Post by Johnny Reb on Aug 13, 2011 11:53:53 GMT -5
Johnny Reb has been silent, of late; ever since announcing his return a few weeks ago, preferring to let his actions speak for him. But today…today is different. Today he has a focus. Today, he sits with Hank Brown on a makeshift sound stage. They occupy a familiar pair of canvas director’s chairs; a WCF banner serves as backdrop. And on the cheap, unsteady coffee table between them sits a bottle of liquor, the letters “D-I-S” inscribed in red Sharpie between the words “Southern” and “Comfort.”
Hank flashes a smile as Johnny breaks the bottle’s seal with near-reverence, and pours a generous measure into each of two highball glasses before passing one to the veteran interviewer.
Johnny: Here ya go, Hank! Glad ya could join me today for a little tete-a-tete.
Hank: Hey, that’s my line!
The steady smile and joking tone belie his words as he accepts the glass.
Johnny: First, a toast. To that which was, an’ will be again; to justice – or vengeance, I ain’t picky; an’ to the confed’racy of three of the most legendary athletes in recent WCF history.
Glasses clink; both men imbibe deeply.
Hank: Well said, Johnny. And since you bring that up… How, exactly, did this come about? I mean, you suffered what looked like a career-ending neck injury at the hands of Doc Henry; then after months of recovery, you come back, announce your intention to take that Confederate Title of his…and promptly ally yourself with D-Day and Jay Williams…
Johnny: That’s very simple, Hank. I was offered an opportunity, an’ I took it. How could I resist? Each of us has held the WCF World Title on at least one occasion. We’re all champions – at heart, if not in fact. More importantly, we’re all men of principle; there’s a sorta kinship in that. It only made sense that we stand united in the face of what the WCF has become, partic’ly against this… “Alliance.”
Hank: Speaking of whom…
Johnny: Right, Phillip Baines an’ this Odin Balfore guy. Now, Mr. Balfore talks a lot, but says nothin’ of substance. He's a child playin’ at bein’ an adult, talkin’ ‘bout things of which he has only the barest understandin’. Hubris is common in this business, and no one exemplifies it more than Odin Balfore. I'm fresh off the injured list, sure; and you might think that means I'm not up to the task. This is nothing more than a chance to shake off some ring rust. Balfore might be the world champ right now, but that will change. And to refer to Doc Henry as a lesser man than himself is blatantly foolish. He may not be the devil he thinks he is, but he's wicked and cruel, and a far tougher competitor than most give him credit for. What he lacks in skill, he more than makes up for in cunnin’ an’ deceit.
Now, Mr. Baines is a little wiser than his partner. He, at least, only speaks when he has somethin’ of merit to say. He’s not the one who tempts fate by braggin’ about bein’ undefeated. We all remember what happens when a man makes that kinda boast while I’m around. Every time, without exception, that undefeated streak comes to an end when I step into the ring.
What I find most disturbin’, however, is the proportion of Mr. Balfore’s little tirade given over to sheep. Why, a fella could come to the conclusion that this ersatz Allfather has a few questionable… proclivities.
Brown is silent for a moment, working out what Johnny’s getting at. Once he does, he shakes his head in disgust.
Hank: Ugh. Thanks for the mental image, Johnny. Anything else you want to add? Preferably that won’t further scar my already fragile psyche…
Reb grins broadly.
Johnny: Just this. Come Monday night, the Inveterate Confederate is gonna make damn sure Mr. Balfore gets a taste of Southern Discomfort.
His grin turns cocky as the scene fades to black.
Hank flashes a smile as Johnny breaks the bottle’s seal with near-reverence, and pours a generous measure into each of two highball glasses before passing one to the veteran interviewer.
Johnny: Here ya go, Hank! Glad ya could join me today for a little tete-a-tete.
Hank: Hey, that’s my line!
The steady smile and joking tone belie his words as he accepts the glass.
Johnny: First, a toast. To that which was, an’ will be again; to justice – or vengeance, I ain’t picky; an’ to the confed’racy of three of the most legendary athletes in recent WCF history.
Glasses clink; both men imbibe deeply.
Hank: Well said, Johnny. And since you bring that up… How, exactly, did this come about? I mean, you suffered what looked like a career-ending neck injury at the hands of Doc Henry; then after months of recovery, you come back, announce your intention to take that Confederate Title of his…and promptly ally yourself with D-Day and Jay Williams…
Johnny: That’s very simple, Hank. I was offered an opportunity, an’ I took it. How could I resist? Each of us has held the WCF World Title on at least one occasion. We’re all champions – at heart, if not in fact. More importantly, we’re all men of principle; there’s a sorta kinship in that. It only made sense that we stand united in the face of what the WCF has become, partic’ly against this… “Alliance.”
Hank: Speaking of whom…
Johnny: Right, Phillip Baines an’ this Odin Balfore guy. Now, Mr. Balfore talks a lot, but says nothin’ of substance. He's a child playin’ at bein’ an adult, talkin’ ‘bout things of which he has only the barest understandin’. Hubris is common in this business, and no one exemplifies it more than Odin Balfore. I'm fresh off the injured list, sure; and you might think that means I'm not up to the task. This is nothing more than a chance to shake off some ring rust. Balfore might be the world champ right now, but that will change. And to refer to Doc Henry as a lesser man than himself is blatantly foolish. He may not be the devil he thinks he is, but he's wicked and cruel, and a far tougher competitor than most give him credit for. What he lacks in skill, he more than makes up for in cunnin’ an’ deceit.
Now, Mr. Baines is a little wiser than his partner. He, at least, only speaks when he has somethin’ of merit to say. He’s not the one who tempts fate by braggin’ about bein’ undefeated. We all remember what happens when a man makes that kinda boast while I’m around. Every time, without exception, that undefeated streak comes to an end when I step into the ring.
What I find most disturbin’, however, is the proportion of Mr. Balfore’s little tirade given over to sheep. Why, a fella could come to the conclusion that this ersatz Allfather has a few questionable… proclivities.
Brown is silent for a moment, working out what Johnny’s getting at. Once he does, he shakes his head in disgust.
Hank: Ugh. Thanks for the mental image, Johnny. Anything else you want to add? Preferably that won’t further scar my already fragile psyche…
Reb grins broadly.
Johnny: Just this. Come Monday night, the Inveterate Confederate is gonna make damn sure Mr. Balfore gets a taste of Southern Discomfort.
His grin turns cocky as the scene fades to black.
