Post by jc on Oct 19, 2011 1:24:24 GMT -4
"I am better than you, and I will beat you. Every single one of you. Yes, you. And why? Because when I say something, it's the truth. Despite everyone else saying the exact...same...thing."
Zachary Rodell sits awkwardly on the stool placed in front of the One Night in Hell promotional backdrop. His black denim jeans are not sagging around his ankles like most kids his age, and the white three button polo shirt he has on is tucked properly instead of leaving the tail hanging out like he doesn't have any sense.
"There. I've met the quota, satisfied?"
He looks just past our point of view, as if looking at the man behind the camera. He then snaps his head away in frustration.
"Look, I have nothing special to offer. Nothing I say will change the outcome of this match. I know you have all this extra air-time to go around, but I'm really not in the mood. I'm sure you can find some egotistical prick like Charles Scripps to suck up all this free time you have. Or maybe you can track down Adam Young. I'm sure he has plenty of time to ramble on about how much he hates being involved in worthless battle royals."
Zach doesn't make eye contact with the camera lens, but the cameraman doesn't leave. Finally, enraged, he jumps up to a standing position. The stool wobbles a bit on it's legs but does not topple over.
"FINE. You want to how I feel about this clusterfuck of a match. Awesome, let me fill you in on what I think about my match at One Night in Hell."
Agitated, irritated, and extremely excitable, Rodell paces in this small room...back and forth.
"I am only really familiar with probably one, maybe two, of the people in this thing. Everyone else, I've just had a chance to watch whatever I can find on Youtube. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess some of you expect to "shock" the world and predict a victory for yourselves. For the last few weeks I've expected to end up on the opposite side of the spectrum and walk out of that match with a loss...I doubt I would have been the only one. That's two categories of opinions that I expected to hear before we ended up squaring off in the Tokyo Dome. Thing is, as time passed I started to think of another category, a category that I wanted to be a part of. It's going to be the logical, coherent, and relevant category."
He stops to think to himself before continuing.
"Not only will I discuss the match, but I will talk about wrestling, APW, and life in general. I won't be wasting my breath and brain cells trying to tell you how good I am inside the ring. You see, I always believed that my talent transcends mere words and adjectives. My talent can't be summed up in a few simple paragraphs. If words could give justice to my talent, I wouldn't be a wrestler. But they can't. And I am."
"So when I come out and rant, it isn't just to rant. It actually serves a purpose. What a novel idea, eh? Either my opponent has made himself a complete fool, said something that isn't historically accurate or logically coherent, or opened themselves up to public shaming...by me. And even though there are several people who did this, that, or the other...this match isn't the type where it would serve any good purpose to follow my usual routine. Nine competitors aren't really worthy of my time, frankly. So to save your time and mine, I will only specifically name those who really caught my attention for one reason or another."
"As for the rest of you, you will all be lumped together like a bunch of retarded misfits being shipped off to some school for underachievers."
Finally, cool, calm, and collected, Zach returns to the stool to have a seat.
"I guess the best place to start would be with one half of the San Diego Seagulls, Charles Scripps. Chuck here would have you believe that he is insulted by being placed in this match, that the rest of us peons scheduled for this thing couldn't wipe the sweat from his brow if he came down off his high horse and pulled the stick out of his butt in order to bend at the waist. Seriously, Chuck, if it wasn't for this match what would you have? I mean, we've sen the Red Shield Mafia and the Texas Mafia square off in match after match to determine which one of them would be scheduled against Organized Violence for the tag team titles and you and Katie were nowhere to be found. And just in case you didn't realize how bad it really is when you consider the Seagulls to be a pretty damn dominant tag team in Action Packed Wrestling...I said the Texas Mafia were in a number one contender's match. Adam Young, the guy that claims to want to do things on his own terms and thinks being in this match is not worthy of his time, had a chance to face Organized Violence at One Night in Hell and the almighty Seagulls aren't even in a tag match at the pay per view."
"You know what you need to do, Chuck...you need to pull your heads out of the clouds and realize that you aren't as good as you have built yourself up to be. You, Chuck, aren't anything special, and you sure as hell aren't on some level the rest of us can only wish to ever reach. If you were, you'd be in a match you expected to be in when you and Katie decided to grace us with your presence. Instead, you want to come out here and brag about a singles victory over the True Brit. Tell me, Chuck, why should I care that you feel disrespected about being placed in this match when I look at you and see a man that is puffing out his chest and pretending to be something he is not. Especially when you want to talk about how easy it will be to beat me, and you have yet to actually do it. I mean, I understand that I couldn't beat you on your worst day, but if that isn't going to be at One Night in Hell then I have nothing to worry about if I've already beaten you at your best."
Obviously stressed and under pressure to succeed at the pay per view, Rodell is unleashing verbal rage, even though it was never really solicited.
"It really pisses me off how people think that wrestling is 1% talent and 99% motivation. The most motivated scrubs have been put down when faced with better talent. You'd have a hard time arguing that motivation plays a role at all...much less a large role. So drop the motivation argument, Chuck, because its been used and abused more than a two dollar hooker."
"And it's easier to lay down than Kate, too."
He regresses back to his laid back mode, content with showing people that the fire is there, just waiting to erupt.
"And this brings me to Adam Young. You don't mind if I call you Adam, do you?"
Zachary shrugs his shoulders slightly, determined to call the self proclaimed Antichrist whatever he deems fit.
"For one, I have not, nor do I ever plan on, wishing I could be you...so I really don't deem it necessary to discuss. No, what I want to discuss is your attitude not only to this match...but to the participants in it. Like Chucky, you think the World revolves around you and sun shines out of your butt. News flash, Adam, you aren't half the man you claim to be. As a matter of fact, I'd actually be surprised if you proved me wrong, because right now I think I know exactly who you are and what to expect from you when we finally square off in the Tokyo Dome. I plan to do everything possible to make sure you leave that match fully aware of who you actually are instead of what you perceive yourself to be, and give you a little insight into the man that opened your eyes to the truth."
He places his hand on his chest as he continues.
"Contrary to popular belief, and what seems to be the norm around here. I don't believe I'm bigger than this match that I'm in. Nor do I believe that I've been unfairly shut out of a title match. I understand my position in this company, and even if it takes years. I'll get where I am destined to be, and I won't stomp my feet like a four year old child and whine about it when someone gets there before me."
Zach is especially aggressive and harsh with his words. He isn't handing respect out like candy on Halloween.
"I guess now you want a prediction. You're probably expecting the mandatory, "I'm going to win" part of my speech. Sorry, but I don't have it. I won't predict victory. Predictions are for the unsure and insecure, anyway. What I will give you, is a guarantee."
"No, not a guarantee of victory. That would be too corny."
Finally, for the first time since the very beginning of his rant, Rodell looks directly at us. Not at the camera, but at us. His eyes pierce the lens of the camera to every single viewer out there, because he feels the burning presence of our eyes on him.
"I will guarantee that...the only way that I will lose this match...is if I lose to someone better than me. I won't lose by a "fluke". I won't lose because I had a bad day. I won't lose because of any other excuse that one could possibly muster. If I lose, it will be because I lost to the best."
"And I won't have a problem giving that respect to the person that it is due when the time comes."
Zachary Rodell sits awkwardly on the stool placed in front of the One Night in Hell promotional backdrop. His black denim jeans are not sagging around his ankles like most kids his age, and the white three button polo shirt he has on is tucked properly instead of leaving the tail hanging out like he doesn't have any sense.
"There. I've met the quota, satisfied?"
He looks just past our point of view, as if looking at the man behind the camera. He then snaps his head away in frustration.
"Look, I have nothing special to offer. Nothing I say will change the outcome of this match. I know you have all this extra air-time to go around, but I'm really not in the mood. I'm sure you can find some egotistical prick like Charles Scripps to suck up all this free time you have. Or maybe you can track down Adam Young. I'm sure he has plenty of time to ramble on about how much he hates being involved in worthless battle royals."
Zach doesn't make eye contact with the camera lens, but the cameraman doesn't leave. Finally, enraged, he jumps up to a standing position. The stool wobbles a bit on it's legs but does not topple over.
"FINE. You want to how I feel about this clusterfuck of a match. Awesome, let me fill you in on what I think about my match at One Night in Hell."
Agitated, irritated, and extremely excitable, Rodell paces in this small room...back and forth.
"I am only really familiar with probably one, maybe two, of the people in this thing. Everyone else, I've just had a chance to watch whatever I can find on Youtube. I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess some of you expect to "shock" the world and predict a victory for yourselves. For the last few weeks I've expected to end up on the opposite side of the spectrum and walk out of that match with a loss...I doubt I would have been the only one. That's two categories of opinions that I expected to hear before we ended up squaring off in the Tokyo Dome. Thing is, as time passed I started to think of another category, a category that I wanted to be a part of. It's going to be the logical, coherent, and relevant category."
He stops to think to himself before continuing.
"Not only will I discuss the match, but I will talk about wrestling, APW, and life in general. I won't be wasting my breath and brain cells trying to tell you how good I am inside the ring. You see, I always believed that my talent transcends mere words and adjectives. My talent can't be summed up in a few simple paragraphs. If words could give justice to my talent, I wouldn't be a wrestler. But they can't. And I am."
"So when I come out and rant, it isn't just to rant. It actually serves a purpose. What a novel idea, eh? Either my opponent has made himself a complete fool, said something that isn't historically accurate or logically coherent, or opened themselves up to public shaming...by me. And even though there are several people who did this, that, or the other...this match isn't the type where it would serve any good purpose to follow my usual routine. Nine competitors aren't really worthy of my time, frankly. So to save your time and mine, I will only specifically name those who really caught my attention for one reason or another."
"As for the rest of you, you will all be lumped together like a bunch of retarded misfits being shipped off to some school for underachievers."
Finally, cool, calm, and collected, Zach returns to the stool to have a seat.
"I guess the best place to start would be with one half of the San Diego Seagulls, Charles Scripps. Chuck here would have you believe that he is insulted by being placed in this match, that the rest of us peons scheduled for this thing couldn't wipe the sweat from his brow if he came down off his high horse and pulled the stick out of his butt in order to bend at the waist. Seriously, Chuck, if it wasn't for this match what would you have? I mean, we've sen the Red Shield Mafia and the Texas Mafia square off in match after match to determine which one of them would be scheduled against Organized Violence for the tag team titles and you and Katie were nowhere to be found. And just in case you didn't realize how bad it really is when you consider the Seagulls to be a pretty damn dominant tag team in Action Packed Wrestling...I said the Texas Mafia were in a number one contender's match. Adam Young, the guy that claims to want to do things on his own terms and thinks being in this match is not worthy of his time, had a chance to face Organized Violence at One Night in Hell and the almighty Seagulls aren't even in a tag match at the pay per view."
"You know what you need to do, Chuck...you need to pull your heads out of the clouds and realize that you aren't as good as you have built yourself up to be. You, Chuck, aren't anything special, and you sure as hell aren't on some level the rest of us can only wish to ever reach. If you were, you'd be in a match you expected to be in when you and Katie decided to grace us with your presence. Instead, you want to come out here and brag about a singles victory over the True Brit. Tell me, Chuck, why should I care that you feel disrespected about being placed in this match when I look at you and see a man that is puffing out his chest and pretending to be something he is not. Especially when you want to talk about how easy it will be to beat me, and you have yet to actually do it. I mean, I understand that I couldn't beat you on your worst day, but if that isn't going to be at One Night in Hell then I have nothing to worry about if I've already beaten you at your best."
Obviously stressed and under pressure to succeed at the pay per view, Rodell is unleashing verbal rage, even though it was never really solicited.
"It really pisses me off how people think that wrestling is 1% talent and 99% motivation. The most motivated scrubs have been put down when faced with better talent. You'd have a hard time arguing that motivation plays a role at all...much less a large role. So drop the motivation argument, Chuck, because its been used and abused more than a two dollar hooker."
"And it's easier to lay down than Kate, too."
He regresses back to his laid back mode, content with showing people that the fire is there, just waiting to erupt.
"And this brings me to Adam Young. You don't mind if I call you Adam, do you?"
Zachary shrugs his shoulders slightly, determined to call the self proclaimed Antichrist whatever he deems fit.
"For one, I have not, nor do I ever plan on, wishing I could be you...so I really don't deem it necessary to discuss. No, what I want to discuss is your attitude not only to this match...but to the participants in it. Like Chucky, you think the World revolves around you and sun shines out of your butt. News flash, Adam, you aren't half the man you claim to be. As a matter of fact, I'd actually be surprised if you proved me wrong, because right now I think I know exactly who you are and what to expect from you when we finally square off in the Tokyo Dome. I plan to do everything possible to make sure you leave that match fully aware of who you actually are instead of what you perceive yourself to be, and give you a little insight into the man that opened your eyes to the truth."
He places his hand on his chest as he continues.
"Contrary to popular belief, and what seems to be the norm around here. I don't believe I'm bigger than this match that I'm in. Nor do I believe that I've been unfairly shut out of a title match. I understand my position in this company, and even if it takes years. I'll get where I am destined to be, and I won't stomp my feet like a four year old child and whine about it when someone gets there before me."
Zach is especially aggressive and harsh with his words. He isn't handing respect out like candy on Halloween.
"I guess now you want a prediction. You're probably expecting the mandatory, "I'm going to win" part of my speech. Sorry, but I don't have it. I won't predict victory. Predictions are for the unsure and insecure, anyway. What I will give you, is a guarantee."
"No, not a guarantee of victory. That would be too corny."
Finally, for the first time since the very beginning of his rant, Rodell looks directly at us. Not at the camera, but at us. His eyes pierce the lens of the camera to every single viewer out there, because he feels the burning presence of our eyes on him.
"I will guarantee that...the only way that I will lose this match...is if I lose to someone better than me. I won't lose by a "fluke". I won't lose because I had a bad day. I won't lose because of any other excuse that one could possibly muster. If I lose, it will be because I lost to the best."
"And I won't have a problem giving that respect to the person that it is due when the time comes."
