Post by fowler on Jan 30, 2023 6:51:18 GMT -5
Crash…
The sound echoes around the large, dark room. It’s cold in here, freezing, as indicated by the large puff of breath that escapes from the mouth of the tall boy who has just hit the mat flat on his back. This is a boy, not a man as evidenced by his slender frame, his muscles not yet fully developed and the youthful complexion of his face, hot a follicle of facial hair in sight.
As he lies in pain from his aching back, trying to catch the breath he can see escaping his body his eyes give away his identity. This is a young Billy Fowler, dressed in so cheap looking white track suit trousers and a black vest, his trainer boots half falling apart and his elbow and knee pads heavily patched, clearly handed down from someone.
He slowly rolls to a kneeling base and takes a guard, looking up at the solid framed man in front of him. The comparison is stark. Thick hair covers this man’s arms and chest. His face showing all the signs of age and a life spent enjoying a good few pints down the local pub. The man is clearly well versed in his wrestling, but around his fifties and too old to tie it up with the youngsters on a stage.
He snarls at Fowler as he takes his knee.
“What the fuck is that boy? You want to snap your ankle? Straighten up before I make you pay for it.”
Fowler quickly shuffles his position to straighten up before rising back to his feet. He makes his move across the ring and ties up with the man in a collar and elbow hold before trying to power the his way into a headlock. His opponent is strong though, and easily manages to fight back and send Fowler running into the ropes. As he returns he is met with a chop across the chest which makes the blood vessels welt and spittle’s of blood form on his redden chest as he hits the deck.
Fowler gasps as he quickly tries to get back to his feet but he feels his head being grabbed and pulled by either side forward until it is fixed between the legs of his opponent.
It feels like hours, what in reality is but a few seconds, as he finds himself flipped upwards onto the man’s shoulders before abruptly crashing down to earth with a humungous smash as his spine hits the mat, followed by his head!
It whiplashes and Fowler lets out a squeal, as the man realises that the boy forgot to tuck his chin down to protect himself from the impact.
Fowler grabs his head and applies pressure to ease the pain as the man stands over him, his face red with rage.
“You fucking clown! How many times have I told you to tuck your fucking chin in!?”
He paces around Fowler as the boy slowly starts to gather his senses.
“That my friend was a powerbomb, and you’re lucky. Make mistakes like that again in this ring and you’ll end up a fucking vegetable.”
Billy Fowler slowly rises to his feet and stares at the man dead in the eyes as sweat pours down his face.
“Let’s go again, I’m alright.”
The man laughs in his face. Before spitting onto the mat.
“You’re alright? You dare tell me what you think. I’ll tell you what’s alright or not. We’re done.”
He turns his back and starts to make his way towards the ropes, bending to duck under and leave… but he’s stopped as Fowler grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
“I said I’m not done, we go again!”
Fowler is suddenly met with a stiff right handed fist across the jaw that almost knocks him clean out. It’s certainly enough to send him staggering across the ring into the nearest corner as he uses the ropes to hold himself up he stares at his trainer in disbelief with watery eyes.
The man is fuming with anger as he drops out of the ring to the floor and points aggressively at Fowler.
“I said you’re fucking done! And I mean DONE. You ever step front in my gym again I’ll fucking choke you until you turn purple and blue, understand!?”
Fowler slides down to a sitting position and drops his head. The man takes this as an admission of defeat and turns to slowly walk out of the room. Billy is left fighting back pools of tears as he clutches his now aching jaw to accompany the neck. His dreams appear to be dashed.
We cut to the face of Billy Fowler as we recognise it in the current day. His eyes are cold as they stare, unblinking and lost in a daydream at the Wrestle: UK World title which is laid out across the bonnet of the famous yellow Ford Cortina.
He is perched on a folding chair right in front of the car, leaning in to get a close look at every detail of the title belt.
He just sits there for a few minutes, not moving an inch. Then with a slight twitch of his shoulders he slowly straightens up his bank and relaxes into a more comfortable position.
“Last week was joke.”
He continues to stare at the belt, still no emotion crossing his face.
“The events that transpired in Aberdeen were ludicrous to put it politely. HKW turned that show into a mockery! They thought they could come into our world, the Bastard’s world and try to turn it upside down. We it isn’t that simple boys.
Besides those shenanigans I also had deal with suffering a loss to that Eron Hunter kid! And trust me, I would love to address that further but I’ve got a more slippery fish to fry. Wesley Crane, you seem determined to be a constant thorn in my side.
I imagined after I gave you the beating you deserved in our last outing that you would have learnt your place in the ecosystem here and sunk back down to the ocean floor with all the other bottom feeders. But it appears you’re not that sensible and can’t resist poking the bear.
Do you know how hard I worked for this title?
You have some idea because you’ve sat by and watched my journey since arriving here in Wrestle: UK, but you have no idea of the full lengths that I have gone through.
People seem obsessed with the behaviour of my friends and I recently. Like for some reason you’re all unable to actually listen and comprehend the words that come out of our very mouths. I learnt a very long time ago that nice guys don’t just finish last, they rarely make it onto the board! Rob and Frank learnt that same lesson too.
The only way you win is by turning your biggest enemies into your dearest friends, and then making it your soul responsibility to destroy the hopes, dreams and potential achievements of all others for your own personal gain.
Do you want to know why we are the most successful team in the history of this sport Wesley? It’s because we are the tightest group in its history. No one can understand the bond shared between the Bastard and no one could ever replicate it.
But seeing as you all still hadn’t gotten the message, we took it into our own hands last week to show you all exactly what we are capable of. Now with that hopefully clear in your head Wesley, do you still really want to get locked inside a steel cage with me?
I call it a cage as I refuse to use the term “Terror Dome”, it’s a cringy gimmick at best and a down right fucking insult at worst. Here I am trying to bring prestige to our federation and world title and Mr Blood decides to have us co-host a bunch of ultra-violent fuck heads and stick me in a match which sounds like the name of a terrible 80’s sci-fi movie!
Regardless of the match stipulations the fact remains that you’ve no idea what you are about to step into Wesley. I went through this same scenario with Havok, the silly little bell end wouldn’t just stop. So in the end I had to firmly beat him to the point where the mid-card was all the only option he had left. In Los Angeles Wesley I will do the same thing to you. I will firmly stamp defeat across your forehead and ensure you know that you will never have the ability to take this title belt from me.
I’ve learnt a lot of lessons over the years. Some were harder to take than others. But the biggest lesson I ever learnt was how to bet on myself. What do I mean by that?
No one was ever going to bet on Billy Fowler being a success. No one ever saw me being anything beyond a jobber, until I proved them wrong and won my first match, then my first title.
No one would have bet I would be able to make friendships in this business until I joined my first stable, then won my first tag team title, then helped form the Bastards.
But the biggest bet, the one that alluded me for so many years was that I would one day be a world champion. Trust me, no one would have taken that bet, not even Rob Riot or Frank Windsor would have been that bold.
But I did.
I took the bet because I knew then as well as I do now that I am the pinnacle of the wrestling world right now! That every lesson I learnt from legends great and small of the past I have applied to build myself into the prefect force of domination. I’ve been around long enough to watch them all come and go, but I’m still here and it’s firmly my time now and I will not allow you to cut that time short Wesley.
One thing I am sure of, no matter the outcome in Los Angeles, is that after this pay per view things will change here in Wrestle: UK. If you some how manage to do the unthinkable and beat me Wesley, then you open the door for much worse things to follow me.
If you do what we all know you should do, face facts and lose, then your defeat will be the sign to the whole world that this is, was and forever will be the Bastard’s domain to do whatever the hell we please with.
Good luck Wesley, you’re going to need.
London is calling."
The sound echoes around the large, dark room. It’s cold in here, freezing, as indicated by the large puff of breath that escapes from the mouth of the tall boy who has just hit the mat flat on his back. This is a boy, not a man as evidenced by his slender frame, his muscles not yet fully developed and the youthful complexion of his face, hot a follicle of facial hair in sight.
As he lies in pain from his aching back, trying to catch the breath he can see escaping his body his eyes give away his identity. This is a young Billy Fowler, dressed in so cheap looking white track suit trousers and a black vest, his trainer boots half falling apart and his elbow and knee pads heavily patched, clearly handed down from someone.
He slowly rolls to a kneeling base and takes a guard, looking up at the solid framed man in front of him. The comparison is stark. Thick hair covers this man’s arms and chest. His face showing all the signs of age and a life spent enjoying a good few pints down the local pub. The man is clearly well versed in his wrestling, but around his fifties and too old to tie it up with the youngsters on a stage.
He snarls at Fowler as he takes his knee.
“What the fuck is that boy? You want to snap your ankle? Straighten up before I make you pay for it.”
Fowler quickly shuffles his position to straighten up before rising back to his feet. He makes his move across the ring and ties up with the man in a collar and elbow hold before trying to power the his way into a headlock. His opponent is strong though, and easily manages to fight back and send Fowler running into the ropes. As he returns he is met with a chop across the chest which makes the blood vessels welt and spittle’s of blood form on his redden chest as he hits the deck.
Fowler gasps as he quickly tries to get back to his feet but he feels his head being grabbed and pulled by either side forward until it is fixed between the legs of his opponent.
It feels like hours, what in reality is but a few seconds, as he finds himself flipped upwards onto the man’s shoulders before abruptly crashing down to earth with a humungous smash as his spine hits the mat, followed by his head!
It whiplashes and Fowler lets out a squeal, as the man realises that the boy forgot to tuck his chin down to protect himself from the impact.
Fowler grabs his head and applies pressure to ease the pain as the man stands over him, his face red with rage.
“You fucking clown! How many times have I told you to tuck your fucking chin in!?”
He paces around Fowler as the boy slowly starts to gather his senses.
“That my friend was a powerbomb, and you’re lucky. Make mistakes like that again in this ring and you’ll end up a fucking vegetable.”
Billy Fowler slowly rises to his feet and stares at the man dead in the eyes as sweat pours down his face.
“Let’s go again, I’m alright.”
The man laughs in his face. Before spitting onto the mat.
“You’re alright? You dare tell me what you think. I’ll tell you what’s alright or not. We’re done.”
He turns his back and starts to make his way towards the ropes, bending to duck under and leave… but he’s stopped as Fowler grabs his shoulder and spins him around.
“I said I’m not done, we go again!”
Fowler is suddenly met with a stiff right handed fist across the jaw that almost knocks him clean out. It’s certainly enough to send him staggering across the ring into the nearest corner as he uses the ropes to hold himself up he stares at his trainer in disbelief with watery eyes.
The man is fuming with anger as he drops out of the ring to the floor and points aggressively at Fowler.
“I said you’re fucking done! And I mean DONE. You ever step front in my gym again I’ll fucking choke you until you turn purple and blue, understand!?”
Fowler slides down to a sitting position and drops his head. The man takes this as an admission of defeat and turns to slowly walk out of the room. Billy is left fighting back pools of tears as he clutches his now aching jaw to accompany the neck. His dreams appear to be dashed.
We cut to the face of Billy Fowler as we recognise it in the current day. His eyes are cold as they stare, unblinking and lost in a daydream at the Wrestle: UK World title which is laid out across the bonnet of the famous yellow Ford Cortina.
He is perched on a folding chair right in front of the car, leaning in to get a close look at every detail of the title belt.
He just sits there for a few minutes, not moving an inch. Then with a slight twitch of his shoulders he slowly straightens up his bank and relaxes into a more comfortable position.
“Last week was joke.”
He continues to stare at the belt, still no emotion crossing his face.
“The events that transpired in Aberdeen were ludicrous to put it politely. HKW turned that show into a mockery! They thought they could come into our world, the Bastard’s world and try to turn it upside down. We it isn’t that simple boys.
Besides those shenanigans I also had deal with suffering a loss to that Eron Hunter kid! And trust me, I would love to address that further but I’ve got a more slippery fish to fry. Wesley Crane, you seem determined to be a constant thorn in my side.
I imagined after I gave you the beating you deserved in our last outing that you would have learnt your place in the ecosystem here and sunk back down to the ocean floor with all the other bottom feeders. But it appears you’re not that sensible and can’t resist poking the bear.
Do you know how hard I worked for this title?
You have some idea because you’ve sat by and watched my journey since arriving here in Wrestle: UK, but you have no idea of the full lengths that I have gone through.
People seem obsessed with the behaviour of my friends and I recently. Like for some reason you’re all unable to actually listen and comprehend the words that come out of our very mouths. I learnt a very long time ago that nice guys don’t just finish last, they rarely make it onto the board! Rob and Frank learnt that same lesson too.
The only way you win is by turning your biggest enemies into your dearest friends, and then making it your soul responsibility to destroy the hopes, dreams and potential achievements of all others for your own personal gain.
Do you want to know why we are the most successful team in the history of this sport Wesley? It’s because we are the tightest group in its history. No one can understand the bond shared between the Bastard and no one could ever replicate it.
But seeing as you all still hadn’t gotten the message, we took it into our own hands last week to show you all exactly what we are capable of. Now with that hopefully clear in your head Wesley, do you still really want to get locked inside a steel cage with me?
I call it a cage as I refuse to use the term “Terror Dome”, it’s a cringy gimmick at best and a down right fucking insult at worst. Here I am trying to bring prestige to our federation and world title and Mr Blood decides to have us co-host a bunch of ultra-violent fuck heads and stick me in a match which sounds like the name of a terrible 80’s sci-fi movie!
Regardless of the match stipulations the fact remains that you’ve no idea what you are about to step into Wesley. I went through this same scenario with Havok, the silly little bell end wouldn’t just stop. So in the end I had to firmly beat him to the point where the mid-card was all the only option he had left. In Los Angeles Wesley I will do the same thing to you. I will firmly stamp defeat across your forehead and ensure you know that you will never have the ability to take this title belt from me.
I’ve learnt a lot of lessons over the years. Some were harder to take than others. But the biggest lesson I ever learnt was how to bet on myself. What do I mean by that?
No one was ever going to bet on Billy Fowler being a success. No one ever saw me being anything beyond a jobber, until I proved them wrong and won my first match, then my first title.
No one would have bet I would be able to make friendships in this business until I joined my first stable, then won my first tag team title, then helped form the Bastards.
But the biggest bet, the one that alluded me for so many years was that I would one day be a world champion. Trust me, no one would have taken that bet, not even Rob Riot or Frank Windsor would have been that bold.
But I did.
I took the bet because I knew then as well as I do now that I am the pinnacle of the wrestling world right now! That every lesson I learnt from legends great and small of the past I have applied to build myself into the prefect force of domination. I’ve been around long enough to watch them all come and go, but I’m still here and it’s firmly my time now and I will not allow you to cut that time short Wesley.
One thing I am sure of, no matter the outcome in Los Angeles, is that after this pay per view things will change here in Wrestle: UK. If you some how manage to do the unthinkable and beat me Wesley, then you open the door for much worse things to follow me.
If you do what we all know you should do, face facts and lose, then your defeat will be the sign to the whole world that this is, was and forever will be the Bastard’s domain to do whatever the hell we please with.
Good luck Wesley, you’re going to need.
London is calling."
