Post by Johnny Reb on Apr 25, 2009 13:17:36 GMT -5
Johnny Reb sits alone in a modest hotel room, gazing thoughtfully into the depths of a highball glass.
It’s more than a little vexin’, as Mr. Daniels so rightly points out in his latest blog entry, to find myself at odds again this week with that blusterin’ group of fools that call themselves Triangle. Honestly, they ain’t worth my time.
Reb pauses, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a draught.
So this soliloquy I will address solely to you, Ryan Daniels.
With a disdainful sniff, he sets the glass on an end table, then turns to gaze directly at the camera.
Now don’t start countin’ them feathers in your cap just yet, Mr. Daniels. You may have despoiled the single definin’ moment of my career at GWC – that bein’ the Underground Title – but that’s all in the past now. You may have, as you so eloquently put it a couple weeks ago, “kicked my ass all over the GWC.”
A smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth.
But this, Mr. Daniels, is a whole new ballgame. Lest you forget, sir, it was me – not you – who claimed the victory over Triangle last week. An’ before that, at Timebomb, it was you who got yourself pinned by that Apollo Griffin character.
The smirk evolves into a cruel smile.
I think you recall what happened after that.
Johnny’s hand gravitates toward the glass again, then halts, fingers poised at the rim.
An’ last, but assuredly not least, let us not forget my debut here in WCF. That particular Monday night saw not only you and me in the ring, sir, but our longtime associate Brad Kane. You thought you had that situation well in hand, didn’t you, Mr. Daniels?
Now, let’s see, what happened then?
Reb frowns in mock puzzlement. Then he brightens.
Oh, that’s right. I made you tap out. So don’t get too comfortable with that sense of pre-eminence that you have so carefully cultivated. Things are different now. For one, I am no longer distracted by petty annoyances, such as one other Southern boy I could name. You have the benefit, Mr. Daniels, of my full attention.
It seems fate has brought us together again, Mr. Daniels, to settle things once an’ for all. At least for now; nothin’ ever seems truly final in this business.
Johnny smiles broadly, his gaze burning with a determined light.
Triangle has been an irritation – minor though it may be – to both of us for long enough. Therefore, I accept your proposal. Much as either of us may hate to admit it, we do seem to work well together.
Once more unto the breach, Mr. Daniels, once more. To paraphrase from Shakespeare’s Henry V. For a final time, you an’ me will deal with Triangle. An’ then, it’ll just be the two of us…
The smile fades, replaced with a look of sheer resolve.
I bear you no special ill will, Mr. Daniels, but you issued the challenge. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself when it’s my hand the referee raises, in the end; when it’s my music filling the arena at the conclusion of our match; when you lie helpless on the canvas….. All your astute observations and clever words will do you no good this time.
With a dismissive gesture, Johnny turns his attention away from the camera. Fade.
It’s more than a little vexin’, as Mr. Daniels so rightly points out in his latest blog entry, to find myself at odds again this week with that blusterin’ group of fools that call themselves Triangle. Honestly, they ain’t worth my time.
Reb pauses, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a draught.
So this soliloquy I will address solely to you, Ryan Daniels.
With a disdainful sniff, he sets the glass on an end table, then turns to gaze directly at the camera.
Now don’t start countin’ them feathers in your cap just yet, Mr. Daniels. You may have despoiled the single definin’ moment of my career at GWC – that bein’ the Underground Title – but that’s all in the past now. You may have, as you so eloquently put it a couple weeks ago, “kicked my ass all over the GWC.”
A smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth.
But this, Mr. Daniels, is a whole new ballgame. Lest you forget, sir, it was me – not you – who claimed the victory over Triangle last week. An’ before that, at Timebomb, it was you who got yourself pinned by that Apollo Griffin character.
The smirk evolves into a cruel smile.
I think you recall what happened after that.
Johnny’s hand gravitates toward the glass again, then halts, fingers poised at the rim.
An’ last, but assuredly not least, let us not forget my debut here in WCF. That particular Monday night saw not only you and me in the ring, sir, but our longtime associate Brad Kane. You thought you had that situation well in hand, didn’t you, Mr. Daniels?
Now, let’s see, what happened then?
Reb frowns in mock puzzlement. Then he brightens.
Oh, that’s right. I made you tap out. So don’t get too comfortable with that sense of pre-eminence that you have so carefully cultivated. Things are different now. For one, I am no longer distracted by petty annoyances, such as one other Southern boy I could name. You have the benefit, Mr. Daniels, of my full attention.
It seems fate has brought us together again, Mr. Daniels, to settle things once an’ for all. At least for now; nothin’ ever seems truly final in this business.
Johnny smiles broadly, his gaze burning with a determined light.
Triangle has been an irritation – minor though it may be – to both of us for long enough. Therefore, I accept your proposal. Much as either of us may hate to admit it, we do seem to work well together.
Once more unto the breach, Mr. Daniels, once more. To paraphrase from Shakespeare’s Henry V. For a final time, you an’ me will deal with Triangle. An’ then, it’ll just be the two of us…
The smile fades, replaced with a look of sheer resolve.
I bear you no special ill will, Mr. Daniels, but you issued the challenge. You’ll have no one to blame but yourself when it’s my hand the referee raises, in the end; when it’s my music filling the arena at the conclusion of our match; when you lie helpless on the canvas….. All your astute observations and clever words will do you no good this time.
With a dismissive gesture, Johnny turns his attention away from the camera. Fade.
