Post by Zack Fantana on Nov 18, 2016 1:33:25 GMT -5
As a pair of workers in matching blue jumpsuits hang the promotional banner for the Resilience Championship Rumble on the side of the 2300 Arena, the champion admires their handiwork from across the street. The banner rustles in the wind but eventually the two men eventually get it strapped onto the arena and begin to climb down their ladders, giving Zack Fantana a unobstructed view of the banner featuring his likeness with the Resilience Championship photoshopped around his waist.
"It may be missing, but I wear it well."
With the workers and ladders out of the way now, Zack reads the text that advertises him as the first entrant in the Rumble.
"And so the champion draws #1. Seems like they might take the word alpha a bit too literally around here, but I get it. There's a handful in this contest that need a handicap. I'm not talking about Sinister Minister's sidekick. I'm talking about the born losers and the has-beens that litter the playing field."
Zack turns toward the camera now.
"It's not your fault. I understand some of you are just trying to make a name for yourself, but you've been given a gift that most of you simply don't deserve. Some of you are winless in the A.W.E. and others have done little more than put pen to paper, but the A.W.E. has indiscriminately rounded you all up and pit you against me.
It's about that time of year when the Salvation Army brings out their red kettles and bells and posts up outside every department store in the country, asking for charitable donations. Well, I've never stuck my hand into that red kettle, but I try not to hold a grudge against those that do. Another opportunity is not always around the corner. You've been given a boost and you've got to reach for that brass ring. You need to walk out of this match as champion or your pet goldfish will go hungry or whatever.
But look at what that type of handout has already produced. A guy like Amis Shelton walks in and thinks he's earnt a claim at my gold. That fuckbag's been here two minutes and he has the gall to suggest that starting in a Resilience Championship match is starting at 'the bottom'. This guy eats charity and shits entitlement. With a smile.
Well, Shelton, I hate to say that the Resilience division isn't your stepping stone, but I'm happy you'd like to help build this roster with the rest of us. Unfortunately, your actions run counter to your words. I look around and see a collection of other people trying to make this place the best promotion in the world and then I see you, showing up late to your A.W.E. commitments like the frosh trying to play it cool with the high school senior. I'm sure you think forgetting people's names makes you look superior, but the reality is that you come off like the aloof alcoholic uncle that shows up late at every family get-together. Fun to play horseshoes with, but by the end of the night, you just end up making everyone feel sorry for you."
Zack takes a quick glance at the banner that lists his opponents on the side in bold lettering.
"Everybody's coming into this match with an agenda. Some are calling their shots and marking their territory, claiming they'll be the one to eliminate yours truly and you've got the rubes vowing to hang back and elude the attention on their way to a victory. I'm looking at you, Kimitsu Zombie. Here's the thing about flying under the radar. You can't proclaim it to the world. That's not how flying under the radar works.
That's not as bad as what Benny Stevens said though. Here he is, hoping and praying that he draws the final entry in the Rumble. The boy is practically on his knees. Well, Benny, even if you by some chance, you do escape this Rumble as the new Resilience Champion, you're going to get eaten alive in this division with that mentality.
Those kinds of fighters - and I use that term loosely - are the kind that would do the brand name on the belt a great disservice. It's called the Resilience Championship for a reason. You can't hide from title defenses. Trust me, the A.W.E. will not wait on you. Christ, look at me, I stand a chance to lose a belt I never even received in the first place.
Even if there's no physical belt to be had, there's people who just want to make a name off eliminating me. My old friend S.O.B. has even said he doesn't want the championship. Well, if that's the case, why is the A.W.E. wasting my time with you? You should hang up your boots and get the fuck out of the ring.
But here's the thing, S.O.B. I think you do want that championship. You're just too scared to admit it. Afraid of what the people would say when you inevitably fall short, just like you always have in the past, so you play the thug and pretend it's just about me. You've been in this business for five years, but it's all about the guy you met two weeks ago? Bullshit. You're just as delusional as the rest of them.
You want to know the difference between me and the pretenders to the throne? I am the only person in this match who has any semblance of an idea what's in store for me. Look, I have no narratives to run on my odds. I know I've got a tough hill to climb as entrant number one. I know I've got people after my head, but at least I know. The rest of you haven't got a clue, so you're left to exercise your jaws with your meaningless claptrap. You dream up these optimistic scenarios for victory, each one more laughable than the last. Well, as the saying goes, 'the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.' Take your playbooks and toss them in the trashcan because the bedlam is about to begin."
"It may be missing, but I wear it well."
With the workers and ladders out of the way now, Zack reads the text that advertises him as the first entrant in the Rumble.
"And so the champion draws #1. Seems like they might take the word alpha a bit too literally around here, but I get it. There's a handful in this contest that need a handicap. I'm not talking about Sinister Minister's sidekick. I'm talking about the born losers and the has-beens that litter the playing field."
Zack turns toward the camera now.
"It's not your fault. I understand some of you are just trying to make a name for yourself, but you've been given a gift that most of you simply don't deserve. Some of you are winless in the A.W.E. and others have done little more than put pen to paper, but the A.W.E. has indiscriminately rounded you all up and pit you against me.
It's about that time of year when the Salvation Army brings out their red kettles and bells and posts up outside every department store in the country, asking for charitable donations. Well, I've never stuck my hand into that red kettle, but I try not to hold a grudge against those that do. Another opportunity is not always around the corner. You've been given a boost and you've got to reach for that brass ring. You need to walk out of this match as champion or your pet goldfish will go hungry or whatever.
But look at what that type of handout has already produced. A guy like Amis Shelton walks in and thinks he's earnt a claim at my gold. That fuckbag's been here two minutes and he has the gall to suggest that starting in a Resilience Championship match is starting at 'the bottom'. This guy eats charity and shits entitlement. With a smile.
Well, Shelton, I hate to say that the Resilience division isn't your stepping stone, but I'm happy you'd like to help build this roster with the rest of us. Unfortunately, your actions run counter to your words. I look around and see a collection of other people trying to make this place the best promotion in the world and then I see you, showing up late to your A.W.E. commitments like the frosh trying to play it cool with the high school senior. I'm sure you think forgetting people's names makes you look superior, but the reality is that you come off like the aloof alcoholic uncle that shows up late at every family get-together. Fun to play horseshoes with, but by the end of the night, you just end up making everyone feel sorry for you."
Zack takes a quick glance at the banner that lists his opponents on the side in bold lettering.
"Everybody's coming into this match with an agenda. Some are calling their shots and marking their territory, claiming they'll be the one to eliminate yours truly and you've got the rubes vowing to hang back and elude the attention on their way to a victory. I'm looking at you, Kimitsu Zombie. Here's the thing about flying under the radar. You can't proclaim it to the world. That's not how flying under the radar works.
That's not as bad as what Benny Stevens said though. Here he is, hoping and praying that he draws the final entry in the Rumble. The boy is practically on his knees. Well, Benny, even if you by some chance, you do escape this Rumble as the new Resilience Champion, you're going to get eaten alive in this division with that mentality.
Those kinds of fighters - and I use that term loosely - are the kind that would do the brand name on the belt a great disservice. It's called the Resilience Championship for a reason. You can't hide from title defenses. Trust me, the A.W.E. will not wait on you. Christ, look at me, I stand a chance to lose a belt I never even received in the first place.
Even if there's no physical belt to be had, there's people who just want to make a name off eliminating me. My old friend S.O.B. has even said he doesn't want the championship. Well, if that's the case, why is the A.W.E. wasting my time with you? You should hang up your boots and get the fuck out of the ring.
But here's the thing, S.O.B. I think you do want that championship. You're just too scared to admit it. Afraid of what the people would say when you inevitably fall short, just like you always have in the past, so you play the thug and pretend it's just about me. You've been in this business for five years, but it's all about the guy you met two weeks ago? Bullshit. You're just as delusional as the rest of them.
You want to know the difference between me and the pretenders to the throne? I am the only person in this match who has any semblance of an idea what's in store for me. Look, I have no narratives to run on my odds. I know I've got a tough hill to climb as entrant number one. I know I've got people after my head, but at least I know. The rest of you haven't got a clue, so you're left to exercise your jaws with your meaningless claptrap. You dream up these optimistic scenarios for victory, each one more laughable than the last. Well, as the saying goes, 'the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.' Take your playbooks and toss them in the trashcan because the bedlam is about to begin."