Post by leonvanzandt on Oct 25, 2020 20:17:20 GMT -5
“Hello, Northern Pro Wrestling.”
A thick, vague European accent fills your headset as you look into the black screen on the YouTube page you’re viewing this on.
“My name is Leon Van Zandt. I am a professional wrestler.”
Cold open.
In the background hang two distinct, separate flags; the black, yellow, and red vertical tricolor flag of the Kingdom of Belgium on the left, and on the right a yellow flag with a rather articulately drawn black lion on it, the leeuwenvlag of the Belgian region known as Flanders.
In the forefront stands an imposing figure; clean cut, athletic, with eyes staring daggers into us.
“Far too much is said about those who are wrestlers; today, I will emphasize the professional in professional wrestling.”
The flags behind him and his accent sum it up; he’s Belgian.
“Wrestling is an occupation, a trade. I have worked at it almost my entire life; on the scholastic and freestyle mats as a youth, and in the musty, nostalgia-soaked athletic clubs of the Old World grapplers who never let go of their ways. The world may not remember the days when wrestlers were FIGHTERS, who stepped into the ring FAR less concerned with impressing a crowd, or with selling a shirt… than with WINNING.”
Our new guest glares into the camera, his teeth gritted and making his bearded jaw jut out more.
“I cut my teeth in the rings in Europe, which still remember the cold, crippling efficiency of catch wrestling, where the difference between walking out of the arena, and a shredded knee, are separated by mere FRACTIONS of a second. Any hold, any throw, any tactic… that brings victory, and the larger share of the fight purse as a result. THAT is the way I was trained, and THAT is the way I will make my mark on Northern Pro Wrestling. And all who face me will know why I have been called the Flemish Face of Fear.”
The mighty Belgian smiles, before taking a seat, on the ground.
“It has not taken long for Gus Arnold, the proprietor of NPW, to put me and my abilities to the test, with this Lethal Lottery; regrettably, I must admit I have little experience with tag team wrestling. My mentors, after all, hail from a time and place where such contests were treated as special attractions, and not a serious pursuit. That seems to be a North American development. But nevertheless, I will push as I can, for at the end stands your North American Double Crown, a sure marker of supremacy in the ranks of NPW. Where I come from, he who holds the title, is the best wrestler.
“So rest assured, on Wednesday night, I will go into that ring, alongside a man who declares himself ‘Timeless,’ a man more interested in running his mouth and insulting his opponents and partners alike, than in pulling up his sleeves and going to work. I will decline his offer of standing at ringside, and instead show him how a REAL man wrestles.”
A deep breath.
“Let it be known, Mr. Timeless, if I am deprived the opportunity to win this championship because of your incompetence, my arsenal of holds awaits YOU.
“Niko. A man who fashions himself a gladiator… I supposed you and I are not too different; men who represent codes of combat and conduct that came from by-gone eras, who stand for ideals not comprehensible by modern folk. Perhaps outside the confines of our impending battle, we would be kindred spirits, or possibly…”
A weary nod and slightly sad smile.
“...friends.
“However, as I’m sure you acknowledge, we will be fighting for Northern Pro Wrestling’s highest honor, and for that, kindred must be shunted aside. I will show no mercy, nor shall I expect any from you. Show me your power, Niko. Give me something to keep in my memories moving forward in my campaign here in Canada!
“Well, after I dismantle the overmuscled lummox Scott Steel. I have watched him in action, and he is a very large, and very strong man; but size and strength will not help him on the mat, where he, even as tall as he is, will fall victim to my Sugar Hold. Perhaps then, he will recuse himself to staying at ringside for the arrogant Eric Dane, and leave the wrestling to the wrestlers.”
He rises to his feet, all 6’4” of Belgian beef and Catch mastery. He wrings his wrists, and glares.
“Northern Pro Wrestling will bear witness to my return to NPW, and the fans in Ontario will see ‘The Professional’ apply his craft like no one can. Today, Mississauga. Tomorrow… the world.”
Fade.
A thick, vague European accent fills your headset as you look into the black screen on the YouTube page you’re viewing this on.
“My name is Leon Van Zandt. I am a professional wrestler.”
Cold open.
In the background hang two distinct, separate flags; the black, yellow, and red vertical tricolor flag of the Kingdom of Belgium on the left, and on the right a yellow flag with a rather articulately drawn black lion on it, the leeuwenvlag of the Belgian region known as Flanders.
In the forefront stands an imposing figure; clean cut, athletic, with eyes staring daggers into us.
“Far too much is said about those who are wrestlers; today, I will emphasize the professional in professional wrestling.”
The flags behind him and his accent sum it up; he’s Belgian.
“Wrestling is an occupation, a trade. I have worked at it almost my entire life; on the scholastic and freestyle mats as a youth, and in the musty, nostalgia-soaked athletic clubs of the Old World grapplers who never let go of their ways. The world may not remember the days when wrestlers were FIGHTERS, who stepped into the ring FAR less concerned with impressing a crowd, or with selling a shirt… than with WINNING.”
Our new guest glares into the camera, his teeth gritted and making his bearded jaw jut out more.
“I cut my teeth in the rings in Europe, which still remember the cold, crippling efficiency of catch wrestling, where the difference between walking out of the arena, and a shredded knee, are separated by mere FRACTIONS of a second. Any hold, any throw, any tactic… that brings victory, and the larger share of the fight purse as a result. THAT is the way I was trained, and THAT is the way I will make my mark on Northern Pro Wrestling. And all who face me will know why I have been called the Flemish Face of Fear.”
The mighty Belgian smiles, before taking a seat, on the ground.
“It has not taken long for Gus Arnold, the proprietor of NPW, to put me and my abilities to the test, with this Lethal Lottery; regrettably, I must admit I have little experience with tag team wrestling. My mentors, after all, hail from a time and place where such contests were treated as special attractions, and not a serious pursuit. That seems to be a North American development. But nevertheless, I will push as I can, for at the end stands your North American Double Crown, a sure marker of supremacy in the ranks of NPW. Where I come from, he who holds the title, is the best wrestler.
“So rest assured, on Wednesday night, I will go into that ring, alongside a man who declares himself ‘Timeless,’ a man more interested in running his mouth and insulting his opponents and partners alike, than in pulling up his sleeves and going to work. I will decline his offer of standing at ringside, and instead show him how a REAL man wrestles.”
A deep breath.
“Let it be known, Mr. Timeless, if I am deprived the opportunity to win this championship because of your incompetence, my arsenal of holds awaits YOU.
“Niko. A man who fashions himself a gladiator… I supposed you and I are not too different; men who represent codes of combat and conduct that came from by-gone eras, who stand for ideals not comprehensible by modern folk. Perhaps outside the confines of our impending battle, we would be kindred spirits, or possibly…”
A weary nod and slightly sad smile.
“...friends.
“However, as I’m sure you acknowledge, we will be fighting for Northern Pro Wrestling’s highest honor, and for that, kindred must be shunted aside. I will show no mercy, nor shall I expect any from you. Show me your power, Niko. Give me something to keep in my memories moving forward in my campaign here in Canada!
“Well, after I dismantle the overmuscled lummox Scott Steel. I have watched him in action, and he is a very large, and very strong man; but size and strength will not help him on the mat, where he, even as tall as he is, will fall victim to my Sugar Hold. Perhaps then, he will recuse himself to staying at ringside for the arrogant Eric Dane, and leave the wrestling to the wrestlers.”
He rises to his feet, all 6’4” of Belgian beef and Catch mastery. He wrings his wrists, and glares.
“Northern Pro Wrestling will bear witness to my return to NPW, and the fans in Ontario will see ‘The Professional’ apply his craft like no one can. Today, Mississauga. Tomorrow… the world.”
Fade.