Past my prime. That’s what I hear on a daily basis. I’ve spent the better part of twenty years bleeding for this business. Breaking my body and my bones for this business. I’ve cried countless tears for this business, in loss, be it family or titles. I’ve lost two fiancées to this business. I’ve battled addictions to painkillers and alcohol.
I’ve seen my friends turn to foe, my fans turn their back, and I’ve come across a brother I never knew existed. I’ve come back from a career threatening injury. I’ve built a legacy about never giving up. Even if the odds are stacked entirely against me… I just can’t quit.
So why is it now that I’m having doubts about staying?
I have a son who loves me, idolizes the very ground I walk on, and I don’t get to spend nearly enough time with him. Do I want to live a life right out of “Cats and the Cradle”?
I’ve spent twenty years doing what I loved with every ounce of my being. Sacrificing life, love, and myself. So why is it now, at forty-two years old that I’m looking back and seeing something I don’t truly love? My son is my focus. My wife is my focus. Shouldn’t they get the same energy that I’ve poured into this business that would just as soon forget about me? This business has changed. Everything is political. Gone are the wacky, crazy characters that once roamed this fair world. Now people want to see the real you—the person that you tried to run away from. They see you on the street and they want to get to know the real you—but you just want a damn cheeseburger. They don’t care that you’re with your kid and wife and want to enjoy some time away from the lime light. But heaven forbid if you don’t give them an autograph or a picture. They’ll blast you online and you can’t bounce back from that PR. People backstage maneuver to make themselves number one. It doesn’t matter they couldn’t wrestle their way out of a wet paper sack with a hole in it—or that anytime they got near a microphone it was like gibberish. If you know the right person it doesn’t matter that you couldn’t spell ‘talent’… you’re in as long as you’re in their good graces. This business has changed…
Hasn’t it? Or maybe I’ve changed.
I find myself rambling about the good ol’ days. They days of yore when HOSTILITY was a place, and I had my brother to watch my back. Maybe I’m white washing history?
The traveling was hell. Day in and day out we had to fight to keep our spots. Nothing was ever as it seemed. Because somebody you thought was a friend would betray you in a heartbeat, especially if it meant you were no longer casting a shadow over them. The injuries would happen, first something minor… but the pains would ache and ache until you loathed waking up the next day. It’s no wonder the pills were so prevalent. Those championship belts glistened in the light… which was why we were always such easy targets for cheap shots and sneak attacks.
I’ve glamorized it. My brother and I were the ones who helped build HOSTILITY. We dealt with the egos of men, of men who viewed themselves as Gods, and let’s face it, they could never match up. Their jealousy would get the best of them and they’d take their balls and go home. We were the ones left to pick up their pieces. And it took a toll on us. Privately and professionally. Our friends and loved ones grew distant as our time was occupied elsewhere. We would get on each other’s nerves as would be expected when you spend too much time with anyone. But it was worth it. We built something we thought would last forever.
Until it didn’t.
Fast-forward to now. Up until the eve of this… this whatever you’d like to call it, a reunion show, a civil war… I hadn’t seen my brother in years. We’ve spoke, off and on, but face-to-face… it hadn’t happened since shortly after the demise of HOSTILITY. We grew our lives. He had Dad’s business to run… to shape and mold it in his vision, and I continued fighting. Because that’s what I do. I’m a professional wrestler. And for twenty years it’s all I’ve really ever been. But now, I’m a husband. I’m a father. I’m a mentor. I’m more than a professional wrestler.
This fight—it isn’t about vengeance. It isn’t about fighting for a promotion that’s as dead as Alex Ross… no, this fight is all about legacy. Because at the very least… it’s who I am. And it’s what I’m very, very good at.
This game is for the young at heart. Not necessarily the mind or the body, but definitely the young at heart. I can tell you for certain that age is just a number. I’ve seen men older than me walk circles around someone half my age. I’ve seen young men compete for the same legacy that was built by someone else over their lifetimes. This game isn’t about age—it’s about experience. Awareness. Adaptability. I can tell you this with absolute certainty because as I, Chris Bond, complete my twentieth year in this business, I will step into that ring at the age of forty-two and I, along with my brother, will wipe the canvas with those two. And it’s not because we’re older than them. It’s not because we’re more cocksure than they are. It’s because we’re better. And we’ve been better for years. It’s why we ran HOSTILITY.
We were that damn good.
We had the bitterness and resentment of our peers. We were the “Bond and Talon Show” after all. We built that promotion and damn near etched every legacy that it has. WE did that. Not Mike Polowy. Not Xander Daniels. Not Heroic Henry or Lucas Green. Alex and I built and maintained that promotion with James Milenko at the helm. We broke ourselves for HOSTILITY. We bled, and we cried, and we broke ourselves day in and day out for that place… for our home. And we got ridiculed for it. We heard the cries of favoritism. But they weren’t out there drawing in the crowds. They weren’t putting in the work, the effort that we were. We were the lifeblood of HOSTILITY. And when we left. It died.
And it’s been dead for years. Buried, in our pasts. Something to look back at fondly and remember them as the good old days. Not something to come back to, in a zombie-like state. In a shell of it’s former self.
Talon and I are showing up for a fight. But we’re not fighting for the honor of HOSTILITY. It’s grace has long since faded. Most of the current fanbase has never even heard of it, and it’s virtually impossible to find anything about it—even online.
We’re fighting because it’s what we do best. And because we want our last memories of HOSTILITY to be ones that we created. Not something faded and rusty—thorns of distrust and tasting of disgust. Our opponents, the Smokin’ Aces, they’re going to mock us. It’s the name of the game. They’re going to view us as two geriatric goombas coming it to try and steal their spotlight. And they’re not wrong. We’re definitely old. But even in our older years, in our rocking years, we’re still twice the men that half of this federation could ever be.
Duce, Freddie. Let’s be real for a minute. You two are facing us because we opted out of the main event. We didn’t want to get put into some match that didn’t even really matter. We wanted legitimacy. We wanted the best this company had to offer. And we got it. The sad thing is… you two being the best the CWF had to offer just isn’t good enough to compete against the very best that HOSTILITY ever saw.
I’m a multi-time World Champion. I’ve been around the world and back again. I’ve done it all… twice. And my brother? He’s already spoke of himself. Separately… we were good. DAMN GOOD. But together? We’ve always been unstoppable.
We’re coming into this match ready for war. We’re going to walk down that ramp. Whip the both of your asses. Come out smiling on the other end, and then we’re going to ride off into the sunset, and get the last hurrah we always deserved.
You can overlook us. Please, please do. Because when you look past us and you don’t even see us as threats—that’s when we work the best. Because we’ll prove to you, and everyone watching that could never truly understand why we were absolutely the best fucking tag-team in professional wrestling… and it’s simply because we are the absolute best at what we do.
The Bond and Talon Show, it’s back and it’s going to premier with a brand new episode.
Hope you boys are ready for the ass-kicking of a lifetime.
Heterosexual lifemate, out.
This last hurrah, this ride into the sunset for the both of us… it isn’t about fighting for HOSTILITY. It’s about fighting in spite of HOSTILITY. We never had any regrets when it came to our home… not even Steven Steele.
Regret is for old men on their deathbeds.
Civil War is for two men looking to take back their legacies from a long-forgotten history.
We were always the best HOSTILITY had to offer. Now, some seven odd years later, we’ll prove it again. To a brand-new audience.
It may be a new time-slot.
It may be a new network.
But it will be the same high-quality content that you’ve always loved from the Bond and Talon Show.
And now… it’s in high-def!
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."