Post by BDC on Jun 16, 2011 10:45:18 GMT -4
He flexes his biceps and clenches his fists, all the while staring intensely at the wall. It’s been a long time since he’s laces up a pair of wrestling boots and had to put his game face on. Is he nervous? Not at all. He’s been in this situation hundreds, if not thousands of times before. He’s wrestled all over the world, and has shed more than enough blood, sweat and tears for this business. He has won title, after title, after title, and has cemented himself as one of the all time greats. He’s tried to call it a day on more than one occasion, but as any fighter will tell you, it’s just not that damned easy. The roar of the crowd, the adrenaline rush, the ecstasy that comes with completely and utterly destroying your opponent – these are things that never allow you to simply walk away. He has lived a life of grief and sorrow, and sometimes it seems that all he ever has to look forward to is another day of staring at his trophies, and titles, and sit there wondering if maybe, just maybe, he has one, final run in him.
He jogs on the spot, and pulls on his black, fingerless wrestling gloves. He feels the leather on his hands. How many faces have been disfigured because of these very hands? How many bodies have been broken? How many careers have been ended? The thought of adding more casualties to the list makes him smirk and nod. He loves making others suffer, and why the hell not? Hasn’t he suffered enough? He has had his entire family ripped from him, his career stolen from him, so isn’t it the right thing to do, making other people suffer as he has?
He puts on his Welsh flag bandana on his head, and ties it at the back. He looks in a mirror, making sure that it’s on straight. He takes a moment to admire himself. Black wrestling boots, black leather trousers, and a black “wrestling style” top, with the initials “BDC” along the front in bold, red capitol letters, and of course, black leather gloves and his bandana. He strokes his beard. It was black once, but old age brings with it grey hair. He notices the wrinkles under his eyes, and the scars on his face and arms from countless battles over the years.
He knows he’ll never be as fast, or as strong as he was during his prime, but the benefit of age brings with it the benefit of experience. He has forgotten more about this business than most of the current generation of wrestlers will ever learn. He looks the part, so it’s time to see if can still play the part.
There is a knock on the door. It’s time for battle. It may be a humble APW house show, but to him, it’s simply the calm before the storm. He’s facing a faceless wonder, a rookie from the APW development fed. It’s going to be a massacre, pure and simple. He’s been told to go easy on him, but that can never happen. He’s been told to leave the ring as soon as he wins, but again, that’s never going to happen. He has a message for APW, and he’s organised for the cameras to keep running after the match. How can he do this? How can one man hold so much power?
It’s simple, he’s BDC.
No other explanation needed.
The match is over, and “Fallout” by Alter Bridge is blasting from the PA system. There is a chorus of boos from the crowd, but they can’t help but be impressed by what they have just witnessed. BDC climbs the final turnbuckle, and raises his fist in the air. He stares at the EMT’s as they put the unconscious and limp body on the stretcher, and wheel him up the ramp. He descends, walks to the edge of the ring, and demands the stagehand for a mic. He snatches it from his hands, and stands in the centre of the ring. His music dies down, and he begins.
BDC: And that’s how it’s done . . .
The crowd boo even louder. There is a small “BDC” chant that’s trying to compete with the chorus of boos, which causes BDC to smile.
BDC: See, some of you get it. A small minority of you die hard BDC fans understand why I had to dissect that little pissant the way I just did. You get why I had to make sure that he has to be taken in the back of an ambulance to the nearest hospital, while the rest of you cry, bitch and moan about the fact that I was to extreme, to harsh on the poor man. Well, for the ones of you that think the latter, you’re all retarded and inbred hicks, while the rest of you have at least a basic understanding on how the world works.
He paces back and forth, and laughs at loud as the “YOU SUCK” chants echo through the arena.
BDC: Wow, I suck? I suck? Me, the man, the myth, the legend? The Welsh Warrior? The Big Bad of Sports Entertainment? The Red Dragon?
Let me give you all a brief history lesson shall I? I am the man that ruled the EWC! I am the man that gave the X Division title some credibility! I am the man that made the HCW title THE most prestigious title in the entire world! I am the man that made the EWC title the second most prestigious title in the world! I ruled the greatest stable of all time, the mighty and infamous Retribution Incorporated.!
You all witnessed it.
You all revelled in it.
Love me or hate me, you all fucking respect me, so know your places in this world, and bow to your betters!
He pauses, and lowers the mic as a loud chorus of boos erupt from the fans. He slowly raises the mic to his mouth, and continues.
BDC: I’ve told you fuckwits how it is, and I should be charging you all for the privilege of having me talk to you, so it’s time to move on to more important matters.
As you all know, I have signed to APW Asylum. Everyone is talking about this new and innovative show, and in a rare twist of fate, Asylum actually had a champion that I respected, that being James Chambers.
A loud “Chambers” chant starts. BDC smirks, and shakes his head, mocking the fans.
BDC: So, let me get this straight. I leave, and all I get is a shitload of abuse, but Chambers leaves, and he gets a roaring ovation from the masses? Wow, seriously? Like I said, I did once respect Chambers, but now I think that he’s nothing but a damn coward! The simple fact of the matter is, I signed to Asylum, and Jimmy got scared, so he jumped ship. And he’s not the only one. How many more have left since I signed to the roster? Coincidence? Yeah, right!
They had the common decency to do the right thing, and they obviously valued their health over any shred of pride and honour that they may have once had. A coward he may be, but he’s a clever son of a bitch.
Which leads me nicely to my, ahem, “opponent” this coming Sunday, Chris Cyrus.
The crowd cheer Cyrus’s name. BDC puts his hand to his forehead and shakes his head and snorts in disgust.
BDC: Seriously, I could say “Mickey Fucking Mouse” and I’m positive that you idiots would start chanting his name. Grow the fuck up, and shut your mouths. When I talk, think of it as an angel jizzing in your ears. My word is gospel, and you will fucking listen!
Chris Cyrus, you have gone old school and shot a semi decent in ring promo. Well, good for you kid. Now, I want you to watch this promo over, and over again, and I want you to study from THE SINGLE ALL TIME GREATEST wrestler to ever shoot an in ring promo. You’re welcome kid!
Fact is, you have a lot to learn son. You talk about shit you have no business in bringing up, and you seem to think that you’ve got me all worked out, don’t you? Well newsflash kid, you know NOTHING about me, but you will. You see Cyrus, come this Sunday; I’m going to show you EXACTLY why Jeff inducted me into the APW Hall of Fame. You will witness first hand why my name is now etched amongst other legends that have earned their spot to be called Hall of Famers. You have the audacity to claim that you will one day be inducted yourself, but kid, I have made it a personal goal to make sure that that NEVER happens, because you are not, and will never be a legend in this business. You have a few fancy moves, and yes, you’re not exactly terrible on the mic I suppose, but that doesn’t mean shit. You are an average wrestler. You’re the guy that gets picked to go up against returning stars like myself, so that we can get a win under our belts, thus getting the momentum to climb the ladder to the top, win the big belts, and make some real money for the company!
Kid, Jeff and Reg, they’re using you as cannon fodder, and if I had the capacity to feel sorry for anyone, then I’d feel sorry for you, I really would, but unfortunately for you, I don’t.
You see Cyrus, I have a mean streak that makes Level One look like a starving Ethiopian child, helpless and pathetic. Oh, I know he’s got all of you idiots believing that he’s seen the light, but I know Lester, and I see through his little game, but I digress.
I am going to fuck you up son. I am going to give you a master class in old school wrestling. I am going to take out all of my frustrations on you. You run your mouth about the fact that I’ve left time and time again, but tell me Cyrus, what the fuck has any of that got to do with you, ey? What gives you the right to go rooting around in my business?
I’ll tell you what kid, you impress me on Sunday, and I’ll allow you to say whatever the hell you want about me from then on, deal?
I’m a man of my word Cyrus, it’s just a shame that there isn’t even a slight chance that you’ll impress me, because I won’t give you the time to. I’m going walk to the ring, throw you around like a rag doll, hit you with the Blackout, and then forget that you even exist. I am here for two reasons, and two reasons only, and they are to rule the Asylum, and to become the World Heavyweight Champion.
It really is that simple. As for sending me straight to Hell, I’ve been to Hell, they couldn’t handle me and they sent me back.
That is effective.
See you soon kid.
He drops the mic, and climbs over the top rope. He walks up the ramp, pauses, raises his right arm high in the air, and disappears from view.
He jogs on the spot, and pulls on his black, fingerless wrestling gloves. He feels the leather on his hands. How many faces have been disfigured because of these very hands? How many bodies have been broken? How many careers have been ended? The thought of adding more casualties to the list makes him smirk and nod. He loves making others suffer, and why the hell not? Hasn’t he suffered enough? He has had his entire family ripped from him, his career stolen from him, so isn’t it the right thing to do, making other people suffer as he has?
He puts on his Welsh flag bandana on his head, and ties it at the back. He looks in a mirror, making sure that it’s on straight. He takes a moment to admire himself. Black wrestling boots, black leather trousers, and a black “wrestling style” top, with the initials “BDC” along the front in bold, red capitol letters, and of course, black leather gloves and his bandana. He strokes his beard. It was black once, but old age brings with it grey hair. He notices the wrinkles under his eyes, and the scars on his face and arms from countless battles over the years.
He knows he’ll never be as fast, or as strong as he was during his prime, but the benefit of age brings with it the benefit of experience. He has forgotten more about this business than most of the current generation of wrestlers will ever learn. He looks the part, so it’s time to see if can still play the part.
There is a knock on the door. It’s time for battle. It may be a humble APW house show, but to him, it’s simply the calm before the storm. He’s facing a faceless wonder, a rookie from the APW development fed. It’s going to be a massacre, pure and simple. He’s been told to go easy on him, but that can never happen. He’s been told to leave the ring as soon as he wins, but again, that’s never going to happen. He has a message for APW, and he’s organised for the cameras to keep running after the match. How can he do this? How can one man hold so much power?
It’s simple, he’s BDC.
No other explanation needed.
……………………………
The match is over, and “Fallout” by Alter Bridge is blasting from the PA system. There is a chorus of boos from the crowd, but they can’t help but be impressed by what they have just witnessed. BDC climbs the final turnbuckle, and raises his fist in the air. He stares at the EMT’s as they put the unconscious and limp body on the stretcher, and wheel him up the ramp. He descends, walks to the edge of the ring, and demands the stagehand for a mic. He snatches it from his hands, and stands in the centre of the ring. His music dies down, and he begins.
BDC: And that’s how it’s done . . .
The crowd boo even louder. There is a small “BDC” chant that’s trying to compete with the chorus of boos, which causes BDC to smile.
BDC: See, some of you get it. A small minority of you die hard BDC fans understand why I had to dissect that little pissant the way I just did. You get why I had to make sure that he has to be taken in the back of an ambulance to the nearest hospital, while the rest of you cry, bitch and moan about the fact that I was to extreme, to harsh on the poor man. Well, for the ones of you that think the latter, you’re all retarded and inbred hicks, while the rest of you have at least a basic understanding on how the world works.
He paces back and forth, and laughs at loud as the “YOU SUCK” chants echo through the arena.
BDC: Wow, I suck? I suck? Me, the man, the myth, the legend? The Welsh Warrior? The Big Bad of Sports Entertainment? The Red Dragon?
Let me give you all a brief history lesson shall I? I am the man that ruled the EWC! I am the man that gave the X Division title some credibility! I am the man that made the HCW title THE most prestigious title in the entire world! I am the man that made the EWC title the second most prestigious title in the world! I ruled the greatest stable of all time, the mighty and infamous Retribution Incorporated.!
You all witnessed it.
You all revelled in it.
Love me or hate me, you all fucking respect me, so know your places in this world, and bow to your betters!
He pauses, and lowers the mic as a loud chorus of boos erupt from the fans. He slowly raises the mic to his mouth, and continues.
BDC: I’ve told you fuckwits how it is, and I should be charging you all for the privilege of having me talk to you, so it’s time to move on to more important matters.
As you all know, I have signed to APW Asylum. Everyone is talking about this new and innovative show, and in a rare twist of fate, Asylum actually had a champion that I respected, that being James Chambers.
A loud “Chambers” chant starts. BDC smirks, and shakes his head, mocking the fans.
BDC: So, let me get this straight. I leave, and all I get is a shitload of abuse, but Chambers leaves, and he gets a roaring ovation from the masses? Wow, seriously? Like I said, I did once respect Chambers, but now I think that he’s nothing but a damn coward! The simple fact of the matter is, I signed to Asylum, and Jimmy got scared, so he jumped ship. And he’s not the only one. How many more have left since I signed to the roster? Coincidence? Yeah, right!
They had the common decency to do the right thing, and they obviously valued their health over any shred of pride and honour that they may have once had. A coward he may be, but he’s a clever son of a bitch.
Which leads me nicely to my, ahem, “opponent” this coming Sunday, Chris Cyrus.
The crowd cheer Cyrus’s name. BDC puts his hand to his forehead and shakes his head and snorts in disgust.
BDC: Seriously, I could say “Mickey Fucking Mouse” and I’m positive that you idiots would start chanting his name. Grow the fuck up, and shut your mouths. When I talk, think of it as an angel jizzing in your ears. My word is gospel, and you will fucking listen!
Chris Cyrus, you have gone old school and shot a semi decent in ring promo. Well, good for you kid. Now, I want you to watch this promo over, and over again, and I want you to study from THE SINGLE ALL TIME GREATEST wrestler to ever shoot an in ring promo. You’re welcome kid!
Fact is, you have a lot to learn son. You talk about shit you have no business in bringing up, and you seem to think that you’ve got me all worked out, don’t you? Well newsflash kid, you know NOTHING about me, but you will. You see Cyrus, come this Sunday; I’m going to show you EXACTLY why Jeff inducted me into the APW Hall of Fame. You will witness first hand why my name is now etched amongst other legends that have earned their spot to be called Hall of Famers. You have the audacity to claim that you will one day be inducted yourself, but kid, I have made it a personal goal to make sure that that NEVER happens, because you are not, and will never be a legend in this business. You have a few fancy moves, and yes, you’re not exactly terrible on the mic I suppose, but that doesn’t mean shit. You are an average wrestler. You’re the guy that gets picked to go up against returning stars like myself, so that we can get a win under our belts, thus getting the momentum to climb the ladder to the top, win the big belts, and make some real money for the company!
Kid, Jeff and Reg, they’re using you as cannon fodder, and if I had the capacity to feel sorry for anyone, then I’d feel sorry for you, I really would, but unfortunately for you, I don’t.
You see Cyrus, I have a mean streak that makes Level One look like a starving Ethiopian child, helpless and pathetic. Oh, I know he’s got all of you idiots believing that he’s seen the light, but I know Lester, and I see through his little game, but I digress.
I am going to fuck you up son. I am going to give you a master class in old school wrestling. I am going to take out all of my frustrations on you. You run your mouth about the fact that I’ve left time and time again, but tell me Cyrus, what the fuck has any of that got to do with you, ey? What gives you the right to go rooting around in my business?
I’ll tell you what kid, you impress me on Sunday, and I’ll allow you to say whatever the hell you want about me from then on, deal?
I’m a man of my word Cyrus, it’s just a shame that there isn’t even a slight chance that you’ll impress me, because I won’t give you the time to. I’m going walk to the ring, throw you around like a rag doll, hit you with the Blackout, and then forget that you even exist. I am here for two reasons, and two reasons only, and they are to rule the Asylum, and to become the World Heavyweight Champion.
It really is that simple. As for sending me straight to Hell, I’ve been to Hell, they couldn’t handle me and they sent me back.
That is effective.
See you soon kid.
He drops the mic, and climbs over the top rope. He walks up the ramp, pauses, raises his right arm high in the air, and disappears from view.
