formless. The perfect
personification of what a man's life should be.

The weight threatens to slow him down. But he can not afford to falter.
Not with Cesar Salazar ahead of him somewhere in the ether shouting
directions. Speed up! Keep the knees up! This isn't just about speed.
He has plenty of acceleration. This is also a matter of stamina which,
let's face it, an athlete can never have enough of. It gets stranger when
you’re forced to run backwards. You'd have to trust your senses then to
inform you of any obstacles that may be in the way. Perhaps it seems
surreal. In this profession, though, what isn't? Besides there is always
something to learn from everything.

The wind feels good on his flesh. Makes him feel like he's flying off
of that top rope. It isn't the launching or the landing. Just that inbetween,
that middle, that actual moment of having no ground to stand on. That's
how it's like in Pangaea. You have no ground. You just freefall until
you either fly or die. It's so simple in the execution. Darwin's theory
of winner take all at work. Of course, there was another saying...
what was it again? Something about rising every time we fall?

There's no fancy places to go to when you live and work in Mexico City.
Civilized? Barely. Poisonious? Absolutely. Survival was the greater goal.
And Buckley can harp on about diversity all he wants. But what good was he
back in the day? Back before he knew everything? Probably just as one note
as every rookie anywhere. I am not broken.There's no need to rebuild the
unbroken. Merely add to it.That's the whole reason he's here. As if it
hasn't been refered to several thousand of times in many different ways.

Hold on a minute. Gotta leap over this tree branch.

This is an admission of guilt. This is me admitting to you that I
thought I knew what you wanted and tried to give it to you. I
mean, people have such a hard on for the egotists and the lame
monsters. So I went the route. I played the game. And what happens?
A loss. That's fine. But that never answers the question of WHAT
THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?

Then again, maybe it's not a question about what you want. Maybe
it's a question about what he wants. What he wants is acknowledgement.
Perhaps that's so hard to ask of you because he's not wearing a mask
or being a jerk or he isn't all roided up and pretending he is somebody
that shits out gold bars every five minutes. And here's the thing. The
thing that you can't get in your tiny little brains.

Pedro deserves better.

He deserves better than some guy who tries to make excuses about
losing by saying things like "oh, I didn’t compete at my best because
I didn’t care about the match.", blah-blah-blah. Listening to that caused
every sane man's bullshit meter to rise up and say oh rly, nao? Now
granted, he was right about the first match not being the standard
bearer to one's career. But professionals, real professionals, should
give a damn about every match every time. They should give all they
can once they hit those ropes, no matter if they're sick or lost or
whatever. Anything less than that...is a disgrace.

The lightning threatens to strike him every chance it gets as if the very gods
want to takes him down. And perhaps in someways, it's true. The heart keeps
beating, the rain keeps going down, yet he's beginning to catch up to Cesar
who is wheeling about as fast as his arms can propel him. The pump of
adrenaline from each man surges through tired muscles as each agonizing
moment gets them closer to their destination. Reverse! Reverse! Go ahead
while looking back causes something to snap inside his brain. Remember
who you were and never forget even if you aren't him anymore.
Booming thunder increases in regularity, pounding the earth along with
his heartbeat. Until finally...

"We're here."

Pedro stops within inches of his friend, looking at what seems to be a palace.
Just the massiveness, the majesty, the glory of Salazar's home is enough to
make him view it with awe. The building looks as if it was shaped out of marble
and pearl. Not a chip or a flaw in sight. This was the place that most would
call heaven (of course, they've never actually been above the clouds). The approch
to the entrance is slow, as if afraid of somehow fracturing the entire building just
by being there. This is the place he's going to be training in for...years?
Decades? However long it takes.

Soaked to the bone and filled with hope, he nods.