Post by mstryker29 on Jan 11, 2006 21:52:29 GMT -5
I’ve heard some say that ignorance is bliss.
The words come from nowhere as we fade into a dank, dark old gymnasium, where countless hours of time, countless gallons of sweat, and countless minutes of one great career were forged. The walls swell with humidity and the paint cracks with age. Along the walls are weights, punching bags, and a few pieces of cardio equipment which all look old enough that they may or may not crumble with their next use. In the middle of this experience in how not to care for your building sits a wrestling ring. The mat has absorbed enough blood to feed a flock of vampires, the ropes are barely taught enough to climb, the buckles look to be made of tire rubber, and the whole stinking palace is lit by one small light bulb that hangs from an electrical cord in the center of the room, just high enough above the ring that anyone diving from the corner PROBABLY won’t catch their skull on it…but not always.
In the center of that ring sits a man, on a plain metal folding chair, wearing workout gear and a black towel over his head. Drops of sweat come from his head and arms, evidence that he’s not here just for show. While his face may be hidden by the ragged old towel that sits on his head, the posture, the demeanor, and the voice are all too familiar to anyone who hasn’t spent the better part of the last decade living under a rock. It belongs to the legend himself, Mike Stryker. He breaths heavy with his words, but he’s not too winded to speak. Slowly, softly, he’s been in this game way too long to let little things fire him up.
I have to admit that I didn’t expect this. I was sort of expecting to hear about how I was washed up, an old timer. How the business has passed me by. How it’s whole new generation and I simply won’t measure up. How my resume didn’t mean a thing to anyone these days. I was expecting to be told to take my geritol, find my dentures, and hit the bricks.
I did not, however, expect this. I’m not big on being exalted. I don’t expect the room to stop when I walk in. However, this Bryan Stinberg kid…he needs to be taught a lesson in respect.
Jobber?
Nobody?
Easy win?
Son, maybe you didn’t get the memo. Maybe you’ve been away. I’d hope you’ve been in a coma. Simply put, you’re not getting into the ring with some Johnny come lately who’s just sharpening his teeth. I have been selling out arenas and main eventing shows since you were popping your first pimple and wondering why you got that tingle in your shorts when a girl walked by. Hell, you wouldn’t have an arena to work in if it wasn’t for a guy like me. I’ve forgotten more about this industry than you could ever hope to learn. They have lined every single so called superstar that’s come down the pipe in the last decade in front of me, and I have mowed every last one of them down. I’ve won enough titles that you’d need a small army to carry all the gold. I’ve seen it all, done it all, and now, I’m ready for one more tour around the world. I don’t ask that you kiss the ground I walk on, and I don’t expect that you just back down at the sound of my name. However, son, you WILL show me the respect that 15 years of blood, sweat, and tears has earned me.
Stryker wipes his nose and takes a breath, cornering the raw emotions that are telling him to rip Brian Stinberg’s throat out immediately.
See, I said it when I came back, but you weren’t listening. This isn’t a joy ride. I’m not here for a few kicks and laughs, some hokey trip down memory lane. This is not the Mike Stryker farewell tour. I don’t plan on shaking hands or kissing babies. Quite frankly, I didn’t care about anything but Wrestlefest. I hadn’t thought about anything but winning that battle royal and getting one shot at reclaiming MY title. Yes, that’s right. MY title. I may have left it 5 years ago, and it may have passed through dozens of men, but in the end, that belt is MINE. I made that title into the prestigious title that everyone wants to get their hands on. Back before you knew a wristlock from a wristwatch, I was holding the title that you’re talking about. I’m not just a veteran, I’m not just a guy who’s been around a while. Bryan, I am the BEST wrestler to ever step into that ring. I have owned my 16 square foot playground since I first set foot in there, and that has not changed.
Quite honestly, this is the first time I’m wrestling one on one in almost 5 years. This is my first match back to the business I once ruled over like Alexander the Great. I’ve sat back and watched you Bryan, and you’re good. Don’t take this as me saying you’re not a capable wrestler, because you are. But this Sunday, you simply do not stand a chance. You’re an unfortunate victim of circumstance Bryan. It’s my re-debut, so to speak, and there is not a man walking this planet, nor floating in heaven, that could beat me. Not ZMaster, not Immune, not Brandon Bailey, Not Eric Hardcastle, shit, not even Jesus Christ himself could hold a candle to me this Sunday. And Bryan, neither can you.
Stryker slowly pulls the towel from his head and strikes two absolute daggers into the camera.
Bryan, you will learn to respect me. You will either choose to do so before our match, or I’ll be forced to make you respect me after we’re done. However, one way or another, you’re gonna learn your place in this business son. Whether you want to, or not, you will understand that you’ve gotten into the ring with true, certified, unquestionable greatness. The Legend of Legends. Call yourself the diamond in this business, but I’m still the crown jewel. You can think you’re gonna make an impact, but in the end, you won’t make a damn thing on my time. Son, you’re the first name on Mike Stryker’s new hit list, and nothing short of the hand of God has a chance to stop me.
Everyone in Valor has been put on notice, and Sunday, you’ll all understand what that means. Bryan Stinberg is just begging me to make an example out of him, and I’m more than happy to make his dreams come true. After I dispose of the light work on Sunday, it’s on to Wrestlefest, onto the Ultimate Battle Royal…
Onto….
DESTINY!
Stryker cracks a smile with just a hint of evil intentions behind it as the camera fades out
The words come from nowhere as we fade into a dank, dark old gymnasium, where countless hours of time, countless gallons of sweat, and countless minutes of one great career were forged. The walls swell with humidity and the paint cracks with age. Along the walls are weights, punching bags, and a few pieces of cardio equipment which all look old enough that they may or may not crumble with their next use. In the middle of this experience in how not to care for your building sits a wrestling ring. The mat has absorbed enough blood to feed a flock of vampires, the ropes are barely taught enough to climb, the buckles look to be made of tire rubber, and the whole stinking palace is lit by one small light bulb that hangs from an electrical cord in the center of the room, just high enough above the ring that anyone diving from the corner PROBABLY won’t catch their skull on it…but not always.
In the center of that ring sits a man, on a plain metal folding chair, wearing workout gear and a black towel over his head. Drops of sweat come from his head and arms, evidence that he’s not here just for show. While his face may be hidden by the ragged old towel that sits on his head, the posture, the demeanor, and the voice are all too familiar to anyone who hasn’t spent the better part of the last decade living under a rock. It belongs to the legend himself, Mike Stryker. He breaths heavy with his words, but he’s not too winded to speak. Slowly, softly, he’s been in this game way too long to let little things fire him up.
I have to admit that I didn’t expect this. I was sort of expecting to hear about how I was washed up, an old timer. How the business has passed me by. How it’s whole new generation and I simply won’t measure up. How my resume didn’t mean a thing to anyone these days. I was expecting to be told to take my geritol, find my dentures, and hit the bricks.
I did not, however, expect this. I’m not big on being exalted. I don’t expect the room to stop when I walk in. However, this Bryan Stinberg kid…he needs to be taught a lesson in respect.
Jobber?
Nobody?
Easy win?
Son, maybe you didn’t get the memo. Maybe you’ve been away. I’d hope you’ve been in a coma. Simply put, you’re not getting into the ring with some Johnny come lately who’s just sharpening his teeth. I have been selling out arenas and main eventing shows since you were popping your first pimple and wondering why you got that tingle in your shorts when a girl walked by. Hell, you wouldn’t have an arena to work in if it wasn’t for a guy like me. I’ve forgotten more about this industry than you could ever hope to learn. They have lined every single so called superstar that’s come down the pipe in the last decade in front of me, and I have mowed every last one of them down. I’ve won enough titles that you’d need a small army to carry all the gold. I’ve seen it all, done it all, and now, I’m ready for one more tour around the world. I don’t ask that you kiss the ground I walk on, and I don’t expect that you just back down at the sound of my name. However, son, you WILL show me the respect that 15 years of blood, sweat, and tears has earned me.
Stryker wipes his nose and takes a breath, cornering the raw emotions that are telling him to rip Brian Stinberg’s throat out immediately.
See, I said it when I came back, but you weren’t listening. This isn’t a joy ride. I’m not here for a few kicks and laughs, some hokey trip down memory lane. This is not the Mike Stryker farewell tour. I don’t plan on shaking hands or kissing babies. Quite frankly, I didn’t care about anything but Wrestlefest. I hadn’t thought about anything but winning that battle royal and getting one shot at reclaiming MY title. Yes, that’s right. MY title. I may have left it 5 years ago, and it may have passed through dozens of men, but in the end, that belt is MINE. I made that title into the prestigious title that everyone wants to get their hands on. Back before you knew a wristlock from a wristwatch, I was holding the title that you’re talking about. I’m not just a veteran, I’m not just a guy who’s been around a while. Bryan, I am the BEST wrestler to ever step into that ring. I have owned my 16 square foot playground since I first set foot in there, and that has not changed.
Quite honestly, this is the first time I’m wrestling one on one in almost 5 years. This is my first match back to the business I once ruled over like Alexander the Great. I’ve sat back and watched you Bryan, and you’re good. Don’t take this as me saying you’re not a capable wrestler, because you are. But this Sunday, you simply do not stand a chance. You’re an unfortunate victim of circumstance Bryan. It’s my re-debut, so to speak, and there is not a man walking this planet, nor floating in heaven, that could beat me. Not ZMaster, not Immune, not Brandon Bailey, Not Eric Hardcastle, shit, not even Jesus Christ himself could hold a candle to me this Sunday. And Bryan, neither can you.
Stryker slowly pulls the towel from his head and strikes two absolute daggers into the camera.
Bryan, you will learn to respect me. You will either choose to do so before our match, or I’ll be forced to make you respect me after we’re done. However, one way or another, you’re gonna learn your place in this business son. Whether you want to, or not, you will understand that you’ve gotten into the ring with true, certified, unquestionable greatness. The Legend of Legends. Call yourself the diamond in this business, but I’m still the crown jewel. You can think you’re gonna make an impact, but in the end, you won’t make a damn thing on my time. Son, you’re the first name on Mike Stryker’s new hit list, and nothing short of the hand of God has a chance to stop me.
Everyone in Valor has been put on notice, and Sunday, you’ll all understand what that means. Bryan Stinberg is just begging me to make an example out of him, and I’m more than happy to make his dreams come true. After I dispose of the light work on Sunday, it’s on to Wrestlefest, onto the Ultimate Battle Royal…
Onto….
DESTINY!
Stryker cracks a smile with just a hint of evil intentions behind it as the camera fades out
