Post by Cormack MacNeill on Sept 18, 2016 14:52:40 GMT -5
Thursday, September 15, 2016 1350 hrs
Chonicle-Herald Offices
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Scene opens to a small but crowded windowless room. Although the steady hum of air conditioning can be heard, the beaded perspiration dotting every face tells the tale of stuffy, cramped, and heated quarters. One long table occupies the center of the small room, its battered surface telling its own tale of long coffee fueled nights and junk food dinners that are synonymous with bitter, embattled writers chasing a deadline with the fervent gusto of an addict seeking that next high. Four middle aged men crowd at one end of this table of dreams, copy pads in hand and waiting for the scoop. At the other end is seated the protagonist of this little tale, a man who easily occupies the same space at his end that the other four do at theirs.
Cormack MacNeill, resplendent in his kilt of green and gold as the colours of Clan MacNeill of Barra are always on prominent display on his large frame, leaned back in his seat with a sound of protest from the wood that gave hint to his bulky frame that the broad shoulders alluded to. He placed both hands flat on the war-scarred table and addressed the men opposite him with a single question.
'Who's first'
The men all clamored, jostling and shouting over one another, a general din that rang off the walls of this room. Finally, a meaty fist slammed down onto the table, spraying water bottles and notepads to all four corners with a resounding smack and the deafening silence that followed. MacNeill fixed the men with a glare that implied menace more than it represented it and gestured to the man on the far left.
The man swallowed hard before speaking, and his pencil-filled hand shook slightly as it hovered over his pad.
'Mr. MacNeill, we all have the same question I think....what brings you back to the WCF? I mean, you just walked away the last time. Disappeared off the map, no interviews, no one could find you. Why now?'
Cormack cocked his head as he listened to the question, nodding along as the man spoke. His smooth, shaved head twisted left and right as he gathered his thoughts, and his meaty hand stroked his thick, luxurious beard in contemplation of how to answer. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his bulk in the table with his forearms.
Why? It's the WCF. That's where the best of the best compete. The cream of the crop. Legendary wrestlers and legends in the making. Heroic wrestlers and craven villains clashing in epic struggles of will and wrestling. Who wouldn't want to be there? It's the place to be. Anyplace else you can go is just the minor leagues compared to the Dubya.
The men scribble furiously as he speaks, and as he finishes they all pause. After a moment of silence dripping with anticipation, the second man asks the question that everyone was waiting for.
But Why now Cormack? Why come back now?
The big man chuckled to himself as he stroked his thick beard. After a moment, he leaned back and crossed his arms.
War. War never changes....No really, I came back for War. The single toughest match in all of professional wrestling today. A brutal, knock down drag out kind of fight. Last man standing kind of fight. No quarter expected. no quarter given. Friend on friend, foe on foe. In other words, my kind of fight.
And what about this Sunday? In Montgomery Alabama? You're teaming up with Jeff Purse to take on the New Breed. Your thoughts?
First off, anytime you get to step in the ring with a future Hall-of-Famer like Jeff Purse, whether its with him or against him, it's an honour. They guy's made his mark on the industry in so many ways. Former World Champ, former Tag Team Champion, and former winner of War. When you've got that on your resume, nothing else needs to be said. The guy is golden. And a class act to boot. Couldn't be happier
But what about your opponents, the New Breed.
The New Breed. Well, like you said, they're new on the scene. Pretty rough ride for a couple of rookies, but don't sell them short. They are a product of Adam Young's training. He's another future Hall-of-Famer. Anytime you mention his name, you can't count him out. That goes for his guys too. I expect the same aggression and focus from them that he brings to the table. Won't be an easy match anyway you look at it.
But don't sell us short either. In Jeff Purse you've got a skilled, agile Legend who'll catch them from above with his lightning fast kicks and flips and leave them feeling Deflated. Or they'll take the low road and get run over by a steamroller in a skirt. A kilted Menace. A guiness fueled ass-kicking machine. The man who single handedly set wrestling fashion back 50 years.
That's yours truly, Ol' Double Mack. The pride of Halifax. The man who's given out more Hangovers than Wild Turkey and Jack Daniels combined.
So, they may be well trained, and they may be inspired. But come Monday morning, they're gonna feel like two laddies that just got their heads kicked off.
Fade to Black
Chonicle-Herald Offices
Halifax, Nova Scotia
Scene opens to a small but crowded windowless room. Although the steady hum of air conditioning can be heard, the beaded perspiration dotting every face tells the tale of stuffy, cramped, and heated quarters. One long table occupies the center of the small room, its battered surface telling its own tale of long coffee fueled nights and junk food dinners that are synonymous with bitter, embattled writers chasing a deadline with the fervent gusto of an addict seeking that next high. Four middle aged men crowd at one end of this table of dreams, copy pads in hand and waiting for the scoop. At the other end is seated the protagonist of this little tale, a man who easily occupies the same space at his end that the other four do at theirs.
Cormack MacNeill, resplendent in his kilt of green and gold as the colours of Clan MacNeill of Barra are always on prominent display on his large frame, leaned back in his seat with a sound of protest from the wood that gave hint to his bulky frame that the broad shoulders alluded to. He placed both hands flat on the war-scarred table and addressed the men opposite him with a single question.
'Who's first'
The men all clamored, jostling and shouting over one another, a general din that rang off the walls of this room. Finally, a meaty fist slammed down onto the table, spraying water bottles and notepads to all four corners with a resounding smack and the deafening silence that followed. MacNeill fixed the men with a glare that implied menace more than it represented it and gestured to the man on the far left.
The man swallowed hard before speaking, and his pencil-filled hand shook slightly as it hovered over his pad.
'Mr. MacNeill, we all have the same question I think....what brings you back to the WCF? I mean, you just walked away the last time. Disappeared off the map, no interviews, no one could find you. Why now?'
Cormack cocked his head as he listened to the question, nodding along as the man spoke. His smooth, shaved head twisted left and right as he gathered his thoughts, and his meaty hand stroked his thick, luxurious beard in contemplation of how to answer. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his bulk in the table with his forearms.
Why? It's the WCF. That's where the best of the best compete. The cream of the crop. Legendary wrestlers and legends in the making. Heroic wrestlers and craven villains clashing in epic struggles of will and wrestling. Who wouldn't want to be there? It's the place to be. Anyplace else you can go is just the minor leagues compared to the Dubya.
The men scribble furiously as he speaks, and as he finishes they all pause. After a moment of silence dripping with anticipation, the second man asks the question that everyone was waiting for.
But Why now Cormack? Why come back now?
The big man chuckled to himself as he stroked his thick beard. After a moment, he leaned back and crossed his arms.
War. War never changes....No really, I came back for War. The single toughest match in all of professional wrestling today. A brutal, knock down drag out kind of fight. Last man standing kind of fight. No quarter expected. no quarter given. Friend on friend, foe on foe. In other words, my kind of fight.
And what about this Sunday? In Montgomery Alabama? You're teaming up with Jeff Purse to take on the New Breed. Your thoughts?
First off, anytime you get to step in the ring with a future Hall-of-Famer like Jeff Purse, whether its with him or against him, it's an honour. They guy's made his mark on the industry in so many ways. Former World Champ, former Tag Team Champion, and former winner of War. When you've got that on your resume, nothing else needs to be said. The guy is golden. And a class act to boot. Couldn't be happier
But what about your opponents, the New Breed.
The New Breed. Well, like you said, they're new on the scene. Pretty rough ride for a couple of rookies, but don't sell them short. They are a product of Adam Young's training. He's another future Hall-of-Famer. Anytime you mention his name, you can't count him out. That goes for his guys too. I expect the same aggression and focus from them that he brings to the table. Won't be an easy match anyway you look at it.
But don't sell us short either. In Jeff Purse you've got a skilled, agile Legend who'll catch them from above with his lightning fast kicks and flips and leave them feeling Deflated. Or they'll take the low road and get run over by a steamroller in a skirt. A kilted Menace. A guiness fueled ass-kicking machine. The man who single handedly set wrestling fashion back 50 years.
That's yours truly, Ol' Double Mack. The pride of Halifax. The man who's given out more Hangovers than Wild Turkey and Jack Daniels combined.
So, they may be well trained, and they may be inspired. But come Monday morning, they're gonna feel like two laddies that just got their heads kicked off.
Fade to Black
