Post by bustergloves on Oct 19, 2022 0:08:20 GMT -5
~~~
We sleep safely at night
Because rough men stand
Ready to visit violence
On those who would harm us
~~~
A MESSAGE ABOUT VETERANS
We should recognize all those among us who have been a part of the great brotherhood we call the U.S. military. The service and sacrifice of our veterans has kept our country safe and free for generations.
Every person who served should lead high-quality lives with respect and dignity, but often they return home from war, unable to find work and without proper medical care. In addition, resources to aid those who served so honorably in the nation’s defense are often inaccessible. The health and well-being of our soldiers, after their watch is over, is the responsibility of all of us. We cannot leave our brothers and sisters behind.
Whenever you can, wherever you are, take time with the veterans in your life, engage with them, and treat them with dignity. Call. Email. Reach out. No matter how, keep connecting. They deserve so much more than we are giving them.
By joining organizations such as the Disabled American Veterans and getting involved, we can connect veterans, support them, and honor them. We can give them the opportunities that they earned through service and sacrifice. There are ways all of us can support those who bear the physical, emotional, and psychological scars of war. It’s important we get to know them and ensure they know we’ve got their six.
Thank you for taking the time to remember our heroes. They never gave up on us, and we can’t give up on them now.
www.dav.org
~~~
The soldier above all others prays for peace
For it is the soldier who must suffer
And bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.
~~~
SACRIFICE
Over four years in the military William Bernard Gloves, also known as Buster Gloves, did over five hundred combat missions. Iraq. Afghanistan. Wherever. Every one of those missions should have killed him. But he was one of the lucky ones. The United States Army allowed him to represent his country inside the cage, as a fighter, while still serving as active military. He wasn’t a generational talent; he was just some guy who couldn't give a shit about dying anymore.
When the US Army released him from his term of service, it looked like he was bound for bigger things. But quietly, he was struggling. The things he had seen while in combat haunted him. PTSD. Depression. Panic attacks. With the help of his wife and family, he was managing to get by. But most people didn’t even notice his pain. That’s the way pain works. You can’t see it. You can’t measure it. You just endure it.
Buster was holding his newborn son, his second boy, when his wife told him about her cancer. It was just a random day, in the middle of a random week. He went numb after that. His own struggles didn’t matter anymore, he had to be strong for someone else. And in his mind, the best thing he could do for them was to provide. So, he took more fights. He’d win some and lose some. It didn’t matter. He just needed to get paid and get his wife the treatment she needed. He pretended to be ok while watching his wife go through chemotherapy. He was holding her hand when she died.
The MMA gloves were retired less than a year later. He was totally defeated. Widower. Single father of two. Mediocre fighter. Forgotten veteran. He was made of spare parts and the ghosts of his past were still there. The struggle was overwhelming.
“Thank you for your service”, they would say. “Great fight last night”, they would say. “You’re the bestest Daddy in the entire world”, they would say. But he didn’t believe them. The most significant thing he had ever done was to stay alive -- and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to do that.
The doctor asked if he had been experiencing suicidal thoughts. Of course, he was. He spent a lot of time thinking that if he had just died in Iraq, things would have been better for everyone now. Maybe his wife would still be alive. He believed that he was the reason her body gave up, not the cancer. He should have don’t something to stop it.
Then the pills came. Xanax, Percocet, Oxycontin. He liked the pills. They made him not care. And the almost killed him a couple times. Which may not have been a bad thing. But finding a new vice to struggle with doesn’t make your other struggles go away. It just delays them.
His suffering became his identity. It was the thing that defined who he was. He cried sometimes. Not in front of people, and not for any specific reason. He’d just see something that reminded him of the war. And he’d breakdown. But mostly, he just wanted to sleep. He just wanted the noise to go away. And he wanted to feel sorry for himself.
There was something special about the day he turned things around. It wasn’t a holiday or anniversary. It was just one of those average days in the middle of the week. He woke up early like he had somewhere to be, but he didn’t. And once he figured out that he couldn’t go back to sleep, he decided to just get out of the house and go for a run. The sun wasn’t up yet. The neighbors were still in their beds. Be he was resolved to do something positive. Instead of driving to the gym, he walked. Then he jogged. Then he ran. For five miles. And he felt good.
Struggling is about forgetting the pain and taking one more step. It’s about knowing the road ahead of you and still taking a step in the right direction. For first time in a long time, instead of focusing on the pain INSIDE of him, he soaked in the world AROUND him. Physical pain is temporary. He could handle physical pain. So, he punished his body to heal his mind.
The apartments with balconies; the trees-- those beautiful fucking trees. It was like the first time he had ever looked at them. Like soldiers lining the streets, saluting their brothers. He appreciated the beauty. You don’t see trees like these in the Middle East. There was beauty in the world. Beauty that he hadn’t appreciated in a long time. So, he stopped at a random intersection and laid down in the grass. He looked at the clouds. And knew that he was going to be alright.
Buster was proud of this new pain, because he had chosen it himself. It gave him a new high. A runners’ high. And a rush of clarity followed it. The noise faded and peace emerged. If you’re struggling with your past, or with the challenges of your current position in life, I can offer you one bit of sound advice. Be thankful for the struggle, because without it, you’ll never stumble across your true strengths.
~~~
The world breaks everyone.
And after war, some are stronger
At the broken places.
~~~
THE CAGE
My name is Buster. I’m a veteran. I served four years in the middle east. You may have heard my story. You may think you know me. But I’ve only rarely been honest about the things I’m dealing with under the surface. On behalf of all American Veterans, I hope that by sharing my experience, I can shed light on the challenges that face our nation’s forgotten heroes.
My body is a cage. Full of pain and problems. I put them in there. I rattle them around and instigate them. It’s an illness I have where I can’t just leave good enough alone. The self-doubt, the worry, the regret. It never goes away. No medicine can dull it and there’s no cure. Every day, my bones tell me to quit, to walk away, to give up the fight. It’s nothing short of torture. To want to destroy myself. So, I made a deal. If I’m going to beat myself up, why not do it for an audience? This mind of mine, which is a wasteland of negativity, is filled with visions of incredible horror, unceasing depression, and crippling anxiety. But I pretend like that’s not the case. I try to put out positivity and give the love that I hope to get back. It doesn’t happen that way. Reality never meets expectations, and the loneliness is unending.
I can’t laugh. I can’t cry. There is no pleasure. There is only the fight. And when the fight is taken from me, I get cheated, I get treated unfairly, my purpose in life comes back into question. It used to be that I spend every moment waiting to go to sleep again. But now, all I think about is the next fight. The next person whose life has led them to the exact same place I’m standing. Are they struggling the same way I am? Do they need to go back to war, in a ring, just as badly as I do? I hope this wrestling thing last forever because when it’s over, I’ll be ready for the long sleep.
They told me that the early bird gets the worm. But I’m way past that stage. I’m 35 years old now. Broken, damaged, used. I’ve lived and died and lived again. Reborn as a soldier. Reborn as a fighter. Reborn as a wrestler. I had a dream, to hold a world championship, but my opportunity to do that is probably gone forever. I still think about it though. I long for that feeling, where for just a small period of time, all the sacrifices I made in life mean something. Sure, being a champion is a huge responsibility, but it’s also a milestone for success.
Or maybe it’s just the chase that I love. Having something to work towards. Something to focus on. I’ve been told to be patient and that anything that’s worth having is worth waiting for. But when you look at the wrestling industry and you see all the heartless wrestlers who can’t remember the titles they won or even the number of titles they’ve held, it makes you wonder if there’s actually any value in it. If you aren’t immersing yourself in the individual story behind each trophy, then you’re missing understanding the true gravity of your accomplishments. l long for the glory I’ve been denied my entire career. I want it badly, but I’m also patient. I’ll keep pushing until the timing is right. And eventually, when my time comes. I’ll be undeniable.
So many people in this business of wrestling and in this life have tried to warn me. They told me to stay inside the box. Work within a defined set of parameters and play it safe. But I just can’t. My gut kept me alive in combat. I need to trust it now. My gut tells me that I’m a world champion. So much for a quiet death.
~~~
Coming home doesn’t mean the war is over
For veterans, it just means a new battle begins.
~~~
DECONSTRUCTION
When you’re an imperfect person, your brain is wired to struggle. But through that struggle you earned the right to be loved. You earn a place where you belong and gain a purpose. You earn the words on your tombstone. Buster Gloves knows struggle. His place is in the ring. And his purpose is to defend the sanctity of the art.
There was a time when he was happy. Life was simpler back then, just before the pro-wrestling. Before the relationships and the money, there was just Coach Buster and his crappy little MMA gym. There were ball games with his kids and fishing on the river. Keeping the lights on was a problem, but it was never enough to bother him. He always found a way to make things work out. And he slept well.
But good times don’t last. Every step upwards has a cost. So, when Buster signed his first major wrestling contract with Level Up wrestling, it was a blessing and a curse. The steady income took care of many of the financial issues. The lights stayed on. The credit cards got paid off. He even got rid of that rusty old beater with 150,000 miles on it. But his family paid a toll. Traveling cross country for wrestling shows is not a lifestyle for a single father. It’s not fair to the kids who need a positive male presence in the formative years of their lives.
The early matches of his career went surprisingly well. He won his debut in a four-way battle. Then he won his next match. And the one after. And the five after that. His star was on the rise, but his family suffered. And he never felt more alone than when he left his two tweenage sons with their grandfather, while Buster ran off to catch his next flight. Being on the road started to feel like being deployed overseas. And he felt overwhelmed by a duty to serve, protect, and represent all the good people who had sacrificed for him.
Winning his first championship felt like turning the tide of the war. It was a major victory to win, but a bigger responsibility to hold. The expectation is to be perfect. To be flawless. To never show weakness.
The truth is that, just like when he was in the military, winning a battle was never final. There was no time for celebration.
That’s how Buster became a fighting champion. He was expected to go out there and perform. Accept all challenges. Put on a show. Retain. And HE DID THOSE THINGS. But he quietly suffered at the same time.
The reputation he gains as a rule follower and a pure wrestler, put a target on his back. Many in the business sought out to make an example out of the good guy. The world has a way of chewing up goodness and repurposing it for its own sinister motives. Buster had proven that hard work, faith, loyalty, and commitment are rewarded. He also proved just how naïve and ripe for the picking he was.
True evil always seeks to corrupt the purest spirits. So, when Buster became a secondary Champion, malevolent actors set upon him with malice in their hearts. Plans were made to bring down one of that last good human beings left in wrestling.
Buster’s family was attacked. His father hospitalized after an assault. His girlfriend was kidnapped. He was attacked backstage and nearly beaten to death in a swamp. Buster was equipped to deal with any one of these problems individually, but dealing with one thing after another after another, broke down his defenses. In time, the attacks, the comments, the threats defeated him. He made mistakes in the ring. He distanced himself from his family. He lied to his girlfriend. And then he forgot how to wrestle.
First it was a meaningless loss against an enemy in an insignificant match. The average wrestling fan didn’t care, but to Buster was the realization of months of fears. That he was losing control. It was inevitable. So, he had a drink. The first one in over five years. Months of crawling through shadows had poisoned him. He lost his championship. He lost his rematch. He drank to cope with the losses in the ring. And the more he drank, the more things unraveled at home.
There must be a balance between power and vulnerability in your life. Bearing your soul on a national stage may feel like the right thing to do, but it never serves you well. If you plan to hold down your position, you need to soldier up and arm yourself. You need to lay down suppressive fire. And remind the enemy of the deadly force you possess.
Peace through strength.
~~~
I come in peace.
I didn’t bring artillery.
But I’m pleading with you,
With tears in my eyes,
If you fuck with me,
I’ll kill you all.
~~~
THE MOUNTAINTOP
There was a farmer who grew up in a valley beneath a great and beautiful mountain. Every morning, he got up early to tend to his fields and watched the sun rise over the mountain. He had never climbed it. He never knew the beauty of its details, or the sharpness of its edges, but the mountain still called to him. He longed to climb the mountain, and to see the view of his quaint little farm from the heavens above. He thought if he could just go up there once, he'd gain a new appreciation for everything he already had down below. But the man on top of the mountain didn’t fall there, he climbed. And you don’t get to the top by wishing it was smaller.
There are hundreds of paths up the mountain, all leading to the same place. It doesn’t matter which path you take or how long it takes you to get there. As long as you’re climbing and not telling everyone that their path is wrong, you can get to the summit as well. I found MY path up the mountain. It’s taking me through the XWF and directly towards Finn Kuhn. He’s the Gatekeeper. The King in Rags. The Kaiser. Isn’t he the best?
I’ve heard so many times that Finn is the perfect opponent for me. That we have compatible styles to put together five star matches every time. Maybe the stories are true. Anyone who watched our match at Back to Relentless will tell you that we are two sides of one coin. The same, but different.
Mr. Kuhn prides himself on preparation. Putting in long hours studying his opponent and developing a strategy. He does this because he underestimates himself. He overprepares, he rushes to the ring, and throws the plan out the window. That strategy works for him sometimes. But it’s not going to work at the TFCE. We already know each other’s styles. A dossier of my deepest darkest secrets won’t help him anymore. I learned everything I need to know about him during our first match.
They gave me a shortcut to climb the mountain of the XWF. They dangled Finn Kuhn in my way and told me that if I beat him, I’d earn a fast-track to the top. A magical gondola to Wrestling Olympus. But I lost. Sort of. Whether or not it was a clean finish doesn’t matter. My quest was over before it began. But then, the most unexpected thing happened. I was given another chance. An invitation to come back. And a rematch.
When I came to the XWF, I had a modest resume. If you hear Finn talk about it, you’d think I was the god of war, but the truth is that I’m a washed-up MMA guy that started wrestling way too late in life. I own that. I’m aware of my weaknesses. But where there is a lack of accomplishment, there is an abundance of opportunity.
Finn Kuhn embarrassed me in front of the world. And yes, it’s very possible that he had help, but that loss is still on me. I should have finished him earlier. He took the win because I gave it to him. I guess I’ve just gotten so used to losing that I manifested a loss where there didn’t need to be one.
When you have post traumatic stress like I do, you lose your battle every day. You fight and fail to get back your faith in humanity. I lose a match? So what? I’m still here. I get pinned? So what? I’m still alive. Cheating me out of a win isn’t the killing blow that people think it is, because I get another chance to live tomorrow. You can’t kill me, Finn. I am a soldier. I fight where I am told, and I win where I am told.
People look at me and my record and my resume and they giggle. Which I think is great. Go ahead and underestimate me. Lower your expectations. Sleep on me. Because my day is coming. I’m hyper vigilant. I serve and I sacrifice to no end.
Finn Kuhn is not my enemy. He’s my peer. My ring equal. We aren’t two armies battling each other to the death, we are one legion trying to convince half of itself not to commit suicide. His integrity was stolen, just as mine was. We get another chance at immortality. Only this time we get to do it on a neutral field. And we get to do it for a cause greater than ourselves.
The charity I’m representing is the Disabled American Veterans. As a veteran myself. I can speak to the importance of having the support of a foundation like this. Having a network of like-minded individuals behind you can be a lifechanging experience. When my demons were defeating me and I needed help, the DAV was there for me, at no cost, and without any judgement. I’m a survivor and this organization saved my life. The least I can do now is raise awareness about their cause, contribute to their mission, and support veterans like myself who are struggling to this day.
All veterans deserve a chance to attain the American Dream. They deserve to have their dignity restored through steady work. They deserve to have their pain treated. My American Dream is to work my way up the mountaintop, overcome the obstacles put in front of me, and eventually reach the summit so that I may appreciate the beauty of the valley below. The American Dream is a promise made to you by your ancestors. It is your duty to defend it for your descendants.
Be well and take care of each other.
~~~
