Post by fowler on May 20, 2022 4:50:22 GMT -5
Billy Fowler stands in the middle of the Elland Road Stadium, having gotten to Leeds ahead of the big event he headed straight to the stadium and now watches as the production crew start to put the stage together and finish off building the ring. Fowler looks at the ring and pulls on the middle rope checking its tightness before then turning his gaze to the mass of empty chairs all around him.
“This is where it happens. Right here in just a few days I will step over those ropes and walk straight into the biggest opportunity of my life. Do I think I’m ready?”
There is a pause and Fowler looks high into the upper rows. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and its almost like he can audibly hear the cheers and chats of hundreds of people calling his name.
“I’m ready. I’ve waited an entire career for this one moment, this one opportunity. To be the world champion is one thing but to be the very first world champion, the first man or woman to place your hand on that big gold belt and know that nobody can take this legacy from you, that is entirely different feeling all together.
It might sound cliché. Fuck, Rob and Frank will probably chew me over for this later!
But I can feel it.
I can taste it.
This moment that we are building towards is my destiny. This is the moment I was born for, the moment that my flesh grabbed onto my bones for. And neither Havok or D are going to be able to stop me from taking that moment.”
Fowler rolls into the ring under the bottom rope and paces the ring, observing a couple of guys tightening the last buckle.
“Eddie D has been somewhat quiet. Maybe he’s got the pre-match nerves? Maybe he’s sat on a toilet in a hotel somewhere in the city, shitting his guts out from a sudden onset of IBS?
Quite frankly, I don’t care where he is. He could save me some time and effort by just not showing up. I mean having to kick the head off the shoulders of one Eddie is quite enough!
As far as I’m concerned Eddie, you’re a nonentity in this match and if Havok has spoken one piece of sense lately it’s that your accomplishments in SWAT mean jack shit.
However Mr Havok, you may have said one thing which makes some form of sense, but you’ve also spoken a whole heap of dog shit the last few days and weeks.
If you honestly think that you have what it takes to be a world champion, then you need to take yourself down to Oxford university and hand yourself over for medical research. Fuck knows what they would find inside your head when they cut it open but I’m sure they would learn a lot about the inner workings of the average human male.
And you see that right there is the crux Havok. You’re just average.
Think of every world champion you’ve ever seen. Well… hang on. Let’s say every world champion from any federation or roster that meant something.
One thing will hold all those men in common. They will all have been special, different, maybe even extraordinary. To be a world champion you need to be a cut above the rest, operating on a different level. You need to carry yourself with respect, dignity and class.
You Eddie Havok, have none of those qualities. You drink in bars where just sitting on a stool risks an infestation of genital lice and walking into the bathroom guarantees stepping on a used needle. You ride a motorcycle as though it was still something that makes a person cool.
But the saddest part about it is that motorcycle has more personality than you.”
Fowler looks up to the top of the entrance ramp and gives a hand gesture to beckon someone out onto the stage. After a few seconds a stagehand wanders out with a large cardboard cut-out under his arm. He sets it up on the stage facing the ring to reveal a Lifesize image of Eddie Havok.
“See Eddie. That piece of flat cardboard up there has about as much integrity, fortitude and character as you do.
Do you even know who you are? I’m asking you right now Eddie.”
Fowler stares at the cardboard cut-out for a moment, anticipating a response.
“Well I’ll tell you who you are Eddie. You’re porridge without sugar. You’re a chicken korma. You’re Ringo Starr without the other three. You’re a Costa coffee.
In the sum of all your parts you are Mr glass half full, not quite enough to satisfy but too much in there get rid of the glass. In knowing you for close to a decade there is nothing I could say about you because there is nothing to say. If you were any blander you would be on a menu at McDonald’s.
The image that I’m talking to right now might as well walk down here and challenge me to a match right now, because it would likely probably do a better job than you.
People think flesh, blood, sinew and bone make a man.
They are wrong Eddie. All those things just make a carcass. A frame from which a man can be truly built. It just appears that no one got around to building on your frame. Did you not have anyone in your life to guide and form you?
Well let me do you a favour and give you some guidance right now. You are looking at man. A real man, a cut above the rest of you. I am the person worthy of carrying the world title and I will be the one to carry it out of this arena.
This may seem harsh Eddie, but remember, I am a Bastard.
And one thing is for certain. The Bastards always win.”
