The Journal Of An American Professional Wrestler

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter One
May 8th, 2009
Omaha, Nebraska
AGE 13

-It's been three days since father passed away from a heart attack. I have no more tears to shed as I look at his grave. The funeral has just finished and everyone is gone. I'm the only one left as I just stare at dirt and a head stone that reads his name. Mother is next to him in the ground, passed away five years ago from a car accident. I've missed her since she passed, just like how I will miss father right now.....mostly because I'm all alone now.

-Father drove off the rest of my brothers and sisters. Pushed them to hard to follow him into the wrestling industry. I don't mind the training, but from what I heard, my training was lighter compared to the rest of them. None of them showed up to the funeral. Many people showed up though. Allot were wrestlers. Old rivals. Old employees. Past students. Everyone had a story to tell about my father at the wake. Some funny, some sad, but all honest in saying that he was a loyal friend and a true legend in the industry. They all told me that if I ever needed help or wanted any training in the business to call them up.

-A nice lady from child services told me that I can stay as long as I want as I just stare at the grave. The patter of rain drops hit my hair and I know it's time to leave......but I don't want to. I'm not ready. Just a couple more minutes. All of these emotions, just swirling around my head but I don't know how to handle it all. I'm lost. I'm confused. I'm scared. I'm angry. I'm.......I'm.......I'm......

-And then a hand is placed on my shoulder. Rough and tight as it squeezes my right shoulder. Looking at the corner of my eye, I see a familiar face. One that I haven't seen for awhile but one that my father always smiled to when he came to visit. Over my other shoulder, I hear a familiar voice that always brought a smile to my face when he came to visit. The man on my right is Chris Constantine, a former student of my father who later became a manager. The other man to my right is Kurt Newman. A former student who's still in the business today. Both men will mold me into what I am today. I don't know this yet though as Kurt does his best to help out a child that just lost his father.



Kurt Newman: "Jackie boy.......this world is that of chapters to a story. Today is the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new one. Chris and I will there to help you write this next chapter of your life. Would you like that?"

-I don't know what to do or say at this very moment. My mind is that of darkness as the rain begins to come down a little bit harder now. But I don't want to go now. Not just yet. Another minute please. I just want to burry all of these feelings into this cemetery.....because I never want to feel like this ever again.

-End Scene

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter 2
12 June 2012
Mexico City, Mexico
Age 16


I hate flipy shit. I hate high spots. I hate wrestlers flying all over the place. Super fast and extremely agile. That's the best I can say about Mexican wrestlers. The Lucha style is a form of wrestling that I really don't care to much because at any moment you can break your neck by your own form of offense. To many ways to end a career with their style of wrestling because it's nothing but flying in the air and landing awkwardly on your neck, spine, or legs. It's all based on the here and now and fuck about your future. It's all about getting that adrenaline rush. To hear the crowds cheer and get that satisfaction when they pop. It's just like putting that needle into your arm with your drug of choice.....those fans will eventually kill you at the end because the fans will never be satisfied with what you put out. They'll want more each and every time they step in that ring. That one time that you don't feed their addiction.....you're hated, vilified, and looked down on.

One good thing about about their wrestling is that their mat skills are some of the best around the world. It's like dancing when they apply an arm bar on someone. It's all in the hips. It's also all about the transition. One minute they can go from your arm, and before you can think of a way to get out of the predicament, they've moved to your legs and you didn't even know it happen.

Kurt sent me to Mexico for the summer to train under Senior Red Demono and his students. Kurt said that he trained under Demono when he was younger so that he could master the Lucha style. But I'm not here to learn the Lucha style. I'm here to learn how to defend myself against it. To find the weaknesses of it and defeat it so that when I do face a Lucha Wrestler in the future that I'd be able to defend myself.

Problem with all of this is that Kurt never told me how to defend myself against Lucha wrestling. He also didn't tell me that Demono and his students don't speak a lick of English and hate Americans. And of course they aren't going to tell me how to defend myself because fuck you whitey. So for the past two months I've sweated my ass off in the Mexican heat while getting my ass kicked on a daily basis by guys that don't want me there. Each morning I wake up sore with dry blood formed around my nose. Each night I draw up game plans in my head on to how to defeat them. It's a slow process but I'm improving each and every day. Plus I love the challenge. The pain fuels me. Let's me know I'm still alive.

I'm starting to finally get it though. I'm able to find their tell signs. I'm able to understand that the best way to defend myself is to keep the Luchas down on the ground and to cut off momentum, the main source of strength of Lucha wrestling. Work on their backs, necks, and mostly legs.....because legs are the only way that they can move and jump around. The problem with trying to keep them down is what I said before hand about Lucha wrestlers, their technical skills on the mate is on par or even better than American or British mate wrestling. But like I said before, it's all art. It's all about showing off. So when they show off to the crowd, that's when you attack. Use my body weight to my advantage because most of the Lucha wrestlers are small compared to me.

Tomorrow morning is a new day. Continue to learn. Use what Kurt and my old man taught me. Learn from my beatings. Learn from the bruises. Wrap yourself in the pain and welcome it as a friend. You don't lose Jack.....you learn. That's what Kurt has taught me. Thats what Chris Constantine has taught me. That's what my dad taught me. Losing is not an option......not any more.

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter Three
May 20th 2015
Tokyo, Japan
Age 19


-499......500.....501.....502.......503.......

-The chops echo in the dungeon as one of the trainees gets chopped by Mark Storm. I don't bother to know any of the other students names because someone quits here on a weekly basis. So what's the point of remembering a name when they're just going to quit? Especially when we're really not worthy of a name when it comes to the NJFC Dojo. My name isn't Jack Tillman. It's Gaijin.

-519.....520.......521.......522......

-And its not really a dungeon we're wrestling in. We just call it the dungeon because it's where some of the teachers like to take us and just beat the ever living shit out of us. No windows. No air conditioning. A padded mat that should of been retired years ago because it has no give. A small room that if you were 6'5 you'd be hitting your head on the ceiling. No high flying here. Ground and pound and submission.Tears are shed. Blood is spilled. Bones are broken and tendons are ripped right off muscle and bone.

-534.........535.......536........537........538.........

-Mark Storm is great at stretching people. He knows just how tight he needs to pull and at what angle to elevate a body part just to make it hurt just a little bit more than what it should. He knows just at what point the muscle wont tear away and knows when not to hit that point of separation.

-557........558.......559........

-Marks been in the ring now for over an hour now. This is number three for him with the students and he hasn't slowed down once. He's not even sweating. He's calm. Collective. Knows what he's going to do next and knows what his opponent is going to do next. He's just a cat playing with a mouse. Me on the other hand, I'm doing squats. The goal? One thousand. After that, push-ups. Already finished my crunches. I'm already sweating up a storm but I'm not tired yet. After my turn with Mark....well that will be another story.

-603.......604.......605........606......

-And of course I'm next to go one on one with him. And he loves fucking with me, only because I'm Kurt Newman's boy. Kurt is the one that's trained me. Kurt's the one that brought me to NJFC. And Kurt's the one that's on bad terms with Mark. So Mark takes advantage of me and my developing skills. His punches are a little bit stiffer than what he gives to the other boys. His kicks have more heat to them. And his submissions are put in a little bit tighter.

-627.......628.......629........630......

-I don't mind though. I've grown use to it by now. This dojo has made me tough. Has made me look past pain and accept it as a friend. It has made me appreciate professional wrestling even more.

-651......652......653......654.......

-The snapping of a bone gets my attention as I look towards the ring and I see the student screaming in pain as he holds his dislocated finger up in the air. Some of the other students attend to him as Mark stares at me. He knows I'm next. I know I'm next. Hitting my last squat at 672, I slowly make my way into the ring.....ready to accept anything and everything that comes my way. I can only hope I can get some offense in.

-Wish me luck.

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter Four
25 May 2011
Birmingham, England
Age: 15


It's been raining now for like a week. Always in the 50s. It's been non stop. I hate this rain. I hate this cold. I hate that my socks and shoes are soaked with water. The food sucks. The living quarters suck. Everything sucks here in England. I'd rather be back in Nebraska where it's in the high 70s. Why the hell did Kurt send me to England for training? Kurt knows British Style of wrestling. Why can't he train me? Why the hell do I even need to know British Style wrestling? After my time here, I'll never come back to England to wrestle.

Sir Stanley Tyler is my coach while I'm over here. Goofy looking fella with one of those old style mustaches. A receding hair line makes him look older than what he actually is. Walks with a limp on his right leg. Nasty leg break back when he was a wrestler in the 80s. The injury doesn't stop him in that ring as the asshole knows how to lay a beating on a kid. He's also the guy that taught Kurt back when Kurt was working his way up the ranks of the wrestling world. Stan likes to put a beating on me the most out of the rest of the other students because I'm Kurt's kid. Doesn't want to go easy on me in front of the other students I'm told.

I don't mind. Keeps me distracted from my old mans death. It's been over two years since he passed and I'm still having trouble getting over it. Still think about him daily. The dreams of his death grow less every night that passes. Always hearing him in the back of my head. Maybe that's why Kurt sent me away for the summer to train with Stanley. Get away from home. Keep my mind away from all that.....mess.

.............

.............

.............

Wish I could drink a beer. The rest of the other students tease me about it since I legally can't drink since the drinking age in England is 16 with an adult. Even if I was 16, I'd need an adult and the only adult I know is Stan, and he'd kick my ass if I held a glass of beer in my hand.

...........

...........

Fuck England. Fuck my squishy shoes. Fuck this rain. Fuck it all. Need someone to fight soon because this run isn't helping me burn off this anger.

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter Five
18 June 2010
Chicago, Illinois
Age 14


-It's been almost a year since father died. Since then I've been taken care of by Kurt Newman and Chris Constantine, two men my father entrusted to take care of me after he passed. It's been…..interesting to say the least since Kurt…..well he's a great wrestler…..but he thinks we're all in a world made up by geeks and nerds in an online community called efedding. These people make up characters, give them moves and finishers, take the pictures of wrestlers or movie stars and or models, and then go head to head with other nerds creations to see who talks smack better than the other nerd. Some of these male nerds will even be chicks in this efed world and pretend to be in relationships with other male handlers where some times it can get really sexual…..which is strange to me.

-I really find this whole efed world hard to believe, but Kurt has had some concussion issues over the years so I don't think he's all th………

Kurt Newman: “Oh my God Jack, you're monologue is like nails on a chalk board. I know you're trying to set up some information on little old me and my little antics since I'm sure most of the people don't know who I am and what I've accomplished in the wrestling world…..but they can figure all that crap out on their own like the adults that they say they are by following me at @awesomenewman on twitter or go look at past promos over at EWC or NJFC. Now pay attention to he video screen.

To be a great wrestler, it's not all about working out and training physically. You also need to train mentally by doing homework on your opponents. You have to see what their weaknesses are and their strengths. You have to see their tell signs. You have to see if their a grappler, a striker, or some dude that doesn't know what their doing in that ring. You look at the film and see what they can do…..then you'll be able to see if the person talking can actually back up their crap or not.”

-Kurt pauses the film as it stops on a wrestler named Serenity. A female wrestler Kurt had a feud with back in his GWF days in 2005.

Kurt Newman: “Take a look at Serenity here. With one look, what can you tell me about her.”

-I take a few seconds to analyze Serenity before addressing Kurt.

Jack Tillman: “Tall, muscular, looks like a former body builder.”

Kurt Newman: “And she could kick some major ass because of those muscles. The ladies today who wrestle……the ones around that 120-140 pound weight zone…….its stupid that their around that weight. I mean it's good to be that weight if their going to be wrestling other female wrestlers, but if you're going to be wrestling men who weigh 200 plus pounds……you're not going to last long in your career because a frame like that with the lack of weight and body mass isn't going to be enough to keep you healthy structurally. You need that weight to help with the blows that you are continually receiving with each and every match. If you're going to be a stick figure while also trying to be a part time model……. you're just going to get hurt.

Serenity though, she had mass. She had muscle. She was in that 200 pound area. She was able to bench press her weight and the weight of a lot of the 300 pound men. She could also wrestle and move quicker than what she looked like. That's why she was one of the best female wrestlers I've ever came across. She gave a damn about this industry. She took it seriously. She put in the effort and the time to get better and look like a wrestler. She didn't need to get attention by showing off her tits. She didn't need to put makeup on to make her face look prettier. She didn't need to get on social media and talk smack to someone on a computer. She went straight up to your face and smacked the ever living crap out of you. Her actions were louder than her words.

Now let's break down some film because this match I'm about to show, you'll be able to see her weaknesses and her tell signs of when she got tired or when she was about to perform a move.”


-With the clicker in hand, Kurt leans back in his chair and watches on as Kurt and Serenity lock up in the middle of the ring. I watch closely as……..

Kurt Newman: “Jack! Seriously stop doing the monologue in your head or I swear I'm going to smack the crap out of Chris, the handler who writes for both of us in the real world.”



Chris: “Great, now everyone knows what I look like. Now people are going to start masterbating to my picture. Or my dog Iris. Or both! Some of you people are sick out there.”

Kurt Newman: “You people need Jesus.”

Chris : “Kurt I'm just showing the folks who you are.”

Kurt Newman: “Go back to eating Cheetos and masterbating to hentai porn you nerd!”
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Chris: “……..I miss writing you.”

Kurt Newman: “……….I miss you too. Now end this CD, we got homework to do.”

-End Scene-

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter Six
01 July 2008
Omaha, Nebraska
Age 12

-Father has me in an arm bar. He has it in tight. I can feel my muscles almost getting to the breaking point of it starting to rip from the bone. Father can feel it as well, probably the reason why he hasn't pull back. Doesn't want to see his son get injured to the point of something ripping or popping out of place. The medical bills wouldn't be fun either for him. So he gets to that point of breakage, and then stops and holds.

-He's waiting to make his next move. Probably wants to see if I can get out of the arm bar. I try, but he's got 200 pounds on me and decades of training. I try though, hoping that my scrawny body can slip through his hands. But his hands are rough. Years of callus on top of callus has made his hands rough so he's able to grasp on tight and not let go.

-The pain is starting to become unbearable now….and father knows it as he grabs my fingers now. First time he's done this to me, but Borris The Butcher Tillman has done this on numerous competitors before. He's known for it. He's made a name out of himself for this. Borris grabs two of his opponents fingers and then snaps them apart from one another. He sound of the pop can echo throughout the arena if the fans keep quit.

-I look into my fathers eyes and beg him with the fear and terror in my face for him not to do it. I've been in enough pain for the day. I don't need my fingers to be broken. I don't want to walk around school the next day explaining to the teacher why I have a cast on my hand. I don't want to lie to the principal that I fell down some stairs and that's the reason why I have a shiner on my left eye.

-Looking into my fathers eyes though, I see he wants to do it. I see the anger and the blood lust that's taken over. For the first time in a long while….I'm actually scared of my father.

-And just as I express this emotion of being afraid……fathers sees it and snaps out of his trance. It's like he forgot where he was at or he had like an out of body experience……but he snaps out of it and let's go of the arm bar.

-Without looking me in the eyes. Without saying a word. Without a hint of remorse. Father just gets up and leaves the ring. Leaving me to wonder what do I do next?

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-I guess I'll do some squats.

[Jack Tillman]

Chapter 7
12 July 2013
Chicago, Illinois
Age 17

-For my entire life I've trained to be a professional wrestler. I've spent time over in Mexico. I've traveled to England. I lived in Canada. I'm supposed to be going to Japan to be a young lion here in the next year or so. I know every move that there is and how to get out of it. I've watched films from the 1940s to the present. I've trained to be at the peak of my athletic ability. I've been trained to be the best to be a professional wrestler.

-But there is one part of being a professional that I haven't been able to grasp yet…..and that's doing promos.

-I'd rather get slapped in the chest a hundred times than do a promo.

-I'd rather do two thousand squats than do a promo.

-I'd rather rather run for 20 miles than do a promo.

-I'd rather have barbed wire run across my face than do a promo.

-My old man…..Borris Tillman……was descent with his promos. Nothing special, but he could tell a story. Unfortunately for me, I never got his genes to talk in public. I'm just uncomfortable talking in front of people. Doesn't help that I mostly hate people as well.

-I've been trained to be this killer in a wrestling ring so that's all that I've ever focused on. No time for friends. No time for social gatherings. No time to ask girls out or do the stupid tings teenage kids love to do. It's always been wrestling for me……. and I hate it at times because I'd like to be normal. I'd like to have friends that aren't involved with wrestling. I'd like to go out to parties drink and do stupid teenage things. I'd like to kiss a girl and live life to the fullest. But I can't……..because that life…..that life scares the living hell out of me for some reason. I'd rather get dropped on my head and snap my neck then step out of that wrestling ring and into the real world.

-So my promo skills are crap. I really have no personality.

-Kurt Newman, my teacher, knows this and has tried his best to get something out of me. It's just so natural to him though. He has so much charisma that it just comes natural to him, so it's hard for him to teach me it.

-So that's why I'm with Chris Constantine in his office in Chicago, Illinois. Chris used to wrestle back in the 80s and 90s. He was a descent hand but never became famous. After a neck injury he retired and helped train wrestlers. He was known better in the wrestle circles for helping people with promos. Lucky for me, Chris and Kurt have been working together for years now with Kurt's wrestling school. Unfortunately, Kurt didn't see it fitting to teach me to do promo work till now. Chris is confident he can get something out of me. I just need to attack promos just like I attack the ring. Practice…..practice…..and more practice.

-Well…..I guess now is better than never to learn. Wish me luck.