Post by Hammersteiner on Jun 8, 2019 14:56:09 GMT -5
What's in a name? Nanto iu namae?
The Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion stands, holding his Championship belts, on the stage of The Bunkamura Theatre Cocoon in the Shibuya Ward of Tokyo. The theatre is known for its performances of the works of William Shakespeare.
When Juliet said these words to Romeo, they were meant to convey that names are meaningless, and what had meaning was the character of those that held that name and the images that name evoked in the mind of those that spoke it.
I thought about that when I heard your words, Nakama. I had ignored pretty much all the bullshit propaganda that your mouthpiece, Cunningham, was spouting, and was just about to turn the thing off, when you made mention of the silliness of the Hammerstein name. I heard you claim the Lacklan name, as if that was supposed to instill fear in my heart. I don't cower in fear over anything, big boy, especially not the name Lacklan. Most people in this sport know the Lacklan name, and the character of those who carried it, but not many know the character behind the Hammerstein name.
I'm gonna change that, but first, Nakama, I'm gonna clue you in a little about me, as a preface.
Hammerstein lays the belts down in front of him, bows his head, and sighs, gathering up the strength to open himself up to the ghosts of his past. He raises his head, resolute in cause, and stares directly into the camera.
I'm the bastard son of a Native American Chief's son and the daughter of a Jewish Rabbi. Neither side claimed me. My mother's family called me Geshtorbn Kind, which means Dead Child. My father's family was a little kinder. They called me Łééchąą'í, which means Dog. My mom and her family left me at my father's doorstep. He took me out to the desert and left me so the spirits would kill me.
But they failed.
Hammerstein's voice is without emotion, but his eyes contradict the deadpan nature of his speaking.
I grew up on the streets of Phoenix, Arizona, being the errand boy and fall guy for a street gang. They also called me Łééchąą'í, because, hell, I thought that was the only name I knew. Child Services tried to find a home for me, but that's like taking an outside cat and making it an inside cat. It doesn't work. So I was sent to a children's home. Same outcome, except I escaped, and hit the streets again. I was about to be put in the Juvenile prison system when I learned of my real name...Hammerstein.
It was the name of a young German Jewish man who survived the horrors of Auschwitz. Though he carried a reminder of it on his arm til the day he died, he never let the horrors define him, only his triumph over them.
It was the name of an old man who traveled across the US to save a boy he'd never met from a lifetime of imprisonment, and to raise him as his own son. A man who worked and sacrificed to make sure the boy never lost focus of the lineage of his name. A man who, while no educator, taught that boy many invaluable lessons on living to honor his name. Lessons that boy never forgot, even if he strayed from them occasionally.
Hammerstein's voice drips with intensity as he describes his late uncle.
And it's the name of the man that stands before you right now. The man who should never have lived to see manhood, much less see the fulfillment of his lifelong dream. The man who, against all odds, clawed, scratched, and fought his way to the top of this sport. The man who went to war with his demons, and kicked their goddamn asses.
What's in a name? When people speak our names, what pops up in their mind's eye?
When they speak the name Lacklan, they see darkness.
When they speak the name Nakama, they see a Mountain.
But, when they speak the name Hammerstein, they see a fighter, a warrior…
The Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion picks up his titles and holds them toward the camera.
...and a goddamn Champion.
The American Monster turns and walks off the stage the sound of the heels of his boots hitting the floor the only noise that's heard as the lights in the theatre slowly fade to black.
The Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion stands, holding his Championship belts, on the stage of The Bunkamura Theatre Cocoon in the Shibuya Ward of Tokyo. The theatre is known for its performances of the works of William Shakespeare.
When Juliet said these words to Romeo, they were meant to convey that names are meaningless, and what had meaning was the character of those that held that name and the images that name evoked in the mind of those that spoke it.
I thought about that when I heard your words, Nakama. I had ignored pretty much all the bullshit propaganda that your mouthpiece, Cunningham, was spouting, and was just about to turn the thing off, when you made mention of the silliness of the Hammerstein name. I heard you claim the Lacklan name, as if that was supposed to instill fear in my heart. I don't cower in fear over anything, big boy, especially not the name Lacklan. Most people in this sport know the Lacklan name, and the character of those who carried it, but not many know the character behind the Hammerstein name.
I'm gonna change that, but first, Nakama, I'm gonna clue you in a little about me, as a preface.
Hammerstein lays the belts down in front of him, bows his head, and sighs, gathering up the strength to open himself up to the ghosts of his past. He raises his head, resolute in cause, and stares directly into the camera.
I'm the bastard son of a Native American Chief's son and the daughter of a Jewish Rabbi. Neither side claimed me. My mother's family called me Geshtorbn Kind, which means Dead Child. My father's family was a little kinder. They called me Łééchąą'í, which means Dog. My mom and her family left me at my father's doorstep. He took me out to the desert and left me so the spirits would kill me.
But they failed.
Hammerstein's voice is without emotion, but his eyes contradict the deadpan nature of his speaking.
I grew up on the streets of Phoenix, Arizona, being the errand boy and fall guy for a street gang. They also called me Łééchąą'í, because, hell, I thought that was the only name I knew. Child Services tried to find a home for me, but that's like taking an outside cat and making it an inside cat. It doesn't work. So I was sent to a children's home. Same outcome, except I escaped, and hit the streets again. I was about to be put in the Juvenile prison system when I learned of my real name...Hammerstein.
It was the name of a young German Jewish man who survived the horrors of Auschwitz. Though he carried a reminder of it on his arm til the day he died, he never let the horrors define him, only his triumph over them.
It was the name of an old man who traveled across the US to save a boy he'd never met from a lifetime of imprisonment, and to raise him as his own son. A man who worked and sacrificed to make sure the boy never lost focus of the lineage of his name. A man who, while no educator, taught that boy many invaluable lessons on living to honor his name. Lessons that boy never forgot, even if he strayed from them occasionally.
Hammerstein's voice drips with intensity as he describes his late uncle.
And it's the name of the man that stands before you right now. The man who should never have lived to see manhood, much less see the fulfillment of his lifelong dream. The man who, against all odds, clawed, scratched, and fought his way to the top of this sport. The man who went to war with his demons, and kicked their goddamn asses.
What's in a name? When people speak our names, what pops up in their mind's eye?
When they speak the name Lacklan, they see darkness.
When they speak the name Nakama, they see a Mountain.
But, when they speak the name Hammerstein, they see a fighter, a warrior…
The Undisputed World Heavyweight Champion picks up his titles and holds them toward the camera.
...and a goddamn Champion.
The American Monster turns and walks off the stage the sound of the heels of his boots hitting the floor the only noise that's heard as the lights in the theatre slowly fade to black.