Post by Jack Tillman on May 28, 2017 1:06:25 GMT
-Chop.......chop......chop goes the knife. Chop......chop.....chop goes the knife into the little piggy. Chop.....chop......chop........as the piggy goes to heaven. Chop.....chop......chop.
-This was a little tune my father use to sing to me as I was a child while he was working in his butcher shop. I'd be in a little play pen, playing with toys or doing stupid baby things while my father chopped away at dead pigs, cows, lambs, and chickens. I always remember the smell of blood and fat in the air, always singing old songs from the homeland of Poland, and wearing the same old bloody apron. Lucky enough he also taught me how to cut meat. How to carve and slice and dice. Where to get the best meat. How to hang the meat up and where to cut to kill the animal where it won't feel a thing.
-Yeah......the old man taught me that when I was 10. I didn't want to but daddy insisted. If I didn't then he was going to beat my ass and then stretch me. It was a pig. I killed it.....just the way he taught me. I only killed a couple of animals after that, but you never forget your first kill.
-I tell you that story to explain why I have a cleaver in one hand and a hone in the other. Both sets were my fathers who used them in the butcher shop, and also to the wrestling ring. See he'd come down to the ring with the cleaver in hand and sharpen it with he hone. Sort of a way to intimidate his opponents and the crowd. For the longest time they had been in storage, sort of collecting dust. Past week though I've been thinking about the old man. So I took the old cleaver out, cleaned it up, and started to sharpen it. In front of me, a big pig slab that's already been gutted and cleaned. All it needs now is to be chopped up. So lifting up my hand, I begin to chop away at the slab of meat with the cleaver. While doing so, I give the wrestling world a promo that it so desperately wants.
Jack Tillman: "In my possession are the butcher knife of my old man........Boris "The Butcher" Tillman. He was named the Butcher because thats what he was in his off days. See wrestlers back then in the 80s, they weren't paid like they are now. They weren't promised these big guaranteed contracts. They were paid per show for sometimes around 20 bucks. They also worked in territories. My old man, he worked in the mid west. So he'd travel to Kansas City, St. Louis, Denver, Des Moines, Omaha, and Lincoln during the weekend to earn a living. Some times he'd wrestle two times a day or even three. Mattered how far between the shows were.
To save on gas and help with wear and tear on your car, all the guys that could stand one another would pile up in a car and drive to their destinations. Chain smoking was still a thing and it wasn't uncommon to have a 24 pack of beer in the car. That......that's what wrestling is supposed to. The men back in the day......they were humble. They knew what a dollar was worth. They didn't bitch or moan or complain. They went into that ring with other wrestlers and just beat the ever living shit out of one another without thinking of the repercussions. The guys that were the toughest or knew the most in that ring were looked up upon. They were cheered. They were celebrated. People knew that they were bad asses and knew not to fuck with them.
When the weekend was over, they'd all pack back in their cars and drive back to their home towns so that they could go back to being normal people......that and recover from injuries. My old man, he was a butcher in his normal life. He used these knifes to continue to make a living for his kids and myself so that we could have normal life's."
-But a wrestling life isn't normal is it?
Jack Tillman: "My old man was a humble man who trained me hard. He pushed me. Made me think. Taught me how to survive in that ring. Every time I step in that ring, I keep on hearing him in the back of my head......giving me advice and cussing me out for making a mistake. But he never pushed me as hard as he did with past students of his. Kurt Newman, a former student of his, used to tell me stories of how my old man would just beat the living shit out of him.....some times to the point where Kurt thought of quitting and never returning. But that's what my old man was trying to do.....to weed out people to see if they did belong or not. He wanted to see if these boys loved the sport enough to go through pain and agony to such a point that you would question if this was something that you really wanted to do.
My Dad didn't do that to me though....he never pushed me that hard because he loved me and it was hard for him to push his son to that level. When I started training with Kurt......Kurt tried to push me to that level but he wasn't able to either because he loved me just like my dad loved me. So Kurt sent me away. I went to Britain, Mexico, South Africa, Canada, Australia so that I could learn and improve. But I wasn't pushed to that point that I needed to.
It wasn't until NJFC opened that I had one last style of wrestling to master.....and one last place where Kurt knew that I'd be able to get pushed to that point that I needed to become a legend in this industry. Because of my ties with Kurt Newman, I was one of the first students to be accepted in their Dojo and immediately became a young boy."
-Remembering those days doesn't do me any good. I think of the beatings and feeling like my life was shit. The lowest of the lows in my life.
Jack Tillman: "For those of you who don't know what it means to be a young lion in Japan......it's simple. You start off at the very beginning as a Young boy. You're stripped of everything that makes you.....you. Cloths are taken away. Your head is shaved. Your name is even taken away. I wasn't called Jack for a year. Instead, I was called Gaijin my entire time there, which means foreigner in Japanese. I was nothing and I was treated like nothing because in their eyes I was nothing. All the training and all the skills I had accumulated over the years.....it meant nothing. I was a clean slate in their eyes who didn't know the difference between a wrist lock and an ankle lock.
My mornings started at 4.....waking up in a small ass room while sleeping on an air mattress with no pillow and thin as hell bed sheets. I had to help cook meals for the teachers, who didn't speak a lick of English, and then clean the dishes after everyone got done. At 7 in the morning I had to do a thousand squats, an ass load of push ups and crunches, and run 10 miles. After that, then we got to wrestle in the ring with the teachers and fellow students. Not before setting up the ring though.
You had to perfect a wrist lock that the teachers liked.....if not then they'd put a wrist lock on you and then stretch you and wouldn't let go until you had tears running down your face. If you fucked up on a move, then they'd stretch you. You didn't bounce off the ropes right, they'd stretch you. You fucked up on a hold....they'd stretch you. Hell.....you look at them funny and they'd stretch you and beat your face in until one of your eyes were closed shut from the swelling. And they loved to stretch me. Not because I spoke out or bitched about the training......it was because I was a Gaijin......and they hated white folks. So I got the snot beat out of me on a daily basis where almost every night I had a busted up lip or a bloody nose that was dislocated.
By the end of the day, my fellow students and I had to clean the dojo. That meant getting on our hands and knees and scrub the floor and wrestling ring with soap and water. It takes forever cleaning blood out of a wrestling ring with only a brush and some soapy water. Myself and some of my fellow students would then go watch old wrestling matches to learn and improve while icing our bodies. By the time I went to bed, it'd be 10 to 12 at night. My body would be soar, my mind would be drained and my will to continue would be challenged daily.
Later on we were assigned to top wrestlers in NJFC and learn from them. My teacher......none other than Mark Storm. My duties to him were simple, carry his bags, clean up after him, drive him around, escort him to the ring and help him out of the ring, prepare his food, and do what ever Mark asked me to do. In return, he'd train me and he'd give me advice in and out of that ring. It was pretty much an internship.......but much harder.
But I stuck around. For an entire year I battled to survive and learn. To evolve or die in this industry. The only thing keeping me going was wanting to make my old man proud. To get as much knowledge and skill as humanly possible to be better than him some day. That I could make Kurt Newman and so many of my past teachers proud. While my fellow students dropped out one by one.....myself and Kento Nagata were the only ones left standing from a 20 student class in 2015.
My time in Japan made me what you see today. My time in the NJFC dojo made me the skilled professional wrestler that I am today. My travel to being a professional wrestler was done the best way possible. I didn't take short cuts. I didn't cut corners. I earned where I'm at right now. I earned that title professional wrestler.
This is why I hate so many wrestlers in the industry today because they didn't earn that right to be called professional wrestler. They had to cut corners and had to take short cuts because they weren't good enough to go through the same shit I went through. They didn't have to go through the pain and torture and mind fuckness I went through because they don't have the heart or determination like I do for this industry.
But because they're not afraid to show off their tits, apply makeup to their face, able to talk on the microphone, and or have some type of gimmick.....they think they're better in that ring than anyone else. But if you look at the film, look at their history, and seen what training they've been through........they're nothing but liars who don't know the difference between an ankle lock or a wrist lock. But they're loved and wanted by management and fans because they're 15 minutes of fame are here and now. Nothing but whores to the industry. Doing it more for the money than for the heart."
-Slamming the cleaver on the table, the impact is great enough to where it cuts into the table. All those memories. Can't help but want to burn this whole world down with everyone screaming in pain. Pain has and will always be my friend since the days of my training.
Jack Tillman: "Julianna DiMaria I look at you and everything that you've done....and I don't see a second generation professional wrestler. I don't see this great athlete. I don't even see an equal. I see a sports entertainer. I see a model. I see a 5'5, 125 pound little girl who's in an industry she doesn't belong in. I see a scrawny little girl that can't bench her own weight. I see a run way model who's only in the wrestling industry because mommy and daddy want her to be the industry....and she can't say no to mommy and daddy. I see a sloppy little rag doll who's slow in the ring and trips over herself when she's trying to hit her opponents with her lack of a move set.
I see why you're in West Coast Genesis Juliana.....the developmental league of Redemption Wrestling. A much better talker than a fighter, something that the higher ups in Redemption like to see in their little wrestling world. A pretty face and a killer looking body to match.......who cares if she can't properly apply a head lock. Not trained well enough by mommy and daddy to realize that if you need to make it in this industry, 125 pounds isn't going to be enough to take out the best of the best......but damn you look good in a bikini.
Juliana......I despise people like you in this industry because you take this industry for granted. By being in this tournament you took a spot that should have gone to someone who actually gives a damn about this business. You took food and money out of a professional wrestlers hands just so you could get eyes on you and your skimpy little outfit that makes your boobs pop out and makes your ass look big. You're taking an opportunity from someone that wants to be in this tournament.....not someone like you who thought it was a good idea because it might help you in your near future modeling career.
Oh but I can hear it now. That you're a threat. That you mean business. That you're able to kick my ass and out wrestle me. Blah, blah, blah. You're a 125 pound stick figure. You're punches will feel like pillows across my skin. Your kicks will feel like water as it splashes against my body. And your slams......well you won't be able to pick me up because of the whole lack of muscles on your end. You won't be able to out wrestle me because I've been better trained than you. I'm faster, stronger, and better in that ring than you in every way possible.
And if you don't believe me.....go watch my matches in Redemption. Go ask Trixie how I dominated her time and time again in that ring. Go ask Hixx how her neck and head felt after I drove her head onto a steel chair time and time again last week. Go ask Burchill how it felt as I kicked her ass on multiple road shows. Never been pinned. Never been submitted. A dominate force and someone not to be fucked with on the main Redemption roster Juliana. So if they couldn't stop me.....what makes you?
So you can go ahead and get on top of your soap box and scream and yell about how dangerous an individual you are.......your words will mean shit though because at the end of the day..... your tapes don't lie."
-Leaning towards the camera, I take my index finger and slowly tap it on the camera lens.
Jack Tillman: "Time to wake up Dorothy........your not in Oz any more."
-By now the pig is chopped up and wrapped up in plastic paper ready to be served, cooked, or done what ever with. Stacked up on the table, I wipe the blood and fat off of the cleaver onto the once white apron. Looking down at the cleaver, I look into it and I can't help but see my old man looking back at me. That's good for now Boris, we'll talk later.
-End Scene.
-This was a little tune my father use to sing to me as I was a child while he was working in his butcher shop. I'd be in a little play pen, playing with toys or doing stupid baby things while my father chopped away at dead pigs, cows, lambs, and chickens. I always remember the smell of blood and fat in the air, always singing old songs from the homeland of Poland, and wearing the same old bloody apron. Lucky enough he also taught me how to cut meat. How to carve and slice and dice. Where to get the best meat. How to hang the meat up and where to cut to kill the animal where it won't feel a thing.
-Yeah......the old man taught me that when I was 10. I didn't want to but daddy insisted. If I didn't then he was going to beat my ass and then stretch me. It was a pig. I killed it.....just the way he taught me. I only killed a couple of animals after that, but you never forget your first kill.
-I tell you that story to explain why I have a cleaver in one hand and a hone in the other. Both sets were my fathers who used them in the butcher shop, and also to the wrestling ring. See he'd come down to the ring with the cleaver in hand and sharpen it with he hone. Sort of a way to intimidate his opponents and the crowd. For the longest time they had been in storage, sort of collecting dust. Past week though I've been thinking about the old man. So I took the old cleaver out, cleaned it up, and started to sharpen it. In front of me, a big pig slab that's already been gutted and cleaned. All it needs now is to be chopped up. So lifting up my hand, I begin to chop away at the slab of meat with the cleaver. While doing so, I give the wrestling world a promo that it so desperately wants.
Jack Tillman: "In my possession are the butcher knife of my old man........Boris "The Butcher" Tillman. He was named the Butcher because thats what he was in his off days. See wrestlers back then in the 80s, they weren't paid like they are now. They weren't promised these big guaranteed contracts. They were paid per show for sometimes around 20 bucks. They also worked in territories. My old man, he worked in the mid west. So he'd travel to Kansas City, St. Louis, Denver, Des Moines, Omaha, and Lincoln during the weekend to earn a living. Some times he'd wrestle two times a day or even three. Mattered how far between the shows were.
To save on gas and help with wear and tear on your car, all the guys that could stand one another would pile up in a car and drive to their destinations. Chain smoking was still a thing and it wasn't uncommon to have a 24 pack of beer in the car. That......that's what wrestling is supposed to. The men back in the day......they were humble. They knew what a dollar was worth. They didn't bitch or moan or complain. They went into that ring with other wrestlers and just beat the ever living shit out of one another without thinking of the repercussions. The guys that were the toughest or knew the most in that ring were looked up upon. They were cheered. They were celebrated. People knew that they were bad asses and knew not to fuck with them.
When the weekend was over, they'd all pack back in their cars and drive back to their home towns so that they could go back to being normal people......that and recover from injuries. My old man, he was a butcher in his normal life. He used these knifes to continue to make a living for his kids and myself so that we could have normal life's."
-But a wrestling life isn't normal is it?
Jack Tillman: "My old man was a humble man who trained me hard. He pushed me. Made me think. Taught me how to survive in that ring. Every time I step in that ring, I keep on hearing him in the back of my head......giving me advice and cussing me out for making a mistake. But he never pushed me as hard as he did with past students of his. Kurt Newman, a former student of his, used to tell me stories of how my old man would just beat the living shit out of him.....some times to the point where Kurt thought of quitting and never returning. But that's what my old man was trying to do.....to weed out people to see if they did belong or not. He wanted to see if these boys loved the sport enough to go through pain and agony to such a point that you would question if this was something that you really wanted to do.
My Dad didn't do that to me though....he never pushed me that hard because he loved me and it was hard for him to push his son to that level. When I started training with Kurt......Kurt tried to push me to that level but he wasn't able to either because he loved me just like my dad loved me. So Kurt sent me away. I went to Britain, Mexico, South Africa, Canada, Australia so that I could learn and improve. But I wasn't pushed to that point that I needed to.
It wasn't until NJFC opened that I had one last style of wrestling to master.....and one last place where Kurt knew that I'd be able to get pushed to that point that I needed to become a legend in this industry. Because of my ties with Kurt Newman, I was one of the first students to be accepted in their Dojo and immediately became a young boy."
-Remembering those days doesn't do me any good. I think of the beatings and feeling like my life was shit. The lowest of the lows in my life.
Jack Tillman: "For those of you who don't know what it means to be a young lion in Japan......it's simple. You start off at the very beginning as a Young boy. You're stripped of everything that makes you.....you. Cloths are taken away. Your head is shaved. Your name is even taken away. I wasn't called Jack for a year. Instead, I was called Gaijin my entire time there, which means foreigner in Japanese. I was nothing and I was treated like nothing because in their eyes I was nothing. All the training and all the skills I had accumulated over the years.....it meant nothing. I was a clean slate in their eyes who didn't know the difference between a wrist lock and an ankle lock.
My mornings started at 4.....waking up in a small ass room while sleeping on an air mattress with no pillow and thin as hell bed sheets. I had to help cook meals for the teachers, who didn't speak a lick of English, and then clean the dishes after everyone got done. At 7 in the morning I had to do a thousand squats, an ass load of push ups and crunches, and run 10 miles. After that, then we got to wrestle in the ring with the teachers and fellow students. Not before setting up the ring though.
You had to perfect a wrist lock that the teachers liked.....if not then they'd put a wrist lock on you and then stretch you and wouldn't let go until you had tears running down your face. If you fucked up on a move, then they'd stretch you. You didn't bounce off the ropes right, they'd stretch you. You fucked up on a hold....they'd stretch you. Hell.....you look at them funny and they'd stretch you and beat your face in until one of your eyes were closed shut from the swelling. And they loved to stretch me. Not because I spoke out or bitched about the training......it was because I was a Gaijin......and they hated white folks. So I got the snot beat out of me on a daily basis where almost every night I had a busted up lip or a bloody nose that was dislocated.
By the end of the day, my fellow students and I had to clean the dojo. That meant getting on our hands and knees and scrub the floor and wrestling ring with soap and water. It takes forever cleaning blood out of a wrestling ring with only a brush and some soapy water. Myself and some of my fellow students would then go watch old wrestling matches to learn and improve while icing our bodies. By the time I went to bed, it'd be 10 to 12 at night. My body would be soar, my mind would be drained and my will to continue would be challenged daily.
Later on we were assigned to top wrestlers in NJFC and learn from them. My teacher......none other than Mark Storm. My duties to him were simple, carry his bags, clean up after him, drive him around, escort him to the ring and help him out of the ring, prepare his food, and do what ever Mark asked me to do. In return, he'd train me and he'd give me advice in and out of that ring. It was pretty much an internship.......but much harder.
But I stuck around. For an entire year I battled to survive and learn. To evolve or die in this industry. The only thing keeping me going was wanting to make my old man proud. To get as much knowledge and skill as humanly possible to be better than him some day. That I could make Kurt Newman and so many of my past teachers proud. While my fellow students dropped out one by one.....myself and Kento Nagata were the only ones left standing from a 20 student class in 2015.
My time in Japan made me what you see today. My time in the NJFC dojo made me the skilled professional wrestler that I am today. My travel to being a professional wrestler was done the best way possible. I didn't take short cuts. I didn't cut corners. I earned where I'm at right now. I earned that title professional wrestler.
This is why I hate so many wrestlers in the industry today because they didn't earn that right to be called professional wrestler. They had to cut corners and had to take short cuts because they weren't good enough to go through the same shit I went through. They didn't have to go through the pain and torture and mind fuckness I went through because they don't have the heart or determination like I do for this industry.
But because they're not afraid to show off their tits, apply makeup to their face, able to talk on the microphone, and or have some type of gimmick.....they think they're better in that ring than anyone else. But if you look at the film, look at their history, and seen what training they've been through........they're nothing but liars who don't know the difference between an ankle lock or a wrist lock. But they're loved and wanted by management and fans because they're 15 minutes of fame are here and now. Nothing but whores to the industry. Doing it more for the money than for the heart."
-Slamming the cleaver on the table, the impact is great enough to where it cuts into the table. All those memories. Can't help but want to burn this whole world down with everyone screaming in pain. Pain has and will always be my friend since the days of my training.
Jack Tillman: "Julianna DiMaria I look at you and everything that you've done....and I don't see a second generation professional wrestler. I don't see this great athlete. I don't even see an equal. I see a sports entertainer. I see a model. I see a 5'5, 125 pound little girl who's in an industry she doesn't belong in. I see a scrawny little girl that can't bench her own weight. I see a run way model who's only in the wrestling industry because mommy and daddy want her to be the industry....and she can't say no to mommy and daddy. I see a sloppy little rag doll who's slow in the ring and trips over herself when she's trying to hit her opponents with her lack of a move set.
I see why you're in West Coast Genesis Juliana.....the developmental league of Redemption Wrestling. A much better talker than a fighter, something that the higher ups in Redemption like to see in their little wrestling world. A pretty face and a killer looking body to match.......who cares if she can't properly apply a head lock. Not trained well enough by mommy and daddy to realize that if you need to make it in this industry, 125 pounds isn't going to be enough to take out the best of the best......but damn you look good in a bikini.
Juliana......I despise people like you in this industry because you take this industry for granted. By being in this tournament you took a spot that should have gone to someone who actually gives a damn about this business. You took food and money out of a professional wrestlers hands just so you could get eyes on you and your skimpy little outfit that makes your boobs pop out and makes your ass look big. You're taking an opportunity from someone that wants to be in this tournament.....not someone like you who thought it was a good idea because it might help you in your near future modeling career.
Oh but I can hear it now. That you're a threat. That you mean business. That you're able to kick my ass and out wrestle me. Blah, blah, blah. You're a 125 pound stick figure. You're punches will feel like pillows across my skin. Your kicks will feel like water as it splashes against my body. And your slams......well you won't be able to pick me up because of the whole lack of muscles on your end. You won't be able to out wrestle me because I've been better trained than you. I'm faster, stronger, and better in that ring than you in every way possible.
And if you don't believe me.....go watch my matches in Redemption. Go ask Trixie how I dominated her time and time again in that ring. Go ask Hixx how her neck and head felt after I drove her head onto a steel chair time and time again last week. Go ask Burchill how it felt as I kicked her ass on multiple road shows. Never been pinned. Never been submitted. A dominate force and someone not to be fucked with on the main Redemption roster Juliana. So if they couldn't stop me.....what makes you?
So you can go ahead and get on top of your soap box and scream and yell about how dangerous an individual you are.......your words will mean shit though because at the end of the day..... your tapes don't lie."
-Leaning towards the camera, I take my index finger and slowly tap it on the camera lens.
Jack Tillman: "Time to wake up Dorothy........your not in Oz any more."
-By now the pig is chopped up and wrapped up in plastic paper ready to be served, cooked, or done what ever with. Stacked up on the table, I wipe the blood and fat off of the cleaver onto the once white apron. Looking down at the cleaver, I look into it and I can't help but see my old man looking back at me. That's good for now Boris, we'll talk later.
-End Scene.