Post by Sin City Saint on Aug 10, 2005 15:55:51 GMT -5
The arena is completely empty. There no fans, production crew or agents, except a lone camera man and The Sin City Saint with Gage Creed. The lighting is poor. There is a slight echoing throughout the building. The Sin City Saint stands center ring. Dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a Full Tilt tee, his hair unkempt and his eyes glazed over. Evidence of some hard drinking from the night before. Gage Creed stands behind him, silent and still.
[Sin City Saint] My fate rested in the incompetent hands of a 120 pound imbecile. A boy, not a man. A boy complete with freckles and braces. This boy cost me my match with Saku. My chance. My opportunity to claim the richest prize in this company. My destiny, stolen from my hands. Ripped away like children in their sleep. I have been violated. The code of honor and integrity broken by a man who now has a chance to walk away from Summer Sizzler, World Champion.
The Sin City Saint slightly turns to his left. He grabs the waist of his shorts and gives them a slight tug. He turns back, staring into the camera, biting his lower lip.
[Sin City Saint] Saku, you stole from me. You took what was not yours to take. And no one in this company has the balls to step up and make this wrong, right. Hooking the tights is not a wrestling hold. It is not a strategic maneuver. It is a blatant disregard for the rules. A blatant disregard for integrity. Integrity is something you lack. Something you have no true grasp upon. A single idea that a person of your below average intelligence cannot comprehend. Yet, it does not matter. For my path has now changed. The past is just that. It is the past. And my life revolves in the now. It revolves in the present. And the present path The Sin City Saint has been set forth upon is Sunday Night Slam. It is a Sunday Night Slam, like no other. For this Sunday Night Slam is an event set in a theme of revenge. Those are the words of one, Eric Hardcastle. For this coming day of the Sabbath is day of reckoning. Although, Eric Hardcastle, it is not your day of reckoning. This Sunday becomes a day of reckoning, a day of war for The Sin City Saint.
The Sin City Saint brushes the stringy hair from his face and points directly into the camera.
[Sin City Saint] You, Eric Hardcastle, stuck your nose where it did not belong. It was you who set forth this war. A war of attrition. This was not your fight. This was between myself and Brandon Bailey. Yet, you felt the need to become involved. And for one, just one, tiny fragment of time, I had to wonder why. Why? Why did you need to become a pawn in this battle of chess? And then it hit me., It hit me straight in the face, being right underneath my nose. It is because you are selfish. You became apart of this war, not because you have this code of ethics or this sense of honor. You needed it. You needed the spotlight. The main event focus. The praise that went along with being a main eventer. You could not sit back and allow a man like The Sin City Saint, a man of honor. You could not allow The Sin City Saint to take that next step. To take the step necessary to become a true player in this company. To become a main eventer. You are selfish, Eric Hardcastle. It was Brandon Bailey that dubbed you polar opposites. But when I look at you. When I look at you and compare you to Brandon Bailey, I see mirrored image. You share in the selfish attitude. The same belief of oneself as utter importance. Brandon Bailey would never admit his greed for the spotlight. Yet he has main evented every single Sunday Night Slam. For how many weeks now? 4 or 5? And then to Summer Sizzler. His greed for the spotlight is as sick as yours. The 2 of you are not polar opposites. The 2 of you mirrored images. Reflections of one another. By not appearance, but by inner soul. Irony is the key to this path for the 2 of you.
The Sin City Saint looks down at his hands. He turns them, palms up, towards his face. His eyes seem almost mesmerized.
[Sin City Saint] The war. The battle. It is for revenge. Revenge against 2 men who lie in selfish fields. Who dance with selfish cuisine. I bring my weapons to the war this Sunday. My hands are symbols of my weapons. From an early age, I was taught how my hands were my weapons. What I must take into war to do combat. To face combat ahead.
The Sin City Saint clinches both fists tight. He raises them up and points them at the camera.
[Sin City Saint] My weapons. I am ready for combat. I am ready to step forth and do combat. Fight the good fight. The fight for all those who have fallen in your path of selfishness and destruction. The mirrored image and the ideology. The pathway of self inflicted solitude. These weapons will set those free. Free from the hatred and growing obsession with your own self worth.
The Sin City Saint lowers his hands and turns towards Gage Creed. He pats Gage across the chest and smiles, turning back towards the camera.
[Sin City Saint] I do not come alone. I do not fight the good fight alone. With me, my solider. My warrior. We step into the ring as one. With just one single goal in mind. For he has been under Brandon Bailey's thumb before. He knows from the outset exactly what Brandon Bailey is like. He will step to the ring with me to fight the good fight. We will fight this war with out weapons. We are prepared to bleed. We are prepared to do whatever is necessary to emerge victorious. I choose, we choose this path. We choose this path which comes to an end this Sunday. Your days of holding others back come to an end Sunday. They come to a bitter sweet end. Eric Hardcastle, don't bring your little girlfriend to the ring. Don't bring her to witness your destruction. Learn from history or be doomed to repeat it. And that's Saint's Honor!
The Sin City Saint turns and motions to Gage Creed to exit the ring. The Sin City Saint drops to his knees and then rolls out of the ring, under the bottom rope. Gage Creed follows him out through the middle rope. Both men begin to walk up the aisle back towards the dressing room. The arena still echoes in the emotional rant of The Sin City Saint.
[Sin City Saint] My fate rested in the incompetent hands of a 120 pound imbecile. A boy, not a man. A boy complete with freckles and braces. This boy cost me my match with Saku. My chance. My opportunity to claim the richest prize in this company. My destiny, stolen from my hands. Ripped away like children in their sleep. I have been violated. The code of honor and integrity broken by a man who now has a chance to walk away from Summer Sizzler, World Champion.
The Sin City Saint slightly turns to his left. He grabs the waist of his shorts and gives them a slight tug. He turns back, staring into the camera, biting his lower lip.
[Sin City Saint] Saku, you stole from me. You took what was not yours to take. And no one in this company has the balls to step up and make this wrong, right. Hooking the tights is not a wrestling hold. It is not a strategic maneuver. It is a blatant disregard for the rules. A blatant disregard for integrity. Integrity is something you lack. Something you have no true grasp upon. A single idea that a person of your below average intelligence cannot comprehend. Yet, it does not matter. For my path has now changed. The past is just that. It is the past. And my life revolves in the now. It revolves in the present. And the present path The Sin City Saint has been set forth upon is Sunday Night Slam. It is a Sunday Night Slam, like no other. For this Sunday Night Slam is an event set in a theme of revenge. Those are the words of one, Eric Hardcastle. For this coming day of the Sabbath is day of reckoning. Although, Eric Hardcastle, it is not your day of reckoning. This Sunday becomes a day of reckoning, a day of war for The Sin City Saint.
The Sin City Saint brushes the stringy hair from his face and points directly into the camera.
[Sin City Saint] You, Eric Hardcastle, stuck your nose where it did not belong. It was you who set forth this war. A war of attrition. This was not your fight. This was between myself and Brandon Bailey. Yet, you felt the need to become involved. And for one, just one, tiny fragment of time, I had to wonder why. Why? Why did you need to become a pawn in this battle of chess? And then it hit me., It hit me straight in the face, being right underneath my nose. It is because you are selfish. You became apart of this war, not because you have this code of ethics or this sense of honor. You needed it. You needed the spotlight. The main event focus. The praise that went along with being a main eventer. You could not sit back and allow a man like The Sin City Saint, a man of honor. You could not allow The Sin City Saint to take that next step. To take the step necessary to become a true player in this company. To become a main eventer. You are selfish, Eric Hardcastle. It was Brandon Bailey that dubbed you polar opposites. But when I look at you. When I look at you and compare you to Brandon Bailey, I see mirrored image. You share in the selfish attitude. The same belief of oneself as utter importance. Brandon Bailey would never admit his greed for the spotlight. Yet he has main evented every single Sunday Night Slam. For how many weeks now? 4 or 5? And then to Summer Sizzler. His greed for the spotlight is as sick as yours. The 2 of you are not polar opposites. The 2 of you mirrored images. Reflections of one another. By not appearance, but by inner soul. Irony is the key to this path for the 2 of you.
The Sin City Saint looks down at his hands. He turns them, palms up, towards his face. His eyes seem almost mesmerized.
[Sin City Saint] The war. The battle. It is for revenge. Revenge against 2 men who lie in selfish fields. Who dance with selfish cuisine. I bring my weapons to the war this Sunday. My hands are symbols of my weapons. From an early age, I was taught how my hands were my weapons. What I must take into war to do combat. To face combat ahead.
The Sin City Saint clinches both fists tight. He raises them up and points them at the camera.
[Sin City Saint] My weapons. I am ready for combat. I am ready to step forth and do combat. Fight the good fight. The fight for all those who have fallen in your path of selfishness and destruction. The mirrored image and the ideology. The pathway of self inflicted solitude. These weapons will set those free. Free from the hatred and growing obsession with your own self worth.
The Sin City Saint lowers his hands and turns towards Gage Creed. He pats Gage across the chest and smiles, turning back towards the camera.
[Sin City Saint] I do not come alone. I do not fight the good fight alone. With me, my solider. My warrior. We step into the ring as one. With just one single goal in mind. For he has been under Brandon Bailey's thumb before. He knows from the outset exactly what Brandon Bailey is like. He will step to the ring with me to fight the good fight. We will fight this war with out weapons. We are prepared to bleed. We are prepared to do whatever is necessary to emerge victorious. I choose, we choose this path. We choose this path which comes to an end this Sunday. Your days of holding others back come to an end Sunday. They come to a bitter sweet end. Eric Hardcastle, don't bring your little girlfriend to the ring. Don't bring her to witness your destruction. Learn from history or be doomed to repeat it. And that's Saint's Honor!
The Sin City Saint turns and motions to Gage Creed to exit the ring. The Sin City Saint drops to his knees and then rolls out of the ring, under the bottom rope. Gage Creed follows him out through the middle rope. Both men begin to walk up the aisle back towards the dressing room. The arena still echoes in the emotional rant of The Sin City Saint.
