Post by Cormack MacNeill on Jan 17, 2016 12:08:26 GMT -5
The camera fades in on what appears to be a webcam feed. It shows a sparsely furnished living room, threadbare brown couch and faded grey carpet paying testament to this fact. Front and center in the scene is a battered, patched brown recliner. Clearly it's seen better days. In fact, the whole tableau gives off an impression of 'was nice once'. It's as if some unhinged interior decorator had decided on 'past glory' as a motif, and rummaged through the second hand stores and garage sales to fill it.
Into this scene comes a large man, head shaved and beard resplendent in it's hirsute glory. It's almost as if a beard was grown on top of a beard. It's a personal statement of the man. Of his manliness. Of his virility. Or in this case, it's a sign of winter in Canada. Long, severe, brutal on the unprepared. On that note, not much different than a career in the WCF.
The large man settle sin, and it becomes apparent that it's none other than the WCF's resident kilted bear, Cormack MacNeill. He stares directly into the camera and begins his speech.
I want to say first how excited I am to be back in the WCF. In a lot of ways it's like coming home. There's no feeling in the world like it. It's like a big warm hug from your mother when the fans cheer you. Hearing the noise when my music hits the arena...well, if you've never been in the ring you'll never know. It's funny how some things change, but they still stay the same. Last time I was in the ring, I was getting paid in cash not cookies. But the other rewards, the fans, the struggle, the rush of pitting your best against someone else...that never changes. I don't need to wrestle on Sunday to know that I'll still get that feeling when my music hits and the fans go off.
Speaking of the fans, they've been great. You all know I'm not much of a social media guy. Too old school I guess. Too traditional. But the fans have been everywhere, asking where I am. Asking what's going on. To them, I just have this to say. Thank you.
Thanks for keeping the faith. Thanks for keeping the light on in the window. Thanks for making it impossible for me to stay away.
By now everyone knows the shit that went down with Church. The lies, the mind games. It was all too much for me. I thought I could charge out of the gate and get right back into it. With Conall by my side, I thought we could set the WCF on fire. But I was wrong.
Where's Conall you ask? He's doing fine, working on his own shit these days. He loves to fight, but I guess organized sport has too many rules for him. To each their own. He and I mad a formidable team, as we always did. But, as it always did it lead to conflict. But that's family, isn't it. Friends from birth, rivals from birth too.
Enough about me. I want to talk about my match on Sunday. Some might say that since I've walked these halls before, drank that shit coffee they always seem to have before, won before, and lost before...that I shouldn't have to prove myself again. To those people I say this. WCF is an everchanging animal. One minute you've got Pantheon ruling the world and breaking all the rules to do it, the next you've got sea creatures holding gold, and everyone is paid in cookies. Weird shit I tell ya. So throwing me in with three newcomers doesn't surprise me at all. it's a trail by fire. A litmus test. The powers that be want to see if I still got it. If I'm still the Big Mac on campus. If I'm still the same scrapping Canuck that I was.
I'll answer it this way. Reyes, Simmons and Benson...you boys better bring your A game. Better have trained hard and done your homework. You'd better be ready. I'm not going to talk about how I'm the best ever, because I'm not. I'm not going to talk about how bad I am, because I'm not that either. What I am is 275 lbs of rugged determination. I'm a plaid covered brick wall that your plans for the night will slam up against. I'm the terror that goes quack....No, wrong promo.
Simply said, there's going to be some flying around, some hard shots, some kicking and screaming...and then someones going to wake up Monday with an awful Hangover. It's going to be a great contest, and you folks at home shouldn't miss it. It's the returnof the Big Mac, the Kilted Assassin, the King of closing the bar, the best there is...in this room...right now.
Hell, seeing me tossing bodies around the ring for 5 minutes beats listening to those amphibious assholes in BeachKrew talk about how great they are. Come see me. I don't talk the talk, I just do the walking.
So to all of those who asked how I was doing what I was doing....rest assured. The Mac is Back!
With that, Cormack reaches up and shuts off the feed.
Into this scene comes a large man, head shaved and beard resplendent in it's hirsute glory. It's almost as if a beard was grown on top of a beard. It's a personal statement of the man. Of his manliness. Of his virility. Or in this case, it's a sign of winter in Canada. Long, severe, brutal on the unprepared. On that note, not much different than a career in the WCF.
The large man settle sin, and it becomes apparent that it's none other than the WCF's resident kilted bear, Cormack MacNeill. He stares directly into the camera and begins his speech.
I want to say first how excited I am to be back in the WCF. In a lot of ways it's like coming home. There's no feeling in the world like it. It's like a big warm hug from your mother when the fans cheer you. Hearing the noise when my music hits the arena...well, if you've never been in the ring you'll never know. It's funny how some things change, but they still stay the same. Last time I was in the ring, I was getting paid in cash not cookies. But the other rewards, the fans, the struggle, the rush of pitting your best against someone else...that never changes. I don't need to wrestle on Sunday to know that I'll still get that feeling when my music hits and the fans go off.
Speaking of the fans, they've been great. You all know I'm not much of a social media guy. Too old school I guess. Too traditional. But the fans have been everywhere, asking where I am. Asking what's going on. To them, I just have this to say. Thank you.
Thanks for keeping the faith. Thanks for keeping the light on in the window. Thanks for making it impossible for me to stay away.
By now everyone knows the shit that went down with Church. The lies, the mind games. It was all too much for me. I thought I could charge out of the gate and get right back into it. With Conall by my side, I thought we could set the WCF on fire. But I was wrong.
Where's Conall you ask? He's doing fine, working on his own shit these days. He loves to fight, but I guess organized sport has too many rules for him. To each their own. He and I mad a formidable team, as we always did. But, as it always did it lead to conflict. But that's family, isn't it. Friends from birth, rivals from birth too.
Enough about me. I want to talk about my match on Sunday. Some might say that since I've walked these halls before, drank that shit coffee they always seem to have before, won before, and lost before...that I shouldn't have to prove myself again. To those people I say this. WCF is an everchanging animal. One minute you've got Pantheon ruling the world and breaking all the rules to do it, the next you've got sea creatures holding gold, and everyone is paid in cookies. Weird shit I tell ya. So throwing me in with three newcomers doesn't surprise me at all. it's a trail by fire. A litmus test. The powers that be want to see if I still got it. If I'm still the Big Mac on campus. If I'm still the same scrapping Canuck that I was.
I'll answer it this way. Reyes, Simmons and Benson...you boys better bring your A game. Better have trained hard and done your homework. You'd better be ready. I'm not going to talk about how I'm the best ever, because I'm not. I'm not going to talk about how bad I am, because I'm not that either. What I am is 275 lbs of rugged determination. I'm a plaid covered brick wall that your plans for the night will slam up against. I'm the terror that goes quack....No, wrong promo.
Simply said, there's going to be some flying around, some hard shots, some kicking and screaming...and then someones going to wake up Monday with an awful Hangover. It's going to be a great contest, and you folks at home shouldn't miss it. It's the returnof the Big Mac, the Kilted Assassin, the King of closing the bar, the best there is...in this room...right now.
Hell, seeing me tossing bodies around the ring for 5 minutes beats listening to those amphibious assholes in BeachKrew talk about how great they are. Come see me. I don't talk the talk, I just do the walking.
So to all of those who asked how I was doing what I was doing....rest assured. The Mac is Back!
With that, Cormack reaches up and shuts off the feed.
