Post by Tetsuo Kijada on Jun 17, 2020 15:19:01 GMT -5
He sat on the bonnet of his Ute. He’d had this vehicle for a long time and was going to use it tonight. Behind the Ute was the pub in McKinlay. He was ready to head off for the big city as he was wrestling for Rapid Fire Wrestling in Victoria so he’d got a long journey ahead of him. Nigel his best mate was stood in front of him with his phone.
“Make sure the Ute’s in shot Nige, as it’s all about the framing, so I’ve heard. So how do I start this thing?” Mick said as his associate brought his face into focus when he brought the phone up to his face. “Well I could start by telling you where I’m from. I come from a place called McKinlay. Nice little place for me to grow up but when I became an adult I realised it was nothing more than a roadhouse, a few houses and a pub. Which to most would be hell but to me it was beaut! McKinlay is in the middle of nowhere; Lots of places where the Abo’s run free. Well, you see, Aborigines don't own the land down under mate. They belong to it. It's like their mother. See those rocks on TV that make Australia famous? They’ve been standing there for 600 million years. Still be there when you and I are gone. So arguing over who owns them is like two fleas arguing over who owns the dog they live on but this is not about them but about Mick.”
Nigel moved around him trying to pick up more than just the Ute in the background. The pub behind him was the heart and soul of the town and it was where Mick and Nigel used to hang out all the time.
“This week’s edition of Shockwave is gonna be a right Ripsnorter mate,” he said. “That goddamn Pommie drongo that they’ve put in my way is so going to get his ass handed to him mate. Crickey, if this Pommie galah thinks he can get one passed Mick Chisholm then he’s been eating way too many shrimps mate and not the sort you put on a Barbie. Blimey mate, this guy must be a few stubbies short of a six-pack, a few sandwiches short of a picnic mate.”
He leaned forward on the bonnet and his old Inx t-shirt can be seen under his stained work shirt. The camera picked up that he was in speedo with long Aussie rules socks and work boots.
“I think the galah has been drinking way to many beers but he is a Pommie after all mate,” Mick said. “He’ll need to wrap his laughing gear ‘round another tinny if he thinks that he’s going to get one over on this Aussie stud. Tell him he’s dreaming mate as this is gonna be funny. Wait, did I talk about him drinking way to many beers? No, those Pommie’s can’t handle their beer that’s why they drink Fosters. Lightweight!”
Mick sat up and looked directly at the camera phone. He’d known Nigel for a long time since they were kids running around this little town.
“This drongo comes from Liverpool,” he continued. “Wrap your laughing gear 'round that. He comes from the same place that the Beatles are from? Maybe he’s bumped into them. Crickey, I wonder if he’s shared a six-pack with Ringo Starr. Maybe could have but they’re no good at anything in Pommie land especially cricket. Cricket needs brightening up a bit. My solution is to let the players drink at the beginning of the game, not after now maybe that’d make the Pommie bastards more interesting to watch but this ain’t cricket, this is wrestling.”
He reached into the work shirt and pulled out an old trucker’s cap and put it on.
“This guy that they’ve got me in the ring with thinks he’s the dog’s breakfast,” he said. “Fair go, mate; fair suck of the sauce bottle; fair crack of the whip. No worries, mate, he'll be right when he gets up with the hangover the day after. They used to talk in professional fighting about this guy from up North in the Never-Never, where the land is harsh and bare, lives this awesome fighter. It was funny what they said about Mick but they didn’t know Mick did they?”
Mick shrugged his shoulders as he continued his little rant.
“Aw, geez they should know better than that,” he said. “Come on you drongo, do you really think that you’ll not suck when you have to face someone like Mick Chisholm? Wait, the gulah thinks he get one over on Mick? Fair dinkum sport, nice to think you’ve got big balls but no Pommie will ever beat a real Aussie. Never, ever will you ever be as good as someone from Down Under.”
Mick nodded and had a smirk on his face.
“So the gulah’s in this wrestling company have overlooked Mick Chisholm?” he asked. “Is it ‘cos those drongo’s all come from the big smoke or have come from abroad stealing our jobs? I may come from what some of you would call the Outback and have Aborigine blood in these veins but Mick Chisholm won’t be overlooked. No mate, this Aussie’s not for turning especially not getting beat by no damn Scouser!!!”
He smiled at the camera phone ever so slightly. The smile disappeared quite quickly but his bright white teeth showed for a second.
“Now Nige,” Mick said. “I think it’s time for us to get to Victoria. Gonna be a ripsnorter of a journey so I think we better get some snacks. Make sure you get some good Aussie tucker, none of those Pommie shite that seems to be sneaking in over here mate. Now get it done and whilst you’re doing that I’ll get myself in the right mind mate!”
Nigel stopped filming and put his phone in his pocket. He nodded at Mick before leaving to get some road tucker.
“Make sure the Ute’s in shot Nige, as it’s all about the framing, so I’ve heard. So how do I start this thing?” Mick said as his associate brought his face into focus when he brought the phone up to his face. “Well I could start by telling you where I’m from. I come from a place called McKinlay. Nice little place for me to grow up but when I became an adult I realised it was nothing more than a roadhouse, a few houses and a pub. Which to most would be hell but to me it was beaut! McKinlay is in the middle of nowhere; Lots of places where the Abo’s run free. Well, you see, Aborigines don't own the land down under mate. They belong to it. It's like their mother. See those rocks on TV that make Australia famous? They’ve been standing there for 600 million years. Still be there when you and I are gone. So arguing over who owns them is like two fleas arguing over who owns the dog they live on but this is not about them but about Mick.”
Nigel moved around him trying to pick up more than just the Ute in the background. The pub behind him was the heart and soul of the town and it was where Mick and Nigel used to hang out all the time.
“This week’s edition of Shockwave is gonna be a right Ripsnorter mate,” he said. “That goddamn Pommie drongo that they’ve put in my way is so going to get his ass handed to him mate. Crickey, if this Pommie galah thinks he can get one passed Mick Chisholm then he’s been eating way too many shrimps mate and not the sort you put on a Barbie. Blimey mate, this guy must be a few stubbies short of a six-pack, a few sandwiches short of a picnic mate.”
He leaned forward on the bonnet and his old Inx t-shirt can be seen under his stained work shirt. The camera picked up that he was in speedo with long Aussie rules socks and work boots.
“I think the galah has been drinking way to many beers but he is a Pommie after all mate,” Mick said. “He’ll need to wrap his laughing gear ‘round another tinny if he thinks that he’s going to get one over on this Aussie stud. Tell him he’s dreaming mate as this is gonna be funny. Wait, did I talk about him drinking way to many beers? No, those Pommie’s can’t handle their beer that’s why they drink Fosters. Lightweight!”
Mick sat up and looked directly at the camera phone. He’d known Nigel for a long time since they were kids running around this little town.
“This drongo comes from Liverpool,” he continued. “Wrap your laughing gear 'round that. He comes from the same place that the Beatles are from? Maybe he’s bumped into them. Crickey, I wonder if he’s shared a six-pack with Ringo Starr. Maybe could have but they’re no good at anything in Pommie land especially cricket. Cricket needs brightening up a bit. My solution is to let the players drink at the beginning of the game, not after now maybe that’d make the Pommie bastards more interesting to watch but this ain’t cricket, this is wrestling.”
He reached into the work shirt and pulled out an old trucker’s cap and put it on.
“This guy that they’ve got me in the ring with thinks he’s the dog’s breakfast,” he said. “Fair go, mate; fair suck of the sauce bottle; fair crack of the whip. No worries, mate, he'll be right when he gets up with the hangover the day after. They used to talk in professional fighting about this guy from up North in the Never-Never, where the land is harsh and bare, lives this awesome fighter. It was funny what they said about Mick but they didn’t know Mick did they?”
Mick shrugged his shoulders as he continued his little rant.
“Aw, geez they should know better than that,” he said. “Come on you drongo, do you really think that you’ll not suck when you have to face someone like Mick Chisholm? Wait, the gulah thinks he get one over on Mick? Fair dinkum sport, nice to think you’ve got big balls but no Pommie will ever beat a real Aussie. Never, ever will you ever be as good as someone from Down Under.”
Mick nodded and had a smirk on his face.
“So the gulah’s in this wrestling company have overlooked Mick Chisholm?” he asked. “Is it ‘cos those drongo’s all come from the big smoke or have come from abroad stealing our jobs? I may come from what some of you would call the Outback and have Aborigine blood in these veins but Mick Chisholm won’t be overlooked. No mate, this Aussie’s not for turning especially not getting beat by no damn Scouser!!!”
He smiled at the camera phone ever so slightly. The smile disappeared quite quickly but his bright white teeth showed for a second.
“Now Nige,” Mick said. “I think it’s time for us to get to Victoria. Gonna be a ripsnorter of a journey so I think we better get some snacks. Make sure you get some good Aussie tucker, none of those Pommie shite that seems to be sneaking in over here mate. Now get it done and whilst you’re doing that I’ll get myself in the right mind mate!”
Nigel stopped filming and put his phone in his pocket. He nodded at Mick before leaving to get some road tucker.