Post by leonvanzandt on Dec 5, 2022 23:55:21 GMT -5
“Team Fairtex, then.”
Cold open.
Leon Van Zandt greets us once more, seated in a lotus position, with one of those ever-present Indian clubs on either side. He looks into the camera lens, his face smoldering with a stark seriousness that has become his trademark of sorts.
“I have heard their names echo throughout locker rooms around the world. Tong and Phantam, your reputations precede you, and I am looking forward to facing you alongside Meneer Stevens.
“I assure you that Stevens and I will give you as much of a fight as possible. I have some familiarity with the Thai fighting spirit; one of my mentors was a Dutchman, and he had been an avid kickboxer in his youth. The Dutch, I am certain you know, studied Muay Thai and developed their own system of kickboxing from it. It has proven quite successful, both against Thai boxers and in more liberally-arbited fights in ring and cage alike.”
Leon slowly rises to his feet and stretches, before continuing his spiel.
“Of course, our encounter in Edinburgh will not be simply a matter of knees and shins.
“You see, Team Fairtex, Meneer Stevens and I have a point to make as we inch ever closer to New Year’s Brawl. When I faced Rob Riot in Liverpool it truly came down to something as seemingly inconsequential and meaningless as ARM PLACEMENT.”
Van Zandt looks to the side and smolders a bit.
“I bear no resentment against Riot for how the match ended. In a battle against elite competitors, sometimes winning and losing comes down to the most minute details. It is simply a fact of life in sport, combative and otherwise. All I can do is move on, and make sure the next encounter does not come down to chance.
“Which is why, Team Fairtex, Meneer Stevens and I will seek to defeat you as soundly as possible. To show all of Wrestle: UK just what my brothers and I are capable of, before we wrest the Tag Team championships from the Bastards. And once we do, we’ll gladly let you stand in line to challenge us.”
The Professional smiles as he bends down and picks up his clubs.
“And I will always be preparing and training for the battle ahead. Whether it’s Team Fairtex, The Bastards, The Glucks… but any two men in front of me and Meneer Stevens, and we will be there, and ready to wrestle like only we can. I expect nothing less than your full intent, lads.”
A smile.
Cut.
————
Ghent, Belgium.
April 30, 2021.
Hell.
It was sheer hell.
The idleness. The inactivity. Leon had spent hours a day obsessively training every muscle; not out of vanity, but out of compulsion. He had grown up in comfortable means, and was taught from a young age how to be wise with money; he could afford the lack of work, but the money wasn’t the issue.
The lack of pushback as he tried to put a painful joint lock on an opponent, forcing them to surrender in seconds. The resistance as he leveraged himself beneath an opponent’s center of gravity and overthrowing them to the mat. The rush of combat, the joy of victory, the sorrow of defeat.
These were the things that made Leon Van Zandt whole. And he had been unable to find anywhere to scratch that itch. He had seen the industry decay rapidly throughout Europe, and he felt like an artist in a world with no paint. All he ever did was wake up, exercise, sleep, nap, exercise, eat, and sleep. A comfortable, if boring, existence, but not one fit for a man like him.
He had come home from his job at the butcher shop; a job he took not to support himself, but rather to pass the time. He was not fond of most modern technology, but he kept a cell phone on his bedside as a way to be reached, and possibly seek out new challenges.
As he began undressing in preparation for his next workout, he looked at his phone and raised his eyebrows as he looked at the message on his screen, in English.
“Leon, this is Gus Arnold from NPW. I have something lined up that may interest you.”
That night, Leon slept soundly, dreaming for the first time in months.
Cold open.
Leon Van Zandt greets us once more, seated in a lotus position, with one of those ever-present Indian clubs on either side. He looks into the camera lens, his face smoldering with a stark seriousness that has become his trademark of sorts.
“I have heard their names echo throughout locker rooms around the world. Tong and Phantam, your reputations precede you, and I am looking forward to facing you alongside Meneer Stevens.
“I assure you that Stevens and I will give you as much of a fight as possible. I have some familiarity with the Thai fighting spirit; one of my mentors was a Dutchman, and he had been an avid kickboxer in his youth. The Dutch, I am certain you know, studied Muay Thai and developed their own system of kickboxing from it. It has proven quite successful, both against Thai boxers and in more liberally-arbited fights in ring and cage alike.”
Leon slowly rises to his feet and stretches, before continuing his spiel.
“Of course, our encounter in Edinburgh will not be simply a matter of knees and shins.
“You see, Team Fairtex, Meneer Stevens and I have a point to make as we inch ever closer to New Year’s Brawl. When I faced Rob Riot in Liverpool it truly came down to something as seemingly inconsequential and meaningless as ARM PLACEMENT.”
Van Zandt looks to the side and smolders a bit.
“I bear no resentment against Riot for how the match ended. In a battle against elite competitors, sometimes winning and losing comes down to the most minute details. It is simply a fact of life in sport, combative and otherwise. All I can do is move on, and make sure the next encounter does not come down to chance.
“Which is why, Team Fairtex, Meneer Stevens and I will seek to defeat you as soundly as possible. To show all of Wrestle: UK just what my brothers and I are capable of, before we wrest the Tag Team championships from the Bastards. And once we do, we’ll gladly let you stand in line to challenge us.”
The Professional smiles as he bends down and picks up his clubs.
“And I will always be preparing and training for the battle ahead. Whether it’s Team Fairtex, The Bastards, The Glucks… but any two men in front of me and Meneer Stevens, and we will be there, and ready to wrestle like only we can. I expect nothing less than your full intent, lads.”
A smile.
Cut.
————
Ghent, Belgium.
April 30, 2021.
Hell.
It was sheer hell.
The idleness. The inactivity. Leon had spent hours a day obsessively training every muscle; not out of vanity, but out of compulsion. He had grown up in comfortable means, and was taught from a young age how to be wise with money; he could afford the lack of work, but the money wasn’t the issue.
The lack of pushback as he tried to put a painful joint lock on an opponent, forcing them to surrender in seconds. The resistance as he leveraged himself beneath an opponent’s center of gravity and overthrowing them to the mat. The rush of combat, the joy of victory, the sorrow of defeat.
These were the things that made Leon Van Zandt whole. And he had been unable to find anywhere to scratch that itch. He had seen the industry decay rapidly throughout Europe, and he felt like an artist in a world with no paint. All he ever did was wake up, exercise, sleep, nap, exercise, eat, and sleep. A comfortable, if boring, existence, but not one fit for a man like him.
He had come home from his job at the butcher shop; a job he took not to support himself, but rather to pass the time. He was not fond of most modern technology, but he kept a cell phone on his bedside as a way to be reached, and possibly seek out new challenges.
As he began undressing in preparation for his next workout, he looked at his phone and raised his eyebrows as he looked at the message on his screen, in English.
“Leon, this is Gus Arnold from NPW. I have something lined up that may interest you.”
That night, Leon slept soundly, dreaming for the first time in months.