Post by La Gama Blanca on Nov 28, 2015 21:46:23 GMT -5
You know, it’s hard sometimes to pick yourself up after a huge let down. You think you were so close to achieving the thing you didn’t even think you wanted, at least until you were in the moment. I didn’t think I’d be where I was last week, facing off against the face of Television, until I was, didn’t think I’d want to be that face until I almost was. And, like so many other things in my short life, it was dangled over my head and then snatched away at the very moment I left my feet, leaving me looking like a naïve child hopping around in the air with nothing to show for it.
Story of my life, you could say.
I thought I had the match last week against Dustin Beaver, I really did. Two weeks in I thought gold was going to mix with my write and green to make this perfect painting, of sorts. Dustin showed me a different picture, though. He showed me blinding white, the white of the lights above as I tried to count the stars dancing across my eyes. I counted three, in case you were wondering, just like someone else in that ring. Probably just like a lot of other people there. It is so easy to count out the little guy, isn’t it?
But I can’t fret, won’t fret. Yesterday is history and tomorrow is a mystery, my mother would always tell me, so live only for today. And today, in relative terms of course, I have a different obstacle to face. Two to be exact, and thinking about what I was unable to do will only hinder what I think I can do. Am I still disappointed? Without a doubt. Thing is, it won’t be a brake, but the gasoline, to the metaphorical car I found myself behind the wheel of, probably unable to see above the steering wheel at what’s ahead. I know of my opponents this week, but what after? Am I to hit a dead end, or a never ending highway? Or will I venture off of this beaten path and redeem myself against Dustin Beaver? Who truly knows?
I can simply say this: I’m going on a journey. No, not one of those drug trips half of the roster here think is “legal” or “morally right.” No, I quote a great man when I figurative yell in this type out: I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE. One that began with but a single letter written on a slip of parchment and ends . . . well, you can guess how I’d like it to end. But first, the letter. Cue scene transition.
LGB: We’re going.
Amy: Do you actually trust this? [She gestures to the parchment] “Lord Jenson, come to my Tower and I’ll brew you up a nice concoction. [She stops speaking as La Gama snickers from across the table, looking at him crossly.] Concoction, Gama, stop being so childish. All of that signed by the Potionmaster Greybeard.
Amy: Gama, what’s another word that starts with the letter P?
LGB: Pussy.
Amy: Poison, you imbecile! Greybeard is a self-proclaimed master of potion-making, so he could very well slip a deadly poison in our Lord’s ale. And you just want to waltz right in there and hang out?!
LGB: Pee! I’d want to piss off of the top of his tower too.
Amy: You’re unbelievable!
LGB: No, I just don’t believe Greybeard is threatening our Lord’s life. I think he’s just inviting him over to throw back a few ones. It’s a lonely business being a wizard and all, and now we have two here in the WCF!
Amy: Still, what with Oblivion and Bonnie Blue, I don’t think it best for Lord Jenson to be bothered by this rogue wizard.
LGB: That’s fine. The least I can do is make the trip myself. Do a little scouting for my match this Sunday and see if this man is to be trusted while I’m at it.
Amy: He sent us google map directions to his tower. It’s a very long trip. Are you sure you’re up for it?
LGB: That’s what unnecessary walking scenes are for, right?
LGB: This beautiful landscape . . . It makes me feel as if I was in New Zealand.
LGB: Not that I am, of course. No, I find myself on the road to visit the man known simply as Graybeard who in a few days’ time will be my opponent on Slam. It has been a long journey and I have yet to reach the man’s tower, but no matter. I believe I’ll get a good taste of just who you are come Sunday.
LGB: My first impression, Gray, is that you’re harmless. Not weak, no; I just don’t think you have any ill intention to me or Lord Jenson. Your feelings may differ with our other opponent, but I don’t think you to be a threat to my life, just my kill to death ratio. And honestly, to a gamer such as myself, that’s even more important to me.
I lost to Dustin Beaver last week, Gray, and it reminded me how much I disliked losing. It’s what expected of me and I hate just living up to those kinds of expectations. I want to surpass to belief that people make of me as soon as they see me. I’m sure you can relate, Gray; wizards, dwarves, we creatures out of fantasy novels are underappreciated and underestimated. And it’s not fair, not one damn bit. We have to fight, we have to win!
LGB: But this a match meant for only one victor, Gray, and I need that to be me, so we have to go through one more week of unfairness. So do me a favor, Gray, and survive. Come in, give me the fight I desire, show the fans that men like you and I are not to be trifled with, not to be overlooked. And then step aside, and let me handle the rest. I’ll handle Bernard Core, I’ll take the victory, and then you and I can look into that whole invitation to drink later.
Like I said, Bernard, I’d handle you. That wasn’t an empty boast, either; it was a declaration of intent to take all of those claims against me and my ability and choke you out with them. Because you’re the kind of person I was talking about earlier, the one who sees me and thinks “he’ll never make it.” I bet you were even counting to three last week when Dustin Beaver pinned me. Because, you know, you’re a math guy and counting is kind of your specialty.
Seems wrestling is too, if your claims of success are to be taken seriously. A mat wrestler turned math teacher turned wrestler to show people about math. My God, if they ever wanted a Good Willing Hunting sequel, they’d cast you to be the lead. Because you’re probably an actor as well, just forgot to mention it last week. Oh, you’re also an elephant trainer and Buddha returned. Because you’re Bernard Core and you can do things!
You catching my tone yet, Bernie, or did you skip out on English class to study the next big equation? I’m mocking you. Not because I actually believe any of it. If your debut last week was of any indication, you can wrestle and pull out the win, too. You’ve got a knack for this business, there is no doubt, so I won’t bother trying to dismiss it. No, I’m mocking you because that’s exactly what you’ve done with me and what you’re approach will be come Sunday. To humiliate me, to try and show I’m not cut out for this business. And the thing is, Bernie.
I’ve heard it all before.
Ironic coming from the guy trying to teach others about something radically new and different to rehash the same material that has been thrown in my face the last twenty years. You’re bigger than me, stronger than me, more experienced in the ring than me. I said it, you said it, so can we leave it at that? I wish I could say we would, but I know it won’t be that way. Because you see, first impressions are so hard to overcome. Only success will raise doubt to these false assumptions.
And right now, the only thing I have to offer you is a single victory over three other opponents, same as you. I lost last week in a close contest, a hard fought contest, a contest I only won . . . but all you see is the word “loss.” And you don’t see a man behind the mask, Bernie, you see a child, a child ignorant in the ways of the world, a child who believes in wizards and trolls and all the other fairy tales that bored you in that English class you skipped out on, remember? If it couldn’t be quantified or numbered, you didn’t care.
But that’s okay, Bernie, because we’re not going out there to count; that’s the referee’s job, bud. You and I, we’re going to wrestle, and we’re going to wrestle our hearts out. You’re going to come into the match underestimating me, thinking you can show me something new like you showed those kids. Meanwhile, I’m just going to show you the big fight inside of this little man.
I think I have a long journey ahead of me, Bernard, and you’re not going to impede my forward progress. Gray and I have a lot to prove here in the WCF, more than you ever will, and you’re the very man I want to prove myself over. Maybe then, they’ll be one less doubter counting along with that referee, at least for a single week. You can go back to boring the masses with math next week.
Because come Sunday, all you will be is a number. Two, to be exact. But you knew, that right; numbers are your specialty.
Story of my life, you could say.
I thought I had the match last week against Dustin Beaver, I really did. Two weeks in I thought gold was going to mix with my write and green to make this perfect painting, of sorts. Dustin showed me a different picture, though. He showed me blinding white, the white of the lights above as I tried to count the stars dancing across my eyes. I counted three, in case you were wondering, just like someone else in that ring. Probably just like a lot of other people there. It is so easy to count out the little guy, isn’t it?
But I can’t fret, won’t fret. Yesterday is history and tomorrow is a mystery, my mother would always tell me, so live only for today. And today, in relative terms of course, I have a different obstacle to face. Two to be exact, and thinking about what I was unable to do will only hinder what I think I can do. Am I still disappointed? Without a doubt. Thing is, it won’t be a brake, but the gasoline, to the metaphorical car I found myself behind the wheel of, probably unable to see above the steering wheel at what’s ahead. I know of my opponents this week, but what after? Am I to hit a dead end, or a never ending highway? Or will I venture off of this beaten path and redeem myself against Dustin Beaver? Who truly knows?
I can simply say this: I’m going on a journey. No, not one of those drug trips half of the roster here think is “legal” or “morally right.” No, I quote a great man when I figurative yell in this type out: I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE. One that began with but a single letter written on a slip of parchment and ends . . . well, you can guess how I’d like it to end. But first, the letter. Cue scene transition.
[And with that, the scene finally develops after minutes of dark voice-over]
LGB: We’re going.
[Darkness becomes to mesh of a secretary’s office with a medieval flair. Amy was seated behind an expertly carved table with a fantastical scene depicted on the side with a modern desktop sitting on top. Beside the keyboard was, you guessed it, a slip of parchment weighed down with a naked dagger. Not the best thing La Gama had ever seen naked, but you take what you can get. Oh, and La Gama was standing opposite Amy, arms crossed in what was obviously a stubborn pose.]
Amy: Do you actually trust this? [She gestures to the parchment] “Lord Jenson, come to my Tower and I’ll brew you up a nice concoction. [She stops speaking as La Gama snickers from across the table, looking at him crossly.] Concoction, Gama, stop being so childish. All of that signed by the Potionmaster Greybeard.
[Amy stares at La Gama, expecting some sort of recognition to what she was implying. She got nothing, of course.]
Amy: Gama, what’s another word that starts with the letter P?
LGB: Pussy.
[Amy throws her hands up in exasperation]
Amy: Poison, you imbecile! Greybeard is a self-proclaimed master of potion-making, so he could very well slip a deadly poison in our Lord’s ale. And you just want to waltz right in there and hang out?!
[La Gama has turned away from Amy the whole time she was talking. He snaps his fingers suddenly.]
LGB: Pee! I’d want to piss off of the top of his tower too.
Amy: You’re unbelievable!
[La Gama turns back to Amy. It’s obvious that under the lucha suit, he was grinning widely.]
LGB: No, I just don’t believe Greybeard is threatening our Lord’s life. I think he’s just inviting him over to throw back a few ones. It’s a lonely business being a wizard and all, and now we have two here in the WCF!
Amy: Still, what with Oblivion and Bonnie Blue, I don’t think it best for Lord Jenson to be bothered by this rogue wizard.
LGB: That’s fine. The least I can do is make the trip myself. Do a little scouting for my match this Sunday and see if this man is to be trusted while I’m at it.
[Amy looks at Gama, sighing to herself. She taps away at the desktop for a few moments before looking back at him.]
Amy: He sent us google map directions to his tower. It’s a very long trip. Are you sure you’re up for it?
[La Gama shrugs.]
LGB: That’s what unnecessary walking scenes are for, right?
[Oh no, here they come]
[The video cuts to a scene of La Gama, in his full lucha suit, with a back pack and his golden axe, exiting the home of Lord Jenson as he sets out on his journey. The camera begins to zoom out to highlight the small size of the luchador amongst the landscape. From there, we get action shots of La Gama hiking over mountains, across plains, and even wading in a river, his bag held over his little head. The final shot, the best one of all, is La Gama photoshopped into the iconic scene where a tree walked, carrying his two hobbited companions. This scene last a few seconds longer, La Gama clinging to the tree by his beard, before it too transitions.]
[At last, the video is stationary once more as La Gama sits beneath the stars besides a raging fire, his backpack pressed against his little chest. It appears he’s in a forest of some sorts as he watches the flames flicker.]
[The video cuts to a scene of La Gama, in his full lucha suit, with a back pack and his golden axe, exiting the home of Lord Jenson as he sets out on his journey. The camera begins to zoom out to highlight the small size of the luchador amongst the landscape. From there, we get action shots of La Gama hiking over mountains, across plains, and even wading in a river, his bag held over his little head. The final shot, the best one of all, is La Gama photoshopped into the iconic scene where a tree walked, carrying his two hobbited companions. This scene last a few seconds longer, La Gama clinging to the tree by his beard, before it too transitions.]
[At last, the video is stationary once more as La Gama sits beneath the stars besides a raging fire, his backpack pressed against his little chest. It appears he’s in a forest of some sorts as he watches the flames flicker.]
LGB: This beautiful landscape . . . It makes me feel as if I was in New Zealand.
[La Gama shakes his head, the shadows dancing across the mask.]
LGB: Not that I am, of course. No, I find myself on the road to visit the man known simply as Graybeard who in a few days’ time will be my opponent on Slam. It has been a long journey and I have yet to reach the man’s tower, but no matter. I believe I’ll get a good taste of just who you are come Sunday.
[La Gama looks hard at the camera]
LGB: My first impression, Gray, is that you’re harmless. Not weak, no; I just don’t think you have any ill intention to me or Lord Jenson. Your feelings may differ with our other opponent, but I don’t think you to be a threat to my life, just my kill to death ratio. And honestly, to a gamer such as myself, that’s even more important to me.
I lost to Dustin Beaver last week, Gray, and it reminded me how much I disliked losing. It’s what expected of me and I hate just living up to those kinds of expectations. I want to surpass to belief that people make of me as soon as they see me. I’m sure you can relate, Gray; wizards, dwarves, we creatures out of fantasy novels are underappreciated and underestimated. And it’s not fair, not one damn bit. We have to fight, we have to win!
[La Gama sighs]
LGB: But this a match meant for only one victor, Gray, and I need that to be me, so we have to go through one more week of unfairness. So do me a favor, Gray, and survive. Come in, give me the fight I desire, show the fans that men like you and I are not to be trifled with, not to be overlooked. And then step aside, and let me handle the rest. I’ll handle Bernard Core, I’ll take the victory, and then you and I can look into that whole invitation to drink later.
[Abrupt scene fade.]
Like I said, Bernard, I’d handle you. That wasn’t an empty boast, either; it was a declaration of intent to take all of those claims against me and my ability and choke you out with them. Because you’re the kind of person I was talking about earlier, the one who sees me and thinks “he’ll never make it.” I bet you were even counting to three last week when Dustin Beaver pinned me. Because, you know, you’re a math guy and counting is kind of your specialty.
Seems wrestling is too, if your claims of success are to be taken seriously. A mat wrestler turned math teacher turned wrestler to show people about math. My God, if they ever wanted a Good Willing Hunting sequel, they’d cast you to be the lead. Because you’re probably an actor as well, just forgot to mention it last week. Oh, you’re also an elephant trainer and Buddha returned. Because you’re Bernard Core and you can do things!
You catching my tone yet, Bernie, or did you skip out on English class to study the next big equation? I’m mocking you. Not because I actually believe any of it. If your debut last week was of any indication, you can wrestle and pull out the win, too. You’ve got a knack for this business, there is no doubt, so I won’t bother trying to dismiss it. No, I’m mocking you because that’s exactly what you’ve done with me and what you’re approach will be come Sunday. To humiliate me, to try and show I’m not cut out for this business. And the thing is, Bernie.
I’ve heard it all before.
Ironic coming from the guy trying to teach others about something radically new and different to rehash the same material that has been thrown in my face the last twenty years. You’re bigger than me, stronger than me, more experienced in the ring than me. I said it, you said it, so can we leave it at that? I wish I could say we would, but I know it won’t be that way. Because you see, first impressions are so hard to overcome. Only success will raise doubt to these false assumptions.
And right now, the only thing I have to offer you is a single victory over three other opponents, same as you. I lost last week in a close contest, a hard fought contest, a contest I only won . . . but all you see is the word “loss.” And you don’t see a man behind the mask, Bernie, you see a child, a child ignorant in the ways of the world, a child who believes in wizards and trolls and all the other fairy tales that bored you in that English class you skipped out on, remember? If it couldn’t be quantified or numbered, you didn’t care.
But that’s okay, Bernie, because we’re not going out there to count; that’s the referee’s job, bud. You and I, we’re going to wrestle, and we’re going to wrestle our hearts out. You’re going to come into the match underestimating me, thinking you can show me something new like you showed those kids. Meanwhile, I’m just going to show you the big fight inside of this little man.
I think I have a long journey ahead of me, Bernard, and you’re not going to impede my forward progress. Gray and I have a lot to prove here in the WCF, more than you ever will, and you’re the very man I want to prove myself over. Maybe then, they’ll be one less doubter counting along with that referee, at least for a single week. You can go back to boring the masses with math next week.
Because come Sunday, all you will be is a number. Two, to be exact. But you knew, that right; numbers are your specialty.
[And fade out]
