I’ve had a few requests for an explanation as to how Dwayne Wade got the 12 inch scar on his bicep. I will go one better, here’s Wade’s explanation:
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Something that has been cropping up lately on my Twitter account (@wadebarrett) is the 12-inch scar that stretches from my upper back to halfway down the triceps of my right arm. It has faded significantly over the last couple of years, so you may not have noticed it, but several people have been asking how I got it and I thought I would explain it on here. Before I continue, I must warn you that this is a rather unpleasant story and if you are easily shocked, stop reading now and go and read one of the other rookie’s blogs where they will no doubt be discussing such riveting subjects as what food they are eating at present and how much they paid for their last haircut. Yawn. Anyway, as you already know, before I made it to NXT I spent several years bare-knuckle fighting across Europe. I had a lot of success and eventually got to fight for some pretty big money. I had one particular fight lined up with a highly notorious opponent in the town of Budapest, Hungary. Hungary is an ex-communist state in Eastern Europe. There is concrete everywhere you look, the sun never shines and the people are as tough as old boots. Basically, it is not the kind of place any of the other NXT rookies would ever dare set foot, but that didn’t phase me in the slightest.
The build up to the fight was so big amongst members of the underworld that some termed the it ‘The Battle of Buda‘ which in my eyes made it the equivalent of Ali and Foreman’s ‘Rumble in the Jungle‘, only far more dangerous. My opponent had a reputation for fighting dirty, much like myself, and there was a rather intimidating atmosphere building around the town in the hours leading up to the fight. The local police tend to turn a blind-eye to this sort of thing in Eastern-Europe which is why so many fights are staged over there. In fact, most of the local police force turned up to bet money on who was going to win. Speaking of money, there was also a rather substantial cash prize on the line for the winner of the fight, a prize which I was going to make sure I’d be taking home no matter what.
Come fight time, we started brawling and to my surprise, it was actually turned out to be one of my easier fights. It lasted about 3 minutes before my opponent’s face was so smashed up that he couldn’t see out of either eye and he had no choice but to say ‘I quit’ in his broken English. I had my hand raised, collected the winner’s money and decided to get out of the area straight away and on the next plane back to the green hills of England. The place was crawling with a whole host of unsavory characters and every single one of them wanted to get their hands on the £20K winners prize that was now sitting in my bag. Having all those eyes burning a hole through you as you stand alone in some Eastern-European hell hole is a very sobering experience, let me tell you.
Unfortunately, I hadn‘t planned my getaway well enough. As I walked through an alleyway in search of a taxi to the airport, I heard footsteps behind me and a split-second later, I was jumped from behind and stabbed in the back with an eight-inch blade. I remember feeling the initial pain of the wound, but it was very quickly masked by numbness as the pain endorphins kicked in. At this point, I was supposed to stay down on the ground in agony whilst my assailant made off with my winner’s money, but things didn’t quite work out like that. I lost a lot of blood that day, but I wasn’t about to lose a penny of my hard-earned cash. I can’t say too much about what happened next due to legal reasons, but what I will say is that if I’ve ended up with 12 inch scars on my body, just imagine how the other guy ended up looking. If you can’t imagine it, just go and look at some minced beef next time you are in the supermarket and that should do the trick. Life for me has always been full of scars and scrapes, but I make sure that I leave any situation with the money in my pocket.