Post by leonvanzandt on Nov 11, 2022 23:45:23 GMT -5
“We said we would, and so we did.”
Cold open.
Back in that familiar empty gym, the blinds up and giving us a view of a rainy night sky through the window. The camera pulls back, revealing one-half of the Battle of Britain Tag Gauntlet winners, Leon “The Professional” Van Zandt. He sits cross-legged, an Indian club on each hand, planted on each side of the Belgian.
“Jay Stevens and I walked into the Battle of Britain with intent on showing the Wrestle: UK tag team division just what we were capable of. And that is exactly what Jay Stevens and I did. We were victorious, and at New Year’s Brawl, we have a date with the Bastards and those Wrestle: UK Tag Team Championships.”
The Professional turns his head to us, letting the clubs fall where they may. He is, as usual, stripped to the waist, his legs resting near a rather sizable kettlebell.
“In Liverpool, I will face Rob Riot, one on one, in preparation for the championship match to come. And in doing so, I will dismantle Rob Riot for all of Liverpool to see. Not only to weaken him before our title match, but more so to DEMORALISE him. To break his spirit, far more than any blow to his body could ever do.
“Wrestle: UK has been the playground of the Bastards since the beginning, this much is true. They have dominated and controlled both the world and tag team championships, repelling all challengers, and establishing this company as their playground.”
Leon begins to slowly rise, onto one knee, then a foot, then standing upright. His body shines in sweat, his sinewy frame on display in his private gym.
“But then, _we_ showed up.
“We showed up to face people like the Bastards, who let British wrestling decay into this… JOKE we see. We’ve come to fight the vermin, clear out the rot, and rebuild Wrestle: UK into something British wrestling fans can be PROUD of. And I don’t see any kind of pride in a trio of buffoons nailing championship belts to a car. I see a pack of pathetic jesters whose act has grown stale, more so after they themselves became the kings they were meant to lampoon.
“Well. The beginning of the end of that facade has arrived. And with it, the reign of the Bastards.”
Leon walks over towards the window, and looks out with a sigh. The rain is coming down, and the rumbling of thunder can be heard mingling with the wet tires of passing cars.
“The disheartening thing is, Rob Riot is by all accounts a competent grappler; a man who can go hold for hold, and was truly raised in that harsh life that the wrestlers of the Old World were hardened by. In another life, perhaps I would look him in the eye and see him, not as a pest to be dealt with, but an equal.
“But alas, that time has passed, and the fierce lion has been corrupted by hubris and a lack of seriousness. That is why I must begin the process of putting that old lion to rest.
“It is not even the way Meneer Riot wrestles that angers me. Those holds of his are agonizing to watch, and I have spent many hours scouting ways to avoid the Locking Clamp submission. I know if he is able to lock it in, I will not last. And I do not plan to underestimate what he can do on the mat.”
Leon turns back, starting to pace on his tatami mat-styled floor.
“So why do I resent him?
“Because of what he and the Bastards represent.”
He stops in the center of the room, looking now towards the mirror on the other side.
“A wise man once told me that whimsy is the death of culture. And when I look at men like the Bastards, all I can see is that whimsy in action. A trio of lads who drink bitter, raise hell, and run the show, as it were. I see title belts nailed to a car from before I was born, because apparently gaudy displays of ring supremacy are what you do in modern British wrestling, and I see an embarrassment!
“I expect that kind of foolish bravado in the United States, but I would have NEVER guessed that was how wrestlers show their prowess in England!”
Leon looks down and shakes his head with a light “tsk-tsk.”
“When Meneer Stevens and I win those tag team belts, they will be on display near our waists, and nowhere else. Anyone who wants to see just where the champions are will need to look no farther, and anyone who thinks that they can defeat us?
“Well, they are certainly welcome to try. And they will certainly fail.
“Rob Riot. You act like you don’t know who I am, as if Northern Pro Wrestling was but a mere footnote. But after Legacy, and after I dismantle you in front of all of Liverpool?
“You’ll never forget who Leon Van Zandt is. Not after I soundly defeated you in Liverpool. Not after Jay Stevens and I wrest those tag team titles from you and Frank Windsor. And _certainly_ not after my brothers and I have razed Wrestle: UK, and rebuilt it to our collective visions.
“When they talk about this company years from now, when they talk about _us_, they will talk about our conquest of all that the current breed of Wrestle: UK could throw at us, and how it all began and ended. They will see how it all happened, and they will remember us thusly.”
The Professional grins, and cracks his knuckles.
“We said we would.
“And so, we did.”
Lightning cracks the night sky, and the roar of thunder follows as the lights in Leon’s gym flicker, before eventually shutting off.
Cut.
Cold open.
Back in that familiar empty gym, the blinds up and giving us a view of a rainy night sky through the window. The camera pulls back, revealing one-half of the Battle of Britain Tag Gauntlet winners, Leon “The Professional” Van Zandt. He sits cross-legged, an Indian club on each hand, planted on each side of the Belgian.
“Jay Stevens and I walked into the Battle of Britain with intent on showing the Wrestle: UK tag team division just what we were capable of. And that is exactly what Jay Stevens and I did. We were victorious, and at New Year’s Brawl, we have a date with the Bastards and those Wrestle: UK Tag Team Championships.”
The Professional turns his head to us, letting the clubs fall where they may. He is, as usual, stripped to the waist, his legs resting near a rather sizable kettlebell.
“In Liverpool, I will face Rob Riot, one on one, in preparation for the championship match to come. And in doing so, I will dismantle Rob Riot for all of Liverpool to see. Not only to weaken him before our title match, but more so to DEMORALISE him. To break his spirit, far more than any blow to his body could ever do.
“Wrestle: UK has been the playground of the Bastards since the beginning, this much is true. They have dominated and controlled both the world and tag team championships, repelling all challengers, and establishing this company as their playground.”
Leon begins to slowly rise, onto one knee, then a foot, then standing upright. His body shines in sweat, his sinewy frame on display in his private gym.
“But then, _we_ showed up.
“We showed up to face people like the Bastards, who let British wrestling decay into this… JOKE we see. We’ve come to fight the vermin, clear out the rot, and rebuild Wrestle: UK into something British wrestling fans can be PROUD of. And I don’t see any kind of pride in a trio of buffoons nailing championship belts to a car. I see a pack of pathetic jesters whose act has grown stale, more so after they themselves became the kings they were meant to lampoon.
“Well. The beginning of the end of that facade has arrived. And with it, the reign of the Bastards.”
Leon walks over towards the window, and looks out with a sigh. The rain is coming down, and the rumbling of thunder can be heard mingling with the wet tires of passing cars.
“The disheartening thing is, Rob Riot is by all accounts a competent grappler; a man who can go hold for hold, and was truly raised in that harsh life that the wrestlers of the Old World were hardened by. In another life, perhaps I would look him in the eye and see him, not as a pest to be dealt with, but an equal.
“But alas, that time has passed, and the fierce lion has been corrupted by hubris and a lack of seriousness. That is why I must begin the process of putting that old lion to rest.
“It is not even the way Meneer Riot wrestles that angers me. Those holds of his are agonizing to watch, and I have spent many hours scouting ways to avoid the Locking Clamp submission. I know if he is able to lock it in, I will not last. And I do not plan to underestimate what he can do on the mat.”
Leon turns back, starting to pace on his tatami mat-styled floor.
“So why do I resent him?
“Because of what he and the Bastards represent.”
He stops in the center of the room, looking now towards the mirror on the other side.
“A wise man once told me that whimsy is the death of culture. And when I look at men like the Bastards, all I can see is that whimsy in action. A trio of lads who drink bitter, raise hell, and run the show, as it were. I see title belts nailed to a car from before I was born, because apparently gaudy displays of ring supremacy are what you do in modern British wrestling, and I see an embarrassment!
“I expect that kind of foolish bravado in the United States, but I would have NEVER guessed that was how wrestlers show their prowess in England!”
Leon looks down and shakes his head with a light “tsk-tsk.”
“When Meneer Stevens and I win those tag team belts, they will be on display near our waists, and nowhere else. Anyone who wants to see just where the champions are will need to look no farther, and anyone who thinks that they can defeat us?
“Well, they are certainly welcome to try. And they will certainly fail.
“Rob Riot. You act like you don’t know who I am, as if Northern Pro Wrestling was but a mere footnote. But after Legacy, and after I dismantle you in front of all of Liverpool?
“You’ll never forget who Leon Van Zandt is. Not after I soundly defeated you in Liverpool. Not after Jay Stevens and I wrest those tag team titles from you and Frank Windsor. And _certainly_ not after my brothers and I have razed Wrestle: UK, and rebuilt it to our collective visions.
“When they talk about this company years from now, when they talk about _us_, they will talk about our conquest of all that the current breed of Wrestle: UK could throw at us, and how it all began and ended. They will see how it all happened, and they will remember us thusly.”
The Professional grins, and cracks his knuckles.
“We said we would.
“And so, we did.”
Lightning cracks the night sky, and the roar of thunder follows as the lights in Leon’s gym flicker, before eventually shutting off.
Cut.