Master Class | King Brad Swann
Sept 23, 2020 15:48:42 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz, mosler, and 1 more like this
Post by The King on Sept 23, 2020 15:48:42 GMT -5
Sitting in the middle of a dusty old ring, next to the courtyard of one's kingdom, within the confines of an abandoned, derelict stable - lurked the King. Grazing his hand against the skin of the squared circle, dust would take hostage upon his devilish white finger. An eyebrow raised above that of a scarred white eye.
What does it mean to be of Master Class?
Appearing deep within the grey mist that clung tight to the tip of one's finger, the King would be of upmost curiosity.
It's an intriguing question; a good question, one that may find its answer come Rebel Rock's 'Take a Look Around' PPV. Will we see a definitive full stop to the answer's unopened ending? Or will lines be blurred again with a tainted, indirect conclusion?
Only time, and the combatants, will tell.
With a slow arching of his neck, the King would place the dust-ridden finger within the confines of his mouth - licking it clean with his jagged teeth that bore black and yellow, a plague of one's own mouth.
Alan Galloway. The Act of God. The Right Hand Man.
The King would raise an eyebrow - visibly confused.
Where is your crown?
With a tutting of his tongue, he would take a deep breath and sigh.
A man made by God to rule on his behalf simply does not wear a beanie on his head. He wears that of gold; silver.
The King would place his hand to his right, falling upon the silver crown of one's kingdom.
It's called the Divine Right of Kings, Galloway.
The King's thumb would brush against the encrusted diamond, its purple beauty shining bright within the stable's devilish moonlight.
Yet, still, I see no crown. Instead, Galloway, I see a hack, in a hat, whom has nothing more than a steel chair to his name and a win-loss record that really has no standing against that of wrestling royalty. What does Master Class mean to you? I'll be looking forward to your answer. I'm sure you have your own, outrageous, 'edgy', opinion.
A sharp turn of the head and the King would swivel, reassuring the man whom he spoke to that the words he was about to impart were no mere exaggeration.
You're no threat to me, as much as you are a serious contender, you are even more so a comedic sham. You read like a teenager going through his anti-establishment phase. An edge-lord who thinks his fists are some sort of personality trait.
Both eyebrows raised.
Grow up, you're thirty six.
Pause.
Your time in Master Class Championship Wrestling saw you don the nickname Alan Galloway, "The Cheat". A name given to you not by yourself, but that of the Master Class faithful. A slightly befitting name, seeing as you couldn't last five minutes without whacking out a steel chair; yet doing fuck all with it in the process. What is the point if you're not going to use it, Galloway? Just like that of your fists, its not a personality trait - its just a shambolic performance of the 'hardman' act that comes and goes in this fruitful industry of ours. It's boring, tedious. Find something new.
The King's head would shake, disappointed.
You held that Ride the Lightning Championship for the better half of two minutes. Two whole minutes.
Granted, you were in a scramble match with four other competitors, but that was when you were healthy; during your peak. I lasted thirty minutes on a cash-in from Rockface Anchorage at Master of Destiny, after a gruelling forty minute backstage brawl with Maverick that saw me conquer the fake king and take back the DW World title. I lasted thirty minutes when already hurt, you lasted two during your wrestling peak. You have nothing on me, Galloway. You have fuck all.
The King would begrudgingly shrug.
If you are what it means to be of Master Class, then I want out of the lesson.
With a swoop of his leg the King would kneel, quickly rising to his burdened feet that trod towards the splintered ropes. His fingers running across it in the same grazing action, as that which touched the skin of the canvas. Dust appearing on the confines of his left finger.
Eichi Yamaguchi.
The King would lick the new grey cloud, eyes closed, an eerie sensation sending chills down his hunched spine.
Now that is Master Class, born and bred - surely? From an obscure MMA rookie, into the first ever MCCW World Champion and heavweight wrestling machine - the winner of two back to back Gold Rushes and the wrestling kryptonite to XHF Legend, Death Trap. You are a success story through and through. The definition of MCCW.
The King's eyes would open.
But does that make you the true definition of Master Class?
Sure, you became the top star of a promotion with the same name sake - but I was a feature of Anonymous Xtreme Wrestling, yet I am no anonymous entity. I am the King. The name of your past does not define the role you play in that ring, you may be the 'Master Class' "Champion" but that does not make you a part of the master class of wrestling. I am on about something much more grand than the name of one's brand.
The King would raise his eyebrows once more.
But what does it mean to be of that 'Master Class'? - Forgetting the names, forgetting the brands.
Another shrug from the King.
We may find out come this promotion's PPV, or, we may not. It doesn't really matter. My point is, its easy enough to think you are something that you are not. You may wear a title that says 'Awesome' and be the biggest cuck in the world, just as much as you may wear a title that says 'Master Class' and yet be nothing of the sort in a whole new, rebellious, environment.
The King would raise his wet, left finger.
You've had one match here so far in a relatively back and forth bout - how will you fare on your second? In a tag team match alongside Galloway - fighting against Kris Quake and me, the King, Brad Swann.
With a nod of his head the King would ponder.
I like to think you'll put up a reasonable fight - but I'm more interested to see if you can keep up with your Master Class name sake, or crumble under the pressure of brand new, rock and roll, scenery.
He would cut himself off.
--Even then, Eichi - you have struggled to beat me at your peak. It would be remiss of me not to mention the fact that I pinned both you, the number one contender, and Death Trap, the World and X*Crown Champion, in back to back weeks during the height of MCCW. It feels like a cheap shot to say, but its worth mentioning.
Even in MCCW I was better than you. Add in the new environment of RRW, and you'll either succumb to fate again or find a footing greater than that of your time in MCCW - something that seems relatively impossible at this point, considering the contrasting nature of both brands.
The King would close his two white eyes, moving his head as though looking for something.
Take a look around, Eichi, Galloway. Sanctification comes through suffering:
I am the King, Brad Swann; Rebel Rock's usurper. Master Class, or not: You will both reap what you sow.