Post by Thomas Uriel Bates on Jun 8, 2017 2:18:17 GMT -6
The Second Saga of Thomas Uriel Bates
Part I: Second Chances
Part I: Second Chances
Everyone deserves a second chance. Even when they think they don’t deserve it, they find that circumstances give it to them anyway. A career criminal may receive a lighter sentence, or be paroled, and genuinely change his life around. He may find religion, or he may become a father and learn that there is so much more to life than what he once thought. We are all human, and to err is indeed human. We all make mistakes, but it is those second chances that gives us a way to make it right again.
In spite of the rumors we may tell, none of us is God. Nor are any of us some deity that exists in any of the multiple religions or mythologies the world has produced. We are not perfect creatures. We are flawed. We are human. He is human.
It is true that he is not your typical human. He is a giant amongst men. Although he is not the tallest, standing only at six feet and eight inches, and having four hundred and thirty pounds of solid, well chiseled muscle, he is one of the strongest men on the planet. He has broken records that have stood for thousands of years, set only in myths and legends. He is the modern incarnation of Thor, of Hercules, and of every hero of the histories that leap from the sagas and bury themselves deep within the heats of all who glimpse upon its stories.
Yet it is not his size that grabs men’s hearts, and weaken the knees of women. It is instead his heart, for although a man of his stature could easily dominate, and easily proclaim himself to be a god-emperor of the modern era, he has instead chosen to be a paladin. A warrior on the side of good. A champion for all things worthy. He is merciful. He is honorable. He is in the wrong business.
A man such as he should be King. He should be gathered with his knights at the round table, and working to ensure peace, security, and happiness through-out the realm. Instead he stands at some half empty parking lot in New York City, at the headquarters of the Extreme Wrestling Corporation, ready to continue on his path to greatness as a modern-day gladiator; a professional wrestler.
It is here where we discuss second chances. As our giant stands in this parking lot, with ran pelting down on his hardened skin, dripping from his hair and his beard, he gives pause. This is not his first venture into wrestling. This was indeed his family business after all. No, this is the second company he has come to. This is, by all measures, his second chance.
His first run was quite successful. He reached legendary status within the company quickly. He held their World Championship twice, their Television Championship twice, as well as the United States, Tag Team, and Trio’s Championships. He was a Triple Crown Champion, one of only a small percentage to reach such status, and one of the only ones to do so in such a short time. So why then, does our mountain of a warrior, need a second chance?
Guilt. The Oxford English Dictionary, a favorite of the hero of our tales, defines guilt as, “the fact of having committed a specified or implied offense or crime,” and second as, “a feeling of having committed wrong or failed in an obligation”. It is the latter definition of the word of which our friendly giant now struggles with. It was not some crime he committed, or any particular wrong doing, but rather it is the feeling that he has failed in his obligation.
He wasn’t just a champion of titles in his old company. He was a champion of the company, and of the people. He defended it, protected it, until he could not protect it any further. That was his fall from grace. It was not some betrayal, nor some simple mistake that stole this life from him. His failure, was that he could not protect his home. The guilt that weights down the strongest man, the heroic mountain warrior, is failure. To a man such as Thomas Uriel Bates, it has damned his soul.
This once cheerful and talkative person, renowned for his verbose speeches, has remained somber and quiet as of late. In fact, he hasn’t spoken a word since New Year’s Day of this year. It was that day that he nearly took a life. Yet that, in his mind and in his heart, is not the crime of which torments his soul. It was the day that he walked away. It was the day he had enough. It was the day he abandoned his post.
A good commander knows when to leave the battlefield. He knows when the battle is lost, and when to retreat. For it is not the retreat that can destroy an army, but rather a continued assault when the battle has already been lost. The Army of Northern Virginia was defeated before Pickett’s Charge, yet they stubbornly pushed forward. The Army of Tennessee was defeated before General Hood ordered his charge, yet his stubbornness broke the back of his army and destroyed any hope of the Confederacy winning the war, or reaching some stalemate.
Yet sometimes you have no choice. General Grant was known for his stubbornness. He pushed his men into the fight, even though he was, tactically, defeated. Instead, he pushed hard enough, strong enough, and stubborn enough, that he pushed his way into Richmond and secured victory for the Union. Stubbornness can, at times, be the right course of action. No one has a window to the future, telling them which path to take before they take it. It is often luck that propels some men to glory, while leaving some lamenting of their failures.
We read about these people in the history books, but rarely do we consider just how these battles affected them. John Bell Hood, commander of the Army of Tennessee during the Battle of Franklin, issued a letter of resignation on the Twenty-Third of January Eighteen Sixty-Five. In this letter of resignation, he stated, “I am alone responsible for its conception.” Likewise, Robert E. Lee was heard after Pickett’s Charge as stating that the failure was, “all my fault.” Little do we pay attention to the aftermath of the battle, and therefore we rarely discover the true personality of the men who led them. Little do we know of the guilt they felt, and the turmoil that burned at their soul.
Onward go I, into that dense and darkened forest that is my future. Onward we must, for to dwell on the past is to drown in the ditch of which have dug. Forward must we travel, and into the uncertain future we go, for there is no alternative. Death will one day claim all of us, but only few of us will have stories worth telling as we are guided to our eternal home.
So onward he travels, the mountain in physique and in spirit. Onward goes he, through that forest of parked cars, upon the asphalt path which leads him to his new home. Forward he does travel, and the uncertainty of the EWC he goes. With ink on paper our giant moves on, and promises to himself to give Death a story worthy to be told.