Post by psi on Oct 20, 2005 21:10:06 GMT -5
The camera feed slowly fades in to reveal what appears to be an empty gymnasium. There are various weight sets in the north east corner, punching bags just south of those, and a locker room entrance far south. But what’s most noticeable is the wrestling ring in the dead center, surrounded by three rows of plastic folding chairs. Almost everything is covered in a thin layer of dust. The canvas of the ring, once a radiant white color, has now aged to a dull gray, still hosting several stains of blood from matches past. The ropes are worn and look as if they’d break at the slightest touch. And the chairs seem too feeble to even be used as a night-stand. The houselights are as dim as anything else in this wasteland, and only serve to dully illuminate the building. Time has ravaged this place, only recreated for one final moment of glory. The camera slowly pans around the gym, finally resting on a figure standing in the center of the ring. From what little the lighting reveals, the figure wears a pair of rose-red sunglasses, with glossy black hair that stops just above his shoulders. His skin is dark enough to suggest an island heritage, however his stature is fairly modest for a wrestler. The enigmatic man slowly turns his head down from the lights, stopping when the camera falls into his line of sight. A slight smirk runs across his face as he licks his lips to speak.
My, my, my... it’s funny how some things come full circle. So often do we watch for the winds of change that we don’t notice the great cosmic irony of it all. To some this may look like a barren wasteland. A pocket of time kept preserved only by memories and nostalgia. But I see it for what it once was. This is the Heartbreak Wrestling Academy, established by a great man and a testament to this sport: Alex Chambers, my father. It was here that I first got a taste of what the future held for me. When I was six and I watched young prospects spend their hard earned Waffle House paychecks to get a shot at being an icon someday, I could only chuckle to think that I would outshine them all. Fast-forward to when I was sixteen and stepped into the ring for my first lesson in wrestling, I saw everyone on the side lines, chuckling at the alleged “daddy’s boy” who probably only got to train here out of nepotism. I had to sit back and watch their smug faces as I got thrown around in that ring by m own father, like I was just some kind on the Ring Crew.
In that last sentence, his voice begins to crack to a harsh and bitter tone as the muscles in his face tighten. However the man is soon to regain his composure. He methodically moves forward, resting his crossed arms on the withered top ring rope and stares deeply into the camera lens through his rose-tinted shades.
But that experience only served to fuel my passion. It gave me something to prove, not only to myself, but to every one else as well. I became obsessed, not with the money or fame that is so often associated with wrestling, but with a fiery passion for the sport itself. I never wanted much out of wrestling. I just wanted to be able to truly appreciate the beauty of our craft. And now, eight years later, I have experienced what true passion is. I let myself be assimilate into this business, and now it is as dear to me as the air I breath or the food I eat.
He takes his arms off the top rope and ducks his head under it, climbing out to the slim ring apron where he looks down on the camera man, a statue of a man.
And now, after all that has been said and done, I find myself unsatisfied. It’s true that I am the champion of a very profitable organization, and I am the premier Mat-Technician in the independent circuit, but I still have yet to really make my mark. That’s where the Valor Wrestling Alliance comes into play. You see, this Young Lion’s Tournament is just the opportunity I’ve been looking for. With alleged “top” talent from all different territories, there should be no problem getting some recognition and making sure that when the show is over everyone comes out knowing the name of Roy Chambers!
And maybe selling a few T-Shirts after the show. Let’s face it, these gigs don’t exactly pay the bills...
The newly announced Roy Chambers lets himself off the ring apron. He begins to walk down the aisle way created by the folding chairs, with the camera man right in front of him, backing up constantly to keep him in-frame.
But enough of the big picture, there’s someone else I want to talk about at the moment. A more immediate challenge. To get to the point, my opponent in the first round of this sham of a tournament, Pryme Tyme. As you can imagine, I don’t take this kid very seriously. He seems to have a Lynyrd Skynyrd complex where, supposedly, the more Y’s you have in your name Is proportional to how cool you are. Once again we see a case where actual wrestling skill is pushed to the bottom so that entertainment can sweep the fans into a stupefied state, much like a Piper leading mice. Earlier he said he was worried about me. Not because of my skill, not because of my reputation for being the premier Technical Wrestler in the independent circuit, but because of the fact that he doesn’t know who I am. I have to tell you, that’s a slap in the face. To think that having his career at stake and he doesn’t consider me enough of a challenge to even dig up a few tapes is just as much of an insult as a slap in the face.
Roy Chambers stops at a punching bag, located in the eastern section of the room. With a well placed Stiff Kick, he knocks the bag to the side and sends a resulting smack resonating throughout the empty gym. Feeling relieved of the pressure, Chambers continues his way around the gym.
But then again, it’s really his choice. He’s decided to sacrifice his one chance at winning this tournament in the first round. Why? Because he wasn’t willing to put in the time to find out about his opponent. A mistake that I refused to make. And there’s one thing that became blindingly apparent: he smokes. It’s a disgusting habit which should be abolished, but to do something like that before a wrestling show is just stupid. I think it makes my strategy all the more clear; I’m going to wear Pryme down. If his lungs are so backed up with tar, then it should be no problem to outlast him. I won’t even need a finisher, a Sleeper Hold would do the trick and put that sack of carcinogen out for good.
Roy finally starts to approach the exit to the gym. He stops just in front of it, slowly turning around to reflect once again on the road that has brought him to Valor, a road which started in this very gym.
It’s funny how some things come full circle...
With this last comment, Roy Chambers takes a deep breath and pushes open the door, bathing himself in sunlight, and casting a long shadow across the hardwood floor. He steps out into the parking lot as the feed fades to black....
My, my, my... it’s funny how some things come full circle. So often do we watch for the winds of change that we don’t notice the great cosmic irony of it all. To some this may look like a barren wasteland. A pocket of time kept preserved only by memories and nostalgia. But I see it for what it once was. This is the Heartbreak Wrestling Academy, established by a great man and a testament to this sport: Alex Chambers, my father. It was here that I first got a taste of what the future held for me. When I was six and I watched young prospects spend their hard earned Waffle House paychecks to get a shot at being an icon someday, I could only chuckle to think that I would outshine them all. Fast-forward to when I was sixteen and stepped into the ring for my first lesson in wrestling, I saw everyone on the side lines, chuckling at the alleged “daddy’s boy” who probably only got to train here out of nepotism. I had to sit back and watch their smug faces as I got thrown around in that ring by m own father, like I was just some kind on the Ring Crew.
In that last sentence, his voice begins to crack to a harsh and bitter tone as the muscles in his face tighten. However the man is soon to regain his composure. He methodically moves forward, resting his crossed arms on the withered top ring rope and stares deeply into the camera lens through his rose-tinted shades.
But that experience only served to fuel my passion. It gave me something to prove, not only to myself, but to every one else as well. I became obsessed, not with the money or fame that is so often associated with wrestling, but with a fiery passion for the sport itself. I never wanted much out of wrestling. I just wanted to be able to truly appreciate the beauty of our craft. And now, eight years later, I have experienced what true passion is. I let myself be assimilate into this business, and now it is as dear to me as the air I breath or the food I eat.
He takes his arms off the top rope and ducks his head under it, climbing out to the slim ring apron where he looks down on the camera man, a statue of a man.
And now, after all that has been said and done, I find myself unsatisfied. It’s true that I am the champion of a very profitable organization, and I am the premier Mat-Technician in the independent circuit, but I still have yet to really make my mark. That’s where the Valor Wrestling Alliance comes into play. You see, this Young Lion’s Tournament is just the opportunity I’ve been looking for. With alleged “top” talent from all different territories, there should be no problem getting some recognition and making sure that when the show is over everyone comes out knowing the name of Roy Chambers!
And maybe selling a few T-Shirts after the show. Let’s face it, these gigs don’t exactly pay the bills...
The newly announced Roy Chambers lets himself off the ring apron. He begins to walk down the aisle way created by the folding chairs, with the camera man right in front of him, backing up constantly to keep him in-frame.
But enough of the big picture, there’s someone else I want to talk about at the moment. A more immediate challenge. To get to the point, my opponent in the first round of this sham of a tournament, Pryme Tyme. As you can imagine, I don’t take this kid very seriously. He seems to have a Lynyrd Skynyrd complex where, supposedly, the more Y’s you have in your name Is proportional to how cool you are. Once again we see a case where actual wrestling skill is pushed to the bottom so that entertainment can sweep the fans into a stupefied state, much like a Piper leading mice. Earlier he said he was worried about me. Not because of my skill, not because of my reputation for being the premier Technical Wrestler in the independent circuit, but because of the fact that he doesn’t know who I am. I have to tell you, that’s a slap in the face. To think that having his career at stake and he doesn’t consider me enough of a challenge to even dig up a few tapes is just as much of an insult as a slap in the face.
Roy Chambers stops at a punching bag, located in the eastern section of the room. With a well placed Stiff Kick, he knocks the bag to the side and sends a resulting smack resonating throughout the empty gym. Feeling relieved of the pressure, Chambers continues his way around the gym.
But then again, it’s really his choice. He’s decided to sacrifice his one chance at winning this tournament in the first round. Why? Because he wasn’t willing to put in the time to find out about his opponent. A mistake that I refused to make. And there’s one thing that became blindingly apparent: he smokes. It’s a disgusting habit which should be abolished, but to do something like that before a wrestling show is just stupid. I think it makes my strategy all the more clear; I’m going to wear Pryme down. If his lungs are so backed up with tar, then it should be no problem to outlast him. I won’t even need a finisher, a Sleeper Hold would do the trick and put that sack of carcinogen out for good.
Roy finally starts to approach the exit to the gym. He stops just in front of it, slowly turning around to reflect once again on the road that has brought him to Valor, a road which started in this very gym.
It’s funny how some things come full circle...
With this last comment, Roy Chambers takes a deep breath and pushes open the door, bathing himself in sunlight, and casting a long shadow across the hardwood floor. He steps out into the parking lot as the feed fades to black....
