Even though Herb lost his fair share of matches over his career, a handful of matches stand out as the hardest efforts regardless of the end result. The Duel match at Resurrection 2002. The Slate ironman at Suicide 2003. Both of the Bloodfall matches. The title defense against Dean. Five matches, five opponents, five unique challenges over three years. Three wins, two losses. Each match changed the course of Herb’s career and changed him as a man.

It became clear as this particular match escalated that number six was at hand. Sure, Herb had the edge in striking, and he was much more creative in escapes and counters, but he felt physically dominated in a way that he hadn’t been since fighting Duel. And that match was only won at a cost that Herb was no longer willing to pay for himself or his opponent. When in the ring with someone like Picasso, it was a matter of thinking of a counter and moving fast enough to do it. Now he still had to come up with the counter, and do it quickly- Blake had comparable hand speed and reaction time to Herb- and at the same time throw enough force behind it to get out of the grasp.

The grasp. A very special problem all its own. Blake couldn’t bench more than, say, a Geoffrey Slate or a Dean Wallace. What he did have was an ‘applied’ strength in his hands, arms and shoulders that stopped a huge amount of Herb’s offensive and defensive moves. It meant he did more damage to Herb than vice-versa, and had an easier time executing what he came up with. Whether he had a better mind or more passion were all else equal, nobody could tell. What mattered is that things weren’t equal, something that went down to the unalterable sequences in their genetic codes. Herb Ingles grew to love professional wrestling; Blake Grumann was nearly designed for it.

That didn’t mean the match result was already decided from the beginning. If it was, for those reasons, Herb would never have become a champion. Herb did what he always did, adapting to the circumstances. Blake didn’t have the intense concentration, or the internal fortitude, or the offensive variety of the Harbinger. Blake’s motivation was nothing more than amusement, while Herb fought for something larger than himself.

He was dreading defeat. He was leaning on the crowd’s cheers and applause to give him bursts of energy. He was fighting from behind against someone who was transforming from man to beast. Preventing the negative could never produce an effort as great as one aimed at achieving a goal. It’s when that dawned on Herb that his mindset changed. He’d entered the match with hesitation and uncertainty over how it came to be, and Blake only made him more uncomfortable. But that didn’t make this a living nightmare. That made it a challenge.

The challenge Herb lived for. The type of challenge he constantly pushed himself in order to overcome. After so long without a real test, Herb needed to re-affirm that he truly was the best in the world. Doing so meant hanging on to the title, and putting an end to Blake’s fun.

All right, so Herb is looking on the bright side of life. This isn’t a sports movie where suddenly the opponent is botching everything and the good guy can take a dump on Newtonian physics. Blake is still stronger, still vicious, and by now has taken less damage. What difference does motivation make?

It means Herb thinks clearer. He thinks in a more long-term manner. He’s more willing to suffer a hold for a few seconds more in order to get into position for the best reversal instead of the fastest escape. And, after being taken down over and over for the middle of the match, it means Herb finally is able to not only come back but mount some serious offense of his own. With Blake on his heels Herb could better press the advantage, which further keyed on Blake’s difficulty with adversity. The pace picked up, the offense escalated further, and the crowd buzzed with anticipation of the oncoming finish.

Blake sought the crossface chickenwing but was denied repeatedly. Waistlocks led to nothing. He couldn’t even get Herb in a standing headscissors, let alone execute a swift powerbomb. Meanwhile Herb got closer and closer to winning, with cradles and suplex pins and increasingly more painful submissions. This was the form of a champion. Blake executed a pair of uranage suplexes to set up the Green Carnation leglock, but Herb escaped with shocking speed and effectiveness. Even though it took several attempts for Mercury’s ace to do the Prelude ’03, it finally came off and led to the Dreadlock. Korakuen erupted and started a “Go to sleep!” chant, showing off their English knowledge. Herb hunkered down, tensed his arms, and pondered whether he should stick with the hold indefinitely or go for the big palm strike that finished Dean.

Grumann made the choice for him. With an unexpected surge he got one leg up, then the other, and wrenched himself out of the dragon sleeper. Before Harbinger could react he was placed in a rear waistlock and shoved hard into a corner, then sandwiched in the corner by a jumping knee. Another waistlock led to a roll-through and the Deliverance German suplex. Herb would have countered, but he got winded in the corner and was unable to resist being thrown. Not to a bridge, which is the normal result, but a release suplex that landed him on his neck and shoulders just past halfway across the ring. Blake didn’t follow up right away, but he didn’t need to. The rout was on.

Herb didn’t know what to do. He simply couldn’t get his wind back. The rush of adrenaline that got him through the comeback was gone, and the intensity of the early hold-for-hold grappling had taken its toll. Though he was able to get to his feet at about the same time after the suplex, he wasn’t able to maintain some distance with palm strikes. Blake kept coming, trying to grab a body part and get a hold or a throw or anything to put the champion under his heel. There was anger now, and a much more steeled anger than the blind rage manifested in their 2003 meetings.

Blake caught a leg and did an awkward quasi back-bodydrop toss. He dove on Herb at the moment of impact, trying to secure a crossface or a can-opener headlock. Herb slipped out just before it could be cinched in and went to a hammerlock, then a strange hammerlock dragon sleeper that could be transitioned to the Hammer Dreadlock. Blake’s free hand lashed out to put a vice grip on the back of Herb’s neck, leading to a snapmare, leading to the crossface chickenwing. It was an old submission and it wasn’t anything unfamiliar to the Harbinger, at least not in theory.

Reality, especially at this moment in this match, was something different. Herb’s mind raced for a way out but with the raw power being exerted on the neck and shoulder nothing effective was apparent. Meanwhile Blake was shifting Herb into position for the Corpsegrinder, and that would be the end of the title reign. Maybe getting to his feet would prevent that. Okay, but it didn’t change the hold and now Blake could try a suplex. That would end the reign. Herb tried plowing towards the ropes but Blake rode him down. What was that noise? The announcer said something? The ref was focused on asking for a submission and the crowd was roaring in another language. Herb’s legs struggled enough that Blake couldn’t work himself into even an awkward Sentenced, so the persistent sadist swung himself to a side and thus rolled both men to a different position.

Herb Ingles’ mind was no longer clear. Fear and frustration weren’t weighing on him, just pain and the need to survive. He couldn’t react in time. He was in a seated position, and Blake was stepping over a leg, and the hold was locked on. The Corpsegrinder. An ugly name for an ugly, ugly hold. Herb bit his tongue. His brain wasn’t functioning the way he needed it to. It wasn’t giving him options. He screamed. Blake’s body went taut, every muscle fiber fixed on making that scream continue. The referee was looking at the timekeeper, poised to signal the submission or call the match. The crowd was bursting.

That’s the last thing Herb remembers from his match with Blake Grumann.