Post by Johnny Reb on Sept 27, 2010 12:12:34 GMT -5
A wide shot of the Embassy Suites Atrium comes into focus. Linen-draped dining tables are set amid a seemingly haphazard arrangement of marble structures, from which spring a lush variety of palm trees and small shrubs. The camera pans in on a quartet of feminine figures, cast in bronze, their upraised arms supporting deep basins. Water splashes over the edges, raining down into the pool below in a continuous, tranquil cycle.
Seated on the border of the fountain is Johnny Reb, dressed in a gray suit and a black string tie, his tag title belt slung over one shoulder. On the walkways above, curious hotel guests peer down to see what’s going on. The Inveterate Confederate ignores them for the moment, his attention on the camera, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Johnny: Y’know, it seems that nearly every pay-per-view held by the WCF is touted as the biggest event of the year. An’ I s’pose that’s true, to a point. Every event is significant, in its own ways, an’ for radically different reasons each time. But War is unique. Every single member of the roster, competin’ in one huge, unremittin’ contest; a contest of endurance, of pure unadulterated skill, of sheer determination, an’ outright cunnin’. It takes all these things to simply stay in the battle longer than a few moments, an’ that’s just the beginnin’. An’ in the end, out of twenty-three participants, one man will reign supreme.
A year ago, the first time I was faced with the inevitability of War, I had no idea what I was getting into. It’s one thing to understand the concept on an intellectual level; the reality, on t’other hand, is far different. A single mistake, the smallest miscalculation, can change the game for everyone involved. Instinct an’ luck play as much a part as talent or strategy.
Reb stands, adjusting the title belt on his shoulder.
Johnny: Now…the name on everyone’s lips… the favorite to win this year, for a second time, is none other than the Ace of Hardcore, Slickie T. If I were a bettin’ man, I wouldn’t hesitate to put my money on him. Slickie T – Mr. Guilliano – has accomplished so much here in the WCF, in so short a time… An’ now that he’s leavin’ the business altogether, he seeks to leave a final mark, to solidify his own legacy. Not that he really needs to; could any of us forget his previous War vict’ry? His ongoin’ battles to secure an’ retain the World Championship?
The Inveterate Confederate shakes his head in answer to his own rhetorical queries.
Johnny: ‘Course not. An’ while it would be fittin’ for him to end his career with this fine comp’ny on so positive a note as prevailin’ once again at War, for him, it would only be the icin’ on the cake. Even if he achieves the impossible, enterin’ at number one an’ fightin’ his way through twenty-two other men, he’s gonna have to leave that Title behind. I reckon, though, he can at least say that the coveted World Title was not, in the end, wrested from him. I s’pose that’s all that matters…
Still, there are so many talented men between Mr. Guilliano an’ his ultimate triumph. Men like Oblivion, Greenfever, Fort Knox… an’, of course, Yours Truly.
The difference, for me, is that over the last twelve months, I have grown as a professional wrestler. I have overcome challenges, an’ learned from mistakes. A year ago, I was not known for the things to which I can now lay claim, like puttin’ an end to winnin’ streaks, or mastery of the ladder match. But now…
Johnny gives the camera a confident smile.
Johnny: Now…I think I got a real shot. I could go all the way this year.
I mean, Logan’s always a perennial favorite for War, but he’s got this strange obsession with Jay Price. That’s gonna keep the two of them busy, an’ hopefully outta everyone else’s way. An’ then there’s D-Day, an accomplished young athlete who always brings far more to the table than anyone expects. He’s one to keep an eye on.
The real question here, for me, is how things are gonna play out with Doc.
His smile fades as he glances away from the camera for a moment.
Johnny: Me an’ Doc, we go way back. Back to the ol’ GWC, an’ before that… We’ve had our differences, an’ somehow always resolved ‘em. Just ‘cause we ain’t on the same page right now, don’t mean we won’t be in the future. The two of us are still tag team champions, we still have these belts to defend, an’ we will continue to do so.
But as the sayin’ goes, all’s fair in love an’ War. Especially War. If it comes down to me an’ him, the last two standin’, y’all can rest assured that I will not hesitate to put Mr. Henry down for the count.
I dunno that it’ll come down to that. I have my doubts as to how long Mr. Henry will endure this time. Granted, he pulled some pretty sneaky tricks last year, an’ managed to stay in the match far longer than anyone anticipated. But in the long run, he didn’t have what it took, then, to come out on top. That bein’ said, I ain’t exactly gonna go outta my way to eliminate him. Either way…
Reb shrugs, a motion hampered by the belt draped over his shoulder.
Johnny: However it turns out is how it’s meant to be. There’s still one more subject to address…
These…invaders. These so-called men who won’t even reveal their faces, who hide behind masks like common thugs…
Johnny shakes his head in disgust.
Johnny: They’ve vowed to assault whichever of us emerges from War triumphant. To what end? To send a message?
What message is that, exactly? That you’re all too craven an’ gutless to take on any of us one-on-one?
I’m not impressed – an’ neither is anyone else. Perhaps things would be different if even one of you would unmask; would stand tall in the ring and challenge any individual to a real contest of strength and skill, like a man. Not like a pack of cowardly dogs.
To you gentlemen, I have only this to say: Whatever you think you’ve got, bring it. The men of WCF are ready for you, have been since the beginnin’. The ball is in your court. Let’s see if you have more than empty threats in your arsenal.
And with that, Johnny waves a hand across his throat in a universal gesture to stop filming. The scene cuts to black.
Seated on the border of the fountain is Johnny Reb, dressed in a gray suit and a black string tie, his tag title belt slung over one shoulder. On the walkways above, curious hotel guests peer down to see what’s going on. The Inveterate Confederate ignores them for the moment, his attention on the camera, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Johnny: Y’know, it seems that nearly every pay-per-view held by the WCF is touted as the biggest event of the year. An’ I s’pose that’s true, to a point. Every event is significant, in its own ways, an’ for radically different reasons each time. But War is unique. Every single member of the roster, competin’ in one huge, unremittin’ contest; a contest of endurance, of pure unadulterated skill, of sheer determination, an’ outright cunnin’. It takes all these things to simply stay in the battle longer than a few moments, an’ that’s just the beginnin’. An’ in the end, out of twenty-three participants, one man will reign supreme.
A year ago, the first time I was faced with the inevitability of War, I had no idea what I was getting into. It’s one thing to understand the concept on an intellectual level; the reality, on t’other hand, is far different. A single mistake, the smallest miscalculation, can change the game for everyone involved. Instinct an’ luck play as much a part as talent or strategy.
Reb stands, adjusting the title belt on his shoulder.
Johnny: Now…the name on everyone’s lips… the favorite to win this year, for a second time, is none other than the Ace of Hardcore, Slickie T. If I were a bettin’ man, I wouldn’t hesitate to put my money on him. Slickie T – Mr. Guilliano – has accomplished so much here in the WCF, in so short a time… An’ now that he’s leavin’ the business altogether, he seeks to leave a final mark, to solidify his own legacy. Not that he really needs to; could any of us forget his previous War vict’ry? His ongoin’ battles to secure an’ retain the World Championship?
The Inveterate Confederate shakes his head in answer to his own rhetorical queries.
Johnny: ‘Course not. An’ while it would be fittin’ for him to end his career with this fine comp’ny on so positive a note as prevailin’ once again at War, for him, it would only be the icin’ on the cake. Even if he achieves the impossible, enterin’ at number one an’ fightin’ his way through twenty-two other men, he’s gonna have to leave that Title behind. I reckon, though, he can at least say that the coveted World Title was not, in the end, wrested from him. I s’pose that’s all that matters…
Still, there are so many talented men between Mr. Guilliano an’ his ultimate triumph. Men like Oblivion, Greenfever, Fort Knox… an’, of course, Yours Truly.
The difference, for me, is that over the last twelve months, I have grown as a professional wrestler. I have overcome challenges, an’ learned from mistakes. A year ago, I was not known for the things to which I can now lay claim, like puttin’ an end to winnin’ streaks, or mastery of the ladder match. But now…
Johnny gives the camera a confident smile.
Johnny: Now…I think I got a real shot. I could go all the way this year.
I mean, Logan’s always a perennial favorite for War, but he’s got this strange obsession with Jay Price. That’s gonna keep the two of them busy, an’ hopefully outta everyone else’s way. An’ then there’s D-Day, an accomplished young athlete who always brings far more to the table than anyone expects. He’s one to keep an eye on.
The real question here, for me, is how things are gonna play out with Doc.
His smile fades as he glances away from the camera for a moment.
Johnny: Me an’ Doc, we go way back. Back to the ol’ GWC, an’ before that… We’ve had our differences, an’ somehow always resolved ‘em. Just ‘cause we ain’t on the same page right now, don’t mean we won’t be in the future. The two of us are still tag team champions, we still have these belts to defend, an’ we will continue to do so.
But as the sayin’ goes, all’s fair in love an’ War. Especially War. If it comes down to me an’ him, the last two standin’, y’all can rest assured that I will not hesitate to put Mr. Henry down for the count.
I dunno that it’ll come down to that. I have my doubts as to how long Mr. Henry will endure this time. Granted, he pulled some pretty sneaky tricks last year, an’ managed to stay in the match far longer than anyone anticipated. But in the long run, he didn’t have what it took, then, to come out on top. That bein’ said, I ain’t exactly gonna go outta my way to eliminate him. Either way…
Reb shrugs, a motion hampered by the belt draped over his shoulder.
Johnny: However it turns out is how it’s meant to be. There’s still one more subject to address…
These…invaders. These so-called men who won’t even reveal their faces, who hide behind masks like common thugs…
Johnny shakes his head in disgust.
Johnny: They’ve vowed to assault whichever of us emerges from War triumphant. To what end? To send a message?
What message is that, exactly? That you’re all too craven an’ gutless to take on any of us one-on-one?
I’m not impressed – an’ neither is anyone else. Perhaps things would be different if even one of you would unmask; would stand tall in the ring and challenge any individual to a real contest of strength and skill, like a man. Not like a pack of cowardly dogs.
To you gentlemen, I have only this to say: Whatever you think you’ve got, bring it. The men of WCF are ready for you, have been since the beginnin’. The ball is in your court. Let’s see if you have more than empty threats in your arsenal.
And with that, Johnny waves a hand across his throat in a universal gesture to stop filming. The scene cuts to black.
