August 10, 2014

July 26th was only sixteen days ago if you count today— SIXTEEN. And it's funny, when I sit still, I feel like I'm standing in the middle of the ring with my hand raised triumphantly as the winner of the latest Chase for the Crown. I'm talking about euphoria. Adrenaline-bouncing, soul-flying, smile-inducing adrenaline like no other and I know Christopher Kane and Misty Whitmore are no strangers to that particular feeling.

I know that without a shadow of a doubt because they have both held IMPORTANT gold before. I realize that's a little misleading for me to spin it that way— I'm not trying to be crass, but the first belt I held was in a fly-by-night Canadian promotion based out of Halifax that literally lasted five shows. I won an open invitational sent out to all Canadian FEMALE wrestlers who were currently free agents. Naturally, I jumped at the opportunity because I was almost desperate for the glory after failing so miserably in Future Shock's eighth season. Sad but true: I let a popularity contest on the Internet get me down. I let losing that fan vote twist me around so badly I almost pulled the plug on this dream of mine before ever really giving myself a fair chance to succeed. I let it lead me into some of the WORST mistakes of my career. From ACW's closure to that open rumble on a cruise ship for the other Sin City Wrestling for yet another title. I won.

A fan of Mercedes Vargas (or perhaps Little Miss Overrated herself) keeps reminding me on ask.fm that she defeated me for that title like it's a feather in her cap. We're talking about a company that employs STRIPPERS and Maybelline spokes-models. Yes. This is a valid reason for her to claim she's better. I'd already mentally checked out. I let her pin me. Go back and watch the footage and you'll realize that the Nessa Wall that you all know was curiously absent at that event. It was like a stranger was wearing my face, sloppily running through my arsenal.

I hate myself for that moment.

I should have walked out and vacated the belt.

Be that as it may, the truth of the matter is this: I am legitimately better than Ms. Vargas. That's already been proven without a shadow of a doubt in FFW.

I'm a firm believer in karma and providence. Things happen for a reason, to people who deserve it. This is why we've come full circle. I have a third opportunity to capture a title on Canadian soil. I was successful in my first attempt in Atlantic Championship Wrestling. The last time in Toronto was ruined by a jealous little birth— the party was crashed by half the damned roster and somehow Misty Whitmore ended up in the mix. For the life of me, I can't remember how when my match against Leona was supposed to decide who got the golden opportunity.

A few things have slipped my mind recently and you'll have to bear with me. I'm planning a wedding while training almost non-stop for THIS moment. I've endured the ludicrous libel towards my character (and my integrity), accusing me the worst possible crime in this business: being lazy. Christopher Kane has been coasting for months on the lackluster fumes of that surname of his. He claims he CARES about the division, about the gold but I see him (more often than not) babbling on and on about video games in between marathon flirting sessions with his little girlfriend. That sort of nonsense may fly in another company like Ice Dog where 10 seconds of passing interest and skill at bullshitting can get you through to the next opponent but this company was founded on being a cut above the rest. This belt is the embodiment of every sacrifice I have made for this business. I want to slap that goofy smirk off your face and make you realize that a champion should command respect. They should look up to you, Christopher.

I wasn't lying when I said I didn't respect you.

When your top priority is the revolving door of Twitter love connections, you're not a role model.

You're a child.

That's not to say that I feel the same way about Misty, but I know you're going to get your boxers in a bunch over the thought. Misty Whitmore is a hell of a competitor. She was a hell of a gymnast, too. I was already retired, but we both trained in the same place. I was pulling for her to make the Olympic team. A girl from our neighborhood, our alma mater… that was a HUGE thing— I know you don't care. It isn't relevant now.

Over the last few weeks, I've been wondering if I will end up regretting this later in my career. Quite frankly, I don't care. I am who I am— I am how I am, and if people dislike that, then they can go tinkle up a rope, as the saying goes.

I realize I take things far too seriously.

I know I am a workaholic.

I know I'm obsessive and vain and narcissistic (the latter, I am not really too sure of, but I've been called it too often for it to be dismissed in kind).

I also know that with great power comes great— whoops, wrong line.

I know that nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight. To achieve your dreams, you need to sacrifice and I have accepted that.

So here we are, Christopher: on the eve of my greatest triumph yet.

In my hometown. In Misty's hometown.

My spotlight moment is right here for the picking and I will not allow it to be ripped from my grasp by a goddamn CHILD.

I've become a cliché somehow, I think. The memory eludes me as to which one of the idiots called me that first. I wonder what Reiha looks like. I wonder how she feels about her loss. I wonder if she will be watching tonight, hoping for my failure so she can laugh, and pretend that she had something to do with it.

We've been here before, Chris.

Last time you got lucky because of Leona.

It won't happen again because the last thing I want to do is look back and find that all the mountains I climbed to get here were nothing more than tiny little bumps in the sand. I don't want to do it all over again. This is it. This is the last time we're going to clash like this.

Pride is on the line and it's not just the gold and leather you think is so damned important.

It's the reality.

The actuality.

I don't think you're ready for your free ride to end on someone else's terms.

Too bad. So sad. Don't care.

#kissykissy

—NESS