Past is Prologue (The Professional)
Jan 31, 2021 0:56:29 GMT -5
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Oh-Oh and Jesse Jamester like this
Post by leonvanzandt on Jan 31, 2021 0:56:29 GMT -5
“My mentors firmly believed that the future could not be built without remembering the past.”
Cold open.
Leon Van Zandt greets us, sitting by an open campfire, somewhere in a nondescript woods. He doesn’t look like his usual, tense self but rather, at peace as he sits amidst nature on a thick log.
“They trained me in the old ways of professional wrestling, but did not ignore the evolutions made in the industry since their heyday. The theatrics that air on Monday nights, the action from Saturday afternoons of yore… and so on.
“They knew that professional wrestling, like all things, changes with time, and that nothing is permanent. But they also believed that the past had to be kept in mind when moving into the future, even if it was just to know what actions were NOT to be taken. As that saying goes, ‘those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’”
The sky behind Leon changes in a way that indicates the sun is in fact rising. The camera pulls back enough to reveal a metal grill placed over the campfire, and what appears to be a small metal pot resting on the grill, over the flames.
“Which leads me to my opponent at the finals of NPW’s Cruiserweight Cup; I am no cruiserweight myself, but I will be in action, facing a man who only goes by the name Primal. A man who has seen many battles in the ring, and subscribes to a more… savage philosophy. One that subscribes to the idea that civilization was a mistake, that the best ways were when people had no meaningful medicine to ward off disease, and died younger than… well, my current age, regularly.”
The Professional reaches with a gloved hand and grabs the pot from the grill by the handle, pouring it into a large metal cup.
“Personally, I could never survive a sort of lifestyle that didn’t let me drink coffee in the woods.”
With a rare smile, Leon blows on the mug, before placing it back by his feet.
“Without even going into the absurdity of such a view of societal and physical health, I can tell one thing about a man like Primal; he is a dangerous opponent. An opponent with no regard for any rules of combat, who only considers the outcome, the survival of participants, as the arbiter of right and wrong.
“So it’s a good thing that this is a wrestling match, one of the most free, most PRIMAL forms of combat there is.”
Leon chuckles as he reaches back down for his cup and takes a sip of coffee.
“My mentors would tell you that the first wrestling match started with two cavemen fighting over one antelope carcass. There were no rules then, no referees, and the winner was the one who was still breathing when it was over.
“Obviously the sport has become much more since then. And yet it changes more every day. Even today wrestling is different than it was the first day I walked into my mentors’ training hall in Brussels. But of course, the more things change…”
Leon takes another, long sip of coffee before reaching into an unseen bag and pulling out what appears to be a sausage, and dropping it onto the grill.
“The more they stay the same.
“Which is why I am going into that battle with Primal the same as always; expecting attacks from all angles, and conjuring up ways to neutralize them, and then finishing my opponent with no more force than needed to be declared the winner, and collect the winner’s share of the match purse.
“Primal is a man who has seen a lot in his many years in the ring. Perhaps I will be able to learn from him in our battle, and use that knowledge to advance in my career here in Canada. But in any case, I will defeat him, and I will leave him in the past that he loves so much. There is much more work to be done here, and I will continue to make my case for more opportunities within NPW. And no wildman will be able to stop that.”
The Professional finishes his coffee and pours himself another cup, before taking a look at the sausage cooking on the grill as we fade to black.
Cold open.
Leon Van Zandt greets us, sitting by an open campfire, somewhere in a nondescript woods. He doesn’t look like his usual, tense self but rather, at peace as he sits amidst nature on a thick log.
“They trained me in the old ways of professional wrestling, but did not ignore the evolutions made in the industry since their heyday. The theatrics that air on Monday nights, the action from Saturday afternoons of yore… and so on.
“They knew that professional wrestling, like all things, changes with time, and that nothing is permanent. But they also believed that the past had to be kept in mind when moving into the future, even if it was just to know what actions were NOT to be taken. As that saying goes, ‘those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’”
The sky behind Leon changes in a way that indicates the sun is in fact rising. The camera pulls back enough to reveal a metal grill placed over the campfire, and what appears to be a small metal pot resting on the grill, over the flames.
“Which leads me to my opponent at the finals of NPW’s Cruiserweight Cup; I am no cruiserweight myself, but I will be in action, facing a man who only goes by the name Primal. A man who has seen many battles in the ring, and subscribes to a more… savage philosophy. One that subscribes to the idea that civilization was a mistake, that the best ways were when people had no meaningful medicine to ward off disease, and died younger than… well, my current age, regularly.”
The Professional reaches with a gloved hand and grabs the pot from the grill by the handle, pouring it into a large metal cup.
“Personally, I could never survive a sort of lifestyle that didn’t let me drink coffee in the woods.”
With a rare smile, Leon blows on the mug, before placing it back by his feet.
“Without even going into the absurdity of such a view of societal and physical health, I can tell one thing about a man like Primal; he is a dangerous opponent. An opponent with no regard for any rules of combat, who only considers the outcome, the survival of participants, as the arbiter of right and wrong.
“So it’s a good thing that this is a wrestling match, one of the most free, most PRIMAL forms of combat there is.”
Leon chuckles as he reaches back down for his cup and takes a sip of coffee.
“My mentors would tell you that the first wrestling match started with two cavemen fighting over one antelope carcass. There were no rules then, no referees, and the winner was the one who was still breathing when it was over.
“Obviously the sport has become much more since then. And yet it changes more every day. Even today wrestling is different than it was the first day I walked into my mentors’ training hall in Brussels. But of course, the more things change…”
Leon takes another, long sip of coffee before reaching into an unseen bag and pulling out what appears to be a sausage, and dropping it onto the grill.
“The more they stay the same.
“Which is why I am going into that battle with Primal the same as always; expecting attacks from all angles, and conjuring up ways to neutralize them, and then finishing my opponent with no more force than needed to be declared the winner, and collect the winner’s share of the match purse.
“Primal is a man who has seen a lot in his many years in the ring. Perhaps I will be able to learn from him in our battle, and use that knowledge to advance in my career here in Canada. But in any case, I will defeat him, and I will leave him in the past that he loves so much. There is much more work to be done here, and I will continue to make my case for more opportunities within NPW. And no wildman will be able to stop that.”
The Professional finishes his coffee and pours himself another cup, before taking a look at the sausage cooking on the grill as we fade to black.