Post by Johnny Reb on Sept 30, 2011 11:12:23 GMT -5
In an upscale workout facility – brightly lit and sterile, lacking anything in the way of personality or ambiance – Johnny Reb finishes a final set and replaces the barbell on its stand. He sits upright on the bench, stretches languidly, and reaches for a towel to dab the perspiration from his face.
Reb: Championships may come an’ go… but reputation is forever. It precedes you wherever you go. Take mine, for example. Johnny Reb is known as a lot of things. Streak ender. Risk taker. Legend killer. The best damn tag champ the WCF has ever had to offer. Take your pick.
One thing I’ve never been, though, is a master of WAR. By luck or happenstance, misfortune or miscalculation, I have never yet beat the numbers game. The operative word here is “yet.” Strictly speakin’, the odds in one Mr. Guilliano’s casino are far better. Well…maybe not. I kinda faked my way through Statistics in high school. I’m of the same mind as Han Solo: Never tell me the odds.
The Inveterate Confederate lifts a bottle of water from the floor beside him and breaks the seal with a twist. The temptation to chug half of it in one go is strong, but he resists, taking only a small sip before replacing the cap as he collects his thoughts.
Reb: Now… Mr. Deruty has exhorted me to step up my game – an’ for this brother-in-arms, I will. No. That’s not exactly right. Y’see, D-Day is only one of the reasons – albeit a big one – that I defied medical advice an’ returned perhaps a might too early to the ring. When he called me, a little over a month or so back, an’ asked for my help, I was only too eager to agree. Mr. Deruty may be a Yankee, but he an’ I are of a similar mindset; we are both men who believe in honor above all else.
An’ yet… I have found, over the years, that honor alone is a poor motivator. Honor has never carried me through a match; only inherent skill an’ determination can do that. Much as we might all like to believe in the eventual triumph of good over evil, of principle over iniquity, what it all comes down to is talent an’ trainin’. Well that, an’ pure dumb luck. But I digress…
While the opportunity to work closely with Donald Deruty an’ Jay Williams – another man for whom I have unendin’ respect – was the temptation that brought me back to the fold, there is yet unfinished business. I think y’all know precisely to whom I am referrin’.
Another, longer draught from the water bottle. A deep breath; a slow exhalation.
Reb: Doc Henry. You an’ me, Doc… we got us a long hist’ry together. We was close as brothers, once, you an’ me. Went to college together; learned this business together; fought side-by-side… You were there, in those early days, when the lure of a mid-level title and a little more money got the better of my judgment. You even tried to stop me from doin’ things I would regret. An’ in the end, you offered me forgiveness an’ friendship like nothin’ ever happened.
There was a point in time when I woulda done the same for you. Maybe I still would; but you have gone so far down the path of darkness, I dunno that there’s any salvation left for you. Would exculpation mean anythin’ to a man who thinks he ain’t done no wrong? Or – more accurately – a man who knows he done wrong, an’ revels in it? Don’t bother answerin’…that’s rhetorical. You an’ I – an’ all the fans, an’ everyone in the locker room – we all know the answer to that.
If, hypothetically speakin’, you came to me lookin’ for forgiveness, though… would I be as willin’ to give it as you were back then? Maybe not. Maybe that makes you the better man. Or maybe at this point, bein’ magnanimous would only make me a fool. Regardless, we’re far beyond all that now. You tried to end my career, an’ maybe my life. An’ now you think you’re gonna put me on the shelf once more? Think again, old friend. If anyone’s getting shelved at WAR, it’s gonna be you. I didn’t get my shot at you at Revenge… but rest assured I will do my damnedest to get a shot at you come Monday night. An’ I’m gonna keep at it until I get my payback – you can take that to the bank.
This year… this WAR… it’s gonna be different. This time, it’s not about honor; it’s about gold. It’s about that World Title. About outlastin’ every man on the roster. This time… it’s all about Johnny Reb becomin’ World Champion for the third time. Deo vindice!
Reb offers the camera a tight smile, full of confidence, before the scene fades away.
Reb: Championships may come an’ go… but reputation is forever. It precedes you wherever you go. Take mine, for example. Johnny Reb is known as a lot of things. Streak ender. Risk taker. Legend killer. The best damn tag champ the WCF has ever had to offer. Take your pick.
One thing I’ve never been, though, is a master of WAR. By luck or happenstance, misfortune or miscalculation, I have never yet beat the numbers game. The operative word here is “yet.” Strictly speakin’, the odds in one Mr. Guilliano’s casino are far better. Well…maybe not. I kinda faked my way through Statistics in high school. I’m of the same mind as Han Solo: Never tell me the odds.
The Inveterate Confederate lifts a bottle of water from the floor beside him and breaks the seal with a twist. The temptation to chug half of it in one go is strong, but he resists, taking only a small sip before replacing the cap as he collects his thoughts.
Reb: Now… Mr. Deruty has exhorted me to step up my game – an’ for this brother-in-arms, I will. No. That’s not exactly right. Y’see, D-Day is only one of the reasons – albeit a big one – that I defied medical advice an’ returned perhaps a might too early to the ring. When he called me, a little over a month or so back, an’ asked for my help, I was only too eager to agree. Mr. Deruty may be a Yankee, but he an’ I are of a similar mindset; we are both men who believe in honor above all else.
An’ yet… I have found, over the years, that honor alone is a poor motivator. Honor has never carried me through a match; only inherent skill an’ determination can do that. Much as we might all like to believe in the eventual triumph of good over evil, of principle over iniquity, what it all comes down to is talent an’ trainin’. Well that, an’ pure dumb luck. But I digress…
While the opportunity to work closely with Donald Deruty an’ Jay Williams – another man for whom I have unendin’ respect – was the temptation that brought me back to the fold, there is yet unfinished business. I think y’all know precisely to whom I am referrin’.
Another, longer draught from the water bottle. A deep breath; a slow exhalation.
Reb: Doc Henry. You an’ me, Doc… we got us a long hist’ry together. We was close as brothers, once, you an’ me. Went to college together; learned this business together; fought side-by-side… You were there, in those early days, when the lure of a mid-level title and a little more money got the better of my judgment. You even tried to stop me from doin’ things I would regret. An’ in the end, you offered me forgiveness an’ friendship like nothin’ ever happened.
There was a point in time when I woulda done the same for you. Maybe I still would; but you have gone so far down the path of darkness, I dunno that there’s any salvation left for you. Would exculpation mean anythin’ to a man who thinks he ain’t done no wrong? Or – more accurately – a man who knows he done wrong, an’ revels in it? Don’t bother answerin’…that’s rhetorical. You an’ I – an’ all the fans, an’ everyone in the locker room – we all know the answer to that.
If, hypothetically speakin’, you came to me lookin’ for forgiveness, though… would I be as willin’ to give it as you were back then? Maybe not. Maybe that makes you the better man. Or maybe at this point, bein’ magnanimous would only make me a fool. Regardless, we’re far beyond all that now. You tried to end my career, an’ maybe my life. An’ now you think you’re gonna put me on the shelf once more? Think again, old friend. If anyone’s getting shelved at WAR, it’s gonna be you. I didn’t get my shot at you at Revenge… but rest assured I will do my damnedest to get a shot at you come Monday night. An’ I’m gonna keep at it until I get my payback – you can take that to the bank.
This year… this WAR… it’s gonna be different. This time, it’s not about honor; it’s about gold. It’s about that World Title. About outlastin’ every man on the roster. This time… it’s all about Johnny Reb becomin’ World Champion for the third time. Deo vindice!
Reb offers the camera a tight smile, full of confidence, before the scene fades away.
