Post by The Plague on Nov 7, 2005 17:14:14 GMT -5
Unbelievable...
The locker rooms have emptied from MNF, except for one man. The Plague sits on the locker room bench. He hasn't showered yet, nor taken his boots off. He looks...thoughtful. As thoughtful as he ever could, perhaps.
The Plague looks up as NAPW's own JOSH REYNOLDS comes in with a microphone. The former champ's loss doesn't prevent him from wearing the trademark smirk. It's weary... weary, yet proud.
JOSH REYNOLDS: Plague, I know you must be disappointed right now, but we were wondering if we could get a few words from you?
Plague sits up and regains his cocky expression. Sure, pal. Fire away.
REYNOLDS: Tonight you wrestled twenty-five minutes in what is already being hailed as a potential NAPW Match Of The Year candidate, but at the end, you were unable to retain your Title against D!. How does it feel to have given it all and come up short?
PLAGUE: What are you, some kind of jackass? It feels like hell! To be the champion... is what allll of us in the great sport of wrestling strive for. And to go out there and give it all and come up short, like you're saying, well, it really sucks! Josh, is that your scoop? It really sucks, got it? Now if you don't have any better questions to ask than that, daddy, than you better think about leaving me in peace before I tattoo your ass in this locker room!
Reynolds, always made of sterner stuff than his colleague Bill Fleming, flinches but retains his professional neutrality.
REYNOLDS: Plague, then, just one question. Leading up to your match with D!, you made it clear that you didn't like him, you called him 'punk, one time even going so far as to refer to him as an SOB. Yet you seem to have a level of respect for D!, even shaking his hand at the end of the match. What exactly are your feelings on the new champion?
PLAGUE: Listen up, Jerk Reynolds! Don't call him the new champion twenty minutes after the fact, eh? Who are you, Mean Gene? I'll tell you what, and I'll tell D! right now. Kid... you earned my respect. You took that moment, and you ran with it. You left it all in the ring and tonight, tonight... you were the better man, and you've got twenty pounds of gold to show for it.
But make no mistake D!, I respect you, tonight was ONE night. Cherish it. When I get my rematch, the result's gonna be a little different. I shook your hand tonight because, kid or not, you earned it. But you better be damned prepared to take it up to an entirely new level when the opportunity comes for me to get MY belt back. Because... you can arrest a Plague, you can put it into remission, you can even live with the symptoms...
Plague pulls Reynolds down by the tie, pulling the mic close. The camera zooms in tightly.
But D!, I want you to remember. You can't cure The Plague. Now get out of my face, Reynolds.
As Plague bends down to untie his boots... black.
The locker rooms have emptied from MNF, except for one man. The Plague sits on the locker room bench. He hasn't showered yet, nor taken his boots off. He looks...thoughtful. As thoughtful as he ever could, perhaps.
The Plague looks up as NAPW's own JOSH REYNOLDS comes in with a microphone. The former champ's loss doesn't prevent him from wearing the trademark smirk. It's weary... weary, yet proud.
JOSH REYNOLDS: Plague, I know you must be disappointed right now, but we were wondering if we could get a few words from you?
Plague sits up and regains his cocky expression. Sure, pal. Fire away.
REYNOLDS: Tonight you wrestled twenty-five minutes in what is already being hailed as a potential NAPW Match Of The Year candidate, but at the end, you were unable to retain your Title against D!. How does it feel to have given it all and come up short?
PLAGUE: What are you, some kind of jackass? It feels like hell! To be the champion... is what allll of us in the great sport of wrestling strive for. And to go out there and give it all and come up short, like you're saying, well, it really sucks! Josh, is that your scoop? It really sucks, got it? Now if you don't have any better questions to ask than that, daddy, than you better think about leaving me in peace before I tattoo your ass in this locker room!
Reynolds, always made of sterner stuff than his colleague Bill Fleming, flinches but retains his professional neutrality.
REYNOLDS: Plague, then, just one question. Leading up to your match with D!, you made it clear that you didn't like him, you called him 'punk, one time even going so far as to refer to him as an SOB. Yet you seem to have a level of respect for D!, even shaking his hand at the end of the match. What exactly are your feelings on the new champion?
PLAGUE: Listen up, Jerk Reynolds! Don't call him the new champion twenty minutes after the fact, eh? Who are you, Mean Gene? I'll tell you what, and I'll tell D! right now. Kid... you earned my respect. You took that moment, and you ran with it. You left it all in the ring and tonight, tonight... you were the better man, and you've got twenty pounds of gold to show for it.
But make no mistake D!, I respect you, tonight was ONE night. Cherish it. When I get my rematch, the result's gonna be a little different. I shook your hand tonight because, kid or not, you earned it. But you better be damned prepared to take it up to an entirely new level when the opportunity comes for me to get MY belt back. Because... you can arrest a Plague, you can put it into remission, you can even live with the symptoms...
Plague pulls Reynolds down by the tie, pulling the mic close. The camera zooms in tightly.
But D!, I want you to remember. You can't cure The Plague. Now get out of my face, Reynolds.
As Plague bends down to untie his boots... black.