Post by Allen Guiliano on Nov 1, 2009 2:02:17 GMT -5
As the scene opens, a snowflake is followed by the lens as it becomes visible against a bright blue sky and flutters into a waiting shoeprint on the sidewalk below. The crunching of fresh powder is all that can be heard as the black shoes of an unknown individual leave the first prints of the morning on the pavement below. As the camera works up the frame of the unknown gentleman, it now follows his upper body which is covered by a long black trench coat, his hands thrust deep into the pockets that rest at his waist. A black fedora with a white band covers the head of the walking pedestrian who has his coat pulling tightly around him to thwart the morning chill of the Fargo air. The camera pans to the face of the man, who can now be identified as Allen Guiliano of the World Championship federation. His frozen breath becomes visible as he lets out a sigh and continues to trudge down the sidewalk, his face red from affects of the near freezing temperatures.
Guiliano approaches a small hotel entrance at the end of the street and extends a hand to pull open the outer door by its gold handle. Once inside, the Sicilian removes his hat and hands it to a waiting bellboy before continuing across the dark green carpet that leads him to the check-in counter. A young female behind the reception desk gives a gentle smile as Guiliano approaches and rubs his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them as he pulls a billfold from his back pocket and sets it in front of him, prepared to show his identification.
Receptionist: Hello and welcome to Hotel Donaldson! Can I please have your name and I will get you to your room as quickly as possible.
Guiliano, Allen Guiliano. G-u-i-l-i-a-n-o.
The young female raps at the keyboard in front of her for a few moments, all the while wearing the gentle smile across her red lips, before her eyes dart open and she looks to the Italian once again. She quickly reaches for an envelope that is resting on a small desk behind her and slides it across the countertop to the awaiting guest.
Here you are Mr. Guiliano. You are in Room 76, it is down the hall and to your right. Ryan will take your bags and show you the way if you need him to.
Oh no, that won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer and your hospitality.
Guiliano reaches into his breast pocket and slips a $20 bill into the front pocket of Ryan, the waiting bellhop. The two exchange a simple smile before Allen removes the key from the small white envelope and makes his way down the hall to the awaiting room. He holds the silver key in his fingers before pushing it into the lock and slowly turning it to his left, hearing the latch release. A gentle push from his opposite hand opens the door and reveals the room where is bags are waiting for him. He deposits his hat on a small hook that hangs on the back of the door and slowly removes his coat, tossing it onto the white linen sheets. He then empties his pockets and lays the contents out neatly on the small nightstand that sits to the right of the bed before and pulls open the top drawer, removing a coaster and making his way over to a stocked mini fridge. The Italian quickly pours himself a quick gin and tonic and sips it anxiously before falling backward onto the awaiting mattress.
Guiliano simply stares up at the ceiling and relaxes; removing his shoes and watching them tumble to the floor at the foot of the bed. He closes his eyes and takes another healthy swig from the glass before setting it on the coast he had previously removed from the drawer. Just as he becomes comfortable, the North Dakota sunlight pours through the open window and splashes him in the face. A groan escapes his lips as he turns his head and does his best to avoid the incoming rays. After a few moments he gives in and makes his way to his feet, walking over to the window, snapping the shades closed and letting out a sigh of disbelief. Guiliano makes his way across the room to a closet, pulling opening the sliding doors and removing his gym bag, unzipping it, and pulling out a white t-shirt, a pair of black shorts, and running shoes. He slips out of his shirt, tie, and slacks and makes his way into the more comfortable attire before making his way back out into the hallway, searching for a workout facility. As he halfheartedly stretches out his muscles, making his way down the hall, he sees a corner room that contains some free weights, a treadmill, an elliptical, and a television. He slowly slips inside and sets the treadmill to a quick but manageable pace. As he reaches forward and turns on the television, a recap of the WCF’s latest pay per view event, Helloween, is being discussed. Guiliano simply shakes his head as he watches a clip of Seth Lerch and Torture carrying the WCF Tag Team Championship belts over their shoulders as they exit the ring after the refusal of Guiliano to accept it.
He continues to watch, his eyes fixed to the screen as the belt moves quickly under his feet as he keeps pace. Drops of sweat start to run down his chiseled face as he continues his morning run, escaping the harsh temperatures outside. His right hand pushes up a slider, increasing the speed of the treadmill as he takes in a deep breath and quickens the pace of his feet. After a quick speed burst, he decreases the speed once again to a more manageable long term pace before settling in to his run. After several moments, his eyes dart open and he quickly comes to a stop, jumping off the back of the treadmill, causing the belt to come to a halt. After removing his key from his pocket he glances down at it, noticing the numeral, 76, that has been imprinted into the metal.
It wasn’t until just now that I realized the irony of this key, better yet, these numbers that I currently hold in my hand and that I had possessed for far too long before it hit me. Two simple digits, a seven and a six, but to two digits that mean so much more to me than a room number. It all comes clear now that the seven and six have been assigned to me by the WCF for a reason. You all may think that I am crazy, but let’s look at this a little closer. It was on the sixth day of the seventh month, July, which some extremely relevant event occurred in the World Championship Federation. It was such a rare occasion that it has yet to happen again since that very date of July 6, 2009. Nearly four months ago, my shoulders were held to the mat of a squared circle for the first and final time as a member of the WCF and I was the one looking up from below as my opponents had their hands raised in victory. Sure, I have suffered blemishes to my record in tag team matches since that time, but I was never the one to be the reason for the less except on that memorable day. And how ironic that the man who handed me my only true defeat should be my opponent this week at Slam.
Johnny Reb, as my career has simply taken off here in this federation, yours has seen to come to a screeching halt and perhaps even a decline since my run to the #1 Contendership. As I pile up the wins and my name becomes synonymous with sports entertainment, you seem to be stuck on the rung just below that of the top talent in this federation. I know, Torture and I are quite the show stoppers, and technically even Tag Team Champions, but Reb, your name has simply disappeared from main event status as of late. Let’s be honest here Johnny, you are a former WORLD CHAMPION! You even defended your title against some of the best talent that WCF has to offer, but ever since you had your title stripped from your waist, you haven’t been the same competitor. Was it enough for you to simply become World Champion once in your career? Was the fame and fortune more than you had anticipated? Are you still wrestling to become the best of the best once again or are you simply here to support your buddy Doc Henry? I don’t think that it is a coincidence that ever since he has arrived, you have become a less and less relevant figure in this organization. It appears that simply being called a “former World Champion” is enough for you and the drive to win it once again is gone. Maybe that’s just how I see it, but take a step back and look at what has occurred in your career since Torture reclaimed his title.
I see your interviews and read what you have to say to inquisitive reporters, Reb. Every time one of them brings up the World Title scene or one of them asks you about your recent hardships, you always follow it up by reminding them that you have been the only individual to beat Slickie T. It’s like a crutch for you to stand on and some sort of prize in your mind that seems to be the staple of your career. What is more important to you Reb? Was it being a former World Champion or was it being “the guy” who pinned Slickie T? You see, it’s not about you when those questions are asked. It’s about the #1 Contender, the War VIII winner, the rising superstar here in the WCF that they are inquiring about. You are now simply “The Guy Who Pinned Slickie T” and nothing more. Johnny, you are no longer, THE Johnny Reb, or The Inveterate Confederate, you are just The Guy Who Pinned Slickie T. As a matter of fact, I might call up Seth after this week and demand that he change your name on all upcoming cards to just that. He is a big fan of mine as of late and I’m sure he will do just about anything I demand to get me to join him and Torture in their seemingly unstoppable stable. I may refuse to sign this contract this week so I can forever change your name Johnny. BUT, that may be a mute point after Monday night, because when I step back into the ring with you for the first time since that unfortunate incident, you will no long be able to claim even that designation. There will be a new date for both of us to remember and it will be November 2, the day that I got my revenge against the only man to ever defeat me in a WCF ring. Then what title will you be able to claim Johnny? What crutch will hold you up from your fall from glory then? It’s nothing personal Reb, it’s just that I don’t take losing lightly and your name will be forever engraved into my head until I finally get my chance at redemption. This Monday is that chance and I will not be denied. I will show the fans out there that my loss to you early in my career was nothing but a fluke and that on that ONE night back on July 6, I might have been outclassed in the ring. But that is the case no more. Look who was in that match and look where they are now. Dake Ken, my friend, my former XGWO colleague, and my partner that night, has yet to be seen since I defeated him at Revenge and earned the final spot at War. Then there was Mikami, a man that I originally defeated to become the United States Champion and an opponent that I have defeated on numerous occasions. Sure, he belongs to the Team of Torture now, but he still has yet to earn a victory over me despite our numerous meetings inside the ring for my former title. The third man, and the even loser that night, was none other than yours truly, Allen Guiliano, and I think we know what has transpired in my career since then, I don’t feel like I have to remind you. And that leaves only you Johnny Reb. The one man that can claim what no other man can here in the WCF and I plan on keeping it that way. You should be thanking me for your claim to fame. After all, if I don’t get pinned again, and I won’t, you will be able to forever keep your beloved title.
This match is billed as a two men competing for pride, but for me it is about much more. It is about overcoming the lone negative mark on my record and about proving once and for all who the better competitor between us really is. As I stated before my first meet, you can run your mouth about being a gentleman from the South, but you are facing the man with a heart of a Sicilian. Go ahead and rave of your victory over Craig Jacobs, a revenge match for you in a way since he was the one who eliminated you from War. But let’s be honest Johnny, Craig Jacobs is no Slickie T. You might want to think about your decision to “cut back” on your normal ways because you will need every trick in the book and every card in the deck to bring me down on Monday night. Keep your thoughts of bringing down the Team of Torture on the back burner for another week Reb. Your head needs to be focused on one thing and one thing only this week and that is the man who will be in the opposing corner at the Fargo Dome this week at Slam. I have waited a long time for this night to come, and I will not be denied my vendetta. Forza Italia! Mi amore.
He gives the key a gentle toss before violently snatching it out of the air and slipping it a pocket on his shorts. Guiliano retrieves a towel from a towel rod and wipes the sweat from his brow before draping it over his shoulders, attempting to sop up as much moisture as he can. He continues a slow pace back down the hallway and back into the room labeled with the ironic number, tossing the towel into a corner of the bathroom before shutting the door behind him and returning his previously poured beverage. Guiliano carefully picks up the glass and smells the remaining contents before taking a long drink followed by a deep swallow. He rests the glass back on the coaster before the scene fades to black. The sound of running water is the last audible noise that can be heard as the Italian steps into the shower and the camera pans back out of the room and focuses on the bronzed number 76 on the outside of the white hotel door.
Guiliano approaches a small hotel entrance at the end of the street and extends a hand to pull open the outer door by its gold handle. Once inside, the Sicilian removes his hat and hands it to a waiting bellboy before continuing across the dark green carpet that leads him to the check-in counter. A young female behind the reception desk gives a gentle smile as Guiliano approaches and rubs his hands together in a futile attempt to warm them as he pulls a billfold from his back pocket and sets it in front of him, prepared to show his identification.
Receptionist: Hello and welcome to Hotel Donaldson! Can I please have your name and I will get you to your room as quickly as possible.
Guiliano, Allen Guiliano. G-u-i-l-i-a-n-o.
The young female raps at the keyboard in front of her for a few moments, all the while wearing the gentle smile across her red lips, before her eyes dart open and she looks to the Italian once again. She quickly reaches for an envelope that is resting on a small desk behind her and slides it across the countertop to the awaiting guest.
Here you are Mr. Guiliano. You are in Room 76, it is down the hall and to your right. Ryan will take your bags and show you the way if you need him to.
Oh no, that won’t be necessary, but thank you for the offer and your hospitality.
Guiliano reaches into his breast pocket and slips a $20 bill into the front pocket of Ryan, the waiting bellhop. The two exchange a simple smile before Allen removes the key from the small white envelope and makes his way down the hall to the awaiting room. He holds the silver key in his fingers before pushing it into the lock and slowly turning it to his left, hearing the latch release. A gentle push from his opposite hand opens the door and reveals the room where is bags are waiting for him. He deposits his hat on a small hook that hangs on the back of the door and slowly removes his coat, tossing it onto the white linen sheets. He then empties his pockets and lays the contents out neatly on the small nightstand that sits to the right of the bed before and pulls open the top drawer, removing a coaster and making his way over to a stocked mini fridge. The Italian quickly pours himself a quick gin and tonic and sips it anxiously before falling backward onto the awaiting mattress.
Guiliano simply stares up at the ceiling and relaxes; removing his shoes and watching them tumble to the floor at the foot of the bed. He closes his eyes and takes another healthy swig from the glass before setting it on the coast he had previously removed from the drawer. Just as he becomes comfortable, the North Dakota sunlight pours through the open window and splashes him in the face. A groan escapes his lips as he turns his head and does his best to avoid the incoming rays. After a few moments he gives in and makes his way to his feet, walking over to the window, snapping the shades closed and letting out a sigh of disbelief. Guiliano makes his way across the room to a closet, pulling opening the sliding doors and removing his gym bag, unzipping it, and pulling out a white t-shirt, a pair of black shorts, and running shoes. He slips out of his shirt, tie, and slacks and makes his way into the more comfortable attire before making his way back out into the hallway, searching for a workout facility. As he halfheartedly stretches out his muscles, making his way down the hall, he sees a corner room that contains some free weights, a treadmill, an elliptical, and a television. He slowly slips inside and sets the treadmill to a quick but manageable pace. As he reaches forward and turns on the television, a recap of the WCF’s latest pay per view event, Helloween, is being discussed. Guiliano simply shakes his head as he watches a clip of Seth Lerch and Torture carrying the WCF Tag Team Championship belts over their shoulders as they exit the ring after the refusal of Guiliano to accept it.
He continues to watch, his eyes fixed to the screen as the belt moves quickly under his feet as he keeps pace. Drops of sweat start to run down his chiseled face as he continues his morning run, escaping the harsh temperatures outside. His right hand pushes up a slider, increasing the speed of the treadmill as he takes in a deep breath and quickens the pace of his feet. After a quick speed burst, he decreases the speed once again to a more manageable long term pace before settling in to his run. After several moments, his eyes dart open and he quickly comes to a stop, jumping off the back of the treadmill, causing the belt to come to a halt. After removing his key from his pocket he glances down at it, noticing the numeral, 76, that has been imprinted into the metal.
It wasn’t until just now that I realized the irony of this key, better yet, these numbers that I currently hold in my hand and that I had possessed for far too long before it hit me. Two simple digits, a seven and a six, but to two digits that mean so much more to me than a room number. It all comes clear now that the seven and six have been assigned to me by the WCF for a reason. You all may think that I am crazy, but let’s look at this a little closer. It was on the sixth day of the seventh month, July, which some extremely relevant event occurred in the World Championship Federation. It was such a rare occasion that it has yet to happen again since that very date of July 6, 2009. Nearly four months ago, my shoulders were held to the mat of a squared circle for the first and final time as a member of the WCF and I was the one looking up from below as my opponents had their hands raised in victory. Sure, I have suffered blemishes to my record in tag team matches since that time, but I was never the one to be the reason for the less except on that memorable day. And how ironic that the man who handed me my only true defeat should be my opponent this week at Slam.
Johnny Reb, as my career has simply taken off here in this federation, yours has seen to come to a screeching halt and perhaps even a decline since my run to the #1 Contendership. As I pile up the wins and my name becomes synonymous with sports entertainment, you seem to be stuck on the rung just below that of the top talent in this federation. I know, Torture and I are quite the show stoppers, and technically even Tag Team Champions, but Reb, your name has simply disappeared from main event status as of late. Let’s be honest here Johnny, you are a former WORLD CHAMPION! You even defended your title against some of the best talent that WCF has to offer, but ever since you had your title stripped from your waist, you haven’t been the same competitor. Was it enough for you to simply become World Champion once in your career? Was the fame and fortune more than you had anticipated? Are you still wrestling to become the best of the best once again or are you simply here to support your buddy Doc Henry? I don’t think that it is a coincidence that ever since he has arrived, you have become a less and less relevant figure in this organization. It appears that simply being called a “former World Champion” is enough for you and the drive to win it once again is gone. Maybe that’s just how I see it, but take a step back and look at what has occurred in your career since Torture reclaimed his title.
I see your interviews and read what you have to say to inquisitive reporters, Reb. Every time one of them brings up the World Title scene or one of them asks you about your recent hardships, you always follow it up by reminding them that you have been the only individual to beat Slickie T. It’s like a crutch for you to stand on and some sort of prize in your mind that seems to be the staple of your career. What is more important to you Reb? Was it being a former World Champion or was it being “the guy” who pinned Slickie T? You see, it’s not about you when those questions are asked. It’s about the #1 Contender, the War VIII winner, the rising superstar here in the WCF that they are inquiring about. You are now simply “The Guy Who Pinned Slickie T” and nothing more. Johnny, you are no longer, THE Johnny Reb, or The Inveterate Confederate, you are just The Guy Who Pinned Slickie T. As a matter of fact, I might call up Seth after this week and demand that he change your name on all upcoming cards to just that. He is a big fan of mine as of late and I’m sure he will do just about anything I demand to get me to join him and Torture in their seemingly unstoppable stable. I may refuse to sign this contract this week so I can forever change your name Johnny. BUT, that may be a mute point after Monday night, because when I step back into the ring with you for the first time since that unfortunate incident, you will no long be able to claim even that designation. There will be a new date for both of us to remember and it will be November 2, the day that I got my revenge against the only man to ever defeat me in a WCF ring. Then what title will you be able to claim Johnny? What crutch will hold you up from your fall from glory then? It’s nothing personal Reb, it’s just that I don’t take losing lightly and your name will be forever engraved into my head until I finally get my chance at redemption. This Monday is that chance and I will not be denied. I will show the fans out there that my loss to you early in my career was nothing but a fluke and that on that ONE night back on July 6, I might have been outclassed in the ring. But that is the case no more. Look who was in that match and look where they are now. Dake Ken, my friend, my former XGWO colleague, and my partner that night, has yet to be seen since I defeated him at Revenge and earned the final spot at War. Then there was Mikami, a man that I originally defeated to become the United States Champion and an opponent that I have defeated on numerous occasions. Sure, he belongs to the Team of Torture now, but he still has yet to earn a victory over me despite our numerous meetings inside the ring for my former title. The third man, and the even loser that night, was none other than yours truly, Allen Guiliano, and I think we know what has transpired in my career since then, I don’t feel like I have to remind you. And that leaves only you Johnny Reb. The one man that can claim what no other man can here in the WCF and I plan on keeping it that way. You should be thanking me for your claim to fame. After all, if I don’t get pinned again, and I won’t, you will be able to forever keep your beloved title.
This match is billed as a two men competing for pride, but for me it is about much more. It is about overcoming the lone negative mark on my record and about proving once and for all who the better competitor between us really is. As I stated before my first meet, you can run your mouth about being a gentleman from the South, but you are facing the man with a heart of a Sicilian. Go ahead and rave of your victory over Craig Jacobs, a revenge match for you in a way since he was the one who eliminated you from War. But let’s be honest Johnny, Craig Jacobs is no Slickie T. You might want to think about your decision to “cut back” on your normal ways because you will need every trick in the book and every card in the deck to bring me down on Monday night. Keep your thoughts of bringing down the Team of Torture on the back burner for another week Reb. Your head needs to be focused on one thing and one thing only this week and that is the man who will be in the opposing corner at the Fargo Dome this week at Slam. I have waited a long time for this night to come, and I will not be denied my vendetta. Forza Italia! Mi amore.
He gives the key a gentle toss before violently snatching it out of the air and slipping it a pocket on his shorts. Guiliano retrieves a towel from a towel rod and wipes the sweat from his brow before draping it over his shoulders, attempting to sop up as much moisture as he can. He continues a slow pace back down the hallway and back into the room labeled with the ironic number, tossing the towel into a corner of the bathroom before shutting the door behind him and returning his previously poured beverage. Guiliano carefully picks up the glass and smells the remaining contents before taking a long drink followed by a deep swallow. He rests the glass back on the coaster before the scene fades to black. The sound of running water is the last audible noise that can be heard as the Italian steps into the shower and the camera pans back out of the room and focuses on the bronzed number 76 on the outside of the white hotel door.
