[ Tyrone Walker ] The Wild Card Speaks

[jay]

It’s about that time, sports fans. 

Our aging hero, the Wild Card that is Tyrone Walker, is enroute to Canada. Once there he seeks to go back to back, becoming the only two time winner of the NPW Cruiserweight Cup. It’s a worthy endeavor. Certainly as worthy as any other for a man known to be notoriously inconsistent as YaBoiTy. 

Standing in his way? 

Three younger, possibly hungrier, lions who want to stake their own claim to the glories of raising the cup for themselves. Can they do it? Can they evict him and slam the door shut in his face? Can they make Walker concede to this generation? They will have to fight like hell to put him out in the cold. 

Only time will tell. 

\ \ \ \ W / / / / 

2:18 A.M. 

Toronto, Ontario, Canada. 

Just Days Before Night One of the CWC. 

Clad in a blue New York Mets hoodie and matching blue basketball shorts, Tyrone Walker stands outside on the balcony of his hotel room in the cold, Canadian night air. His arms rest upon the railing as he looks out upon the Toronto cityscape laid out before him under the light of the moon. A sigh turns into a cloud of steam from his mouth before he reaches into the front pocket of his hoodie and pulls out his phone. 

A few taps and swipes later he begins. 

“Sup, y’all?” He nods his head in greeting before shivering. “Gotdamn, it’s cold as fuck out here, eh?” He snickers at his mock Canadian-ism before turning his phone around to scan the cityscape for all to see. “Welcome to T-Dot, y’all.” 

“Man, someone gotta tell ol’ Gus to run this bitch in the summer time or something, because this is some bullshit.” He complains before turning the phone back around. “But whatever. So, what’s up? YaBoiTy back at it again as the reigning and defending Cruiser Cup Cham-peen.” 

“I’mma be honest. I hardly know anything about most of you dudes. So, y’all just names on a sheet of paper to me.” He glances down at his phone for a second. “But don’t get it twisted. I don’t need to know you to fight you, because you want what I want, so we gotta do this.” 

“Which is fine by me, man.” He coughs and another plume of steam clouds the air in front of him. “I’m the Wild Card in all of this and as such, I’mma hit the ring and just go with it. See what each and everyone of you think you got for me and see how it all plays out.” 

“Truth is, most of you are half my age. Prolly hungrier for the accolades than I am too.” He draws a short, sharp breath through his nose. “But I’m greedy as fuck and ain’t ready to call it quits just yet, even if you can count my in ring appearances on two hands. Tops.” 

“That and I don’t know how many more of these I have left.” He admits soberly. “But what I do know is this. After winning this thing last year, I’m playing with the house's money at this point. So you best believe that I got nothing to lose, which means I’mma win this thing or die trying.” 

He looks down at the screen, addressing everyone with a defiant smirk. 

“So, yeah. Fuck y’all, basically.” 

[fin.]