Hit The Road Jacques...
Mar 19, 2012 17:38:49 GMT -5
Post by Micky O'Reilly on Mar 19, 2012 17:38:49 GMT -5
The scene opens outside a warehouse in an abandoned industrial estate. We can see Micky O'Reilly and Bobby Grey walking towards one of the units and removing a padlock from some shutters before throwing them up.
Bobby: Now that I know what you're made of, this is going to be your training base. Any exercise you do you'll do it here, according to my plan. Now that shoulder is sorted we can start making some real progress.
I looked inside the unit, it was pretty big and well equipped. The floor space measured about 50' by 50' with a fair portion taken up by an 18' ring in the far left corner. The rest of the equipment was for strength training. Some appeared to be a DIY job, there was a home made power rack that Bobby told me he'd built himself, as well as a truck tyre and sledgehammer, and an old heavy duty fabric sack, tied at the top, sat on a set of small industrial scales, I had no idea what it was for but knew I would soon find out. The rest of the equipment that hadn't been put together by Bobby was old but solid, it was built to last and from the looks of it it had survived more that most commercial gym equipment.
I was confused by one particular feature that had struck me almost instantly.
Micky: Where's the treadmill?
Bobby: Hah, why do we need a treadmill? Turn around boy, look out the door. There's thousands of miles of road out there, if you have feet and decent trainers, what else do you need.
I thought about it for a moment and couldn't see any flaw in his logic. I reached into my training bag and grabbed a bottle of water, I took a few sips and put if back. I had been sober for almost two weeks and was only now starting to get used to the taste of water without some kind of alcoholic addition. I'd also stopped having cold sweats and jitters but the nightmares had stayed with me, evident by the dark rings under my eyes.
Micky: Fair enough. So what's first fella?
Bobby: Down to business eh? With your determination we'll make a champion out of you soon lad. We're doing full body today, putting you through your paces, by the end of it you'll wish the alcohol had killed you. Your reward when you get to the end? More exercise. I have something that I think you'll like...
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Bobby was right, my whole body was dead. I'd gone past the point of pain and through the other side. My body had gone numb from exertion. We'd started with big compound movements, pull ups, bench presses, squats and dead lifts. Next we isolated individual muscle groups. Biceps, triceps, deltoids, traps, abs, quads and calves. We then did a boxing workout in the ring. We had repeated that process three times until I could barely hold my arms up.
Bobby: And we're done.
Micky: Great, I reckon I'll sleep for a week now.
Bobby: Haha, I hope not, you'll miss fight and I'll have to change your name to No-show Mercier.
I couldn't hold back a chuckle, it was a cheap shot but a funny one none the less.
Bobby: Shit, i almost forgot, your reward.
I groaned.
Bobby: Stop moaning, I said you'd like it. It'll take a while to set up so go grab some food. There's a cafe just up the road, turn right at the bottom of the road, ask for a Champion's Special, they'll know what you mean.
I did as I was told and was greeted with one of the biggest breakfasts I'd seen, it came on two plates and even had a protein shake to wash it down. When I got back to the unit over half an hour later Bobby was standing outside with the heavy sack on a thick padded matt.
Bobby: Here's your reward.
Micky: What is it fella?
Bobby: The sack's filled with sand. It weighs two hundred and thirty pounds. The exact same as Jacques Mercier. You call yourself "The Slammer", well, let's see what you got.
I smiled and stepped up to the sack. Bobby was right yet again, I would enjoy this...
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The scene opens in front of Bobby's warehouse gym, Micky and Bobby are staring into the camera. Bobby is holding a small stack of papers, stapled in one of the top corners, Micky looks tired but has a healthy glow to him.
Micky: Hey Jacques, I'd like you to meet someone. My secret, weapon Bobby Grey. The Mr Miyagi of wrestling.
Bobby: Haha, I wouldn't go that far but I do have my uses, and I'm the best at what I do.
Micky: You might have seen Bobby putting me through my paces in the gym, courtesy of the FGA's ever-present cameramen. What you won't have seen though is what he does behind the scenes.
Bobby raises the papers to the camera.
Bobby: This Jacques. This is what I do behind the scenes. I research. Something you might want to try every once in a while, especially after the way you ripped on Asro Kast.
Micky has a large grin on his face, he's clearly enjoying this. He speaks with feigned confusion.
Micky: What are you talking about fella.
Bobby: I'm glad you asked. It seems that Mr Mercier thinks he's going to knock you into sobriety, he even thinks that you may be so drunk right now that you can't understand simple conversation.
Micky: Huh, maybe he missed the memo…
Bobby: Or maybe people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. It appears to me that you're so high as kite Jacques that you missed most of what's happened for the last two weeks. Hell, if you'd done even the tiniest bit of research, or just bothered to watch Micky's last promo, you'd know that he decided to kick the drink all on his own. While you've been puffing at the green, he's faced his problems and beaten them, just like he'll beat you on Wednesday. Answer me this, which don't you take seriously, Micky or the FGA? Whichever one it is you've fucked up big time.
Bobby steps forward slightly and spreads his hands as if addressing a jury.
Bobby: If it's Micky you're not taking seriously then send Dorothy my regards and he sends you "Over The Rainbow" and if it's the FGA you're not taking seriously… well lets just say you don't even deserve to be in the same ring as O'Reilly let alone that piece of crap Tomkins, or as you seem to prefer to call him Thompkins. Basic English boy. Learn it. Anyway, I'll let Micky take over from here, I don't like to be a bully and I think I've beat on you enough.
Bobby gives a smug smile and walks off to the side, out of shot. The cameraman focuses in on Micky again, he has been leaning back against the steel shutters with his arms crossed. He straightens his back and steps forward.
Micky: This Wednesday is going to be a great night Jacques, for both of us. Now that I'm clean I can show people just what "The Slammer" can do. I can cement my place at the the top of the FGA roster, become the man that everyone wants a shot at, even more than the Champion. And you Jacques? You get to see what it's like to fight not just an exceptional athlete, but a warrior. Possibly the greatest fighter in the FGA right now. You will lose, there's no doubt about it. But at least you get to say "You know what, I tried my best." And that's all you will ever do Jacques, all I will ever expect of you, your best. But it won't ever be good enough. You will leave that ring a shadow of your former self, and I'll only have one thing to say you. You're welcome fella. Now I'm off to grab a shower, so in the words of Ray Charles, "Hit the road Jacques, and don't you come back no more."
Micky smiles at the camera and walks off camera. The screen fades to black.
Bobby: Now that I know what you're made of, this is going to be your training base. Any exercise you do you'll do it here, according to my plan. Now that shoulder is sorted we can start making some real progress.
I looked inside the unit, it was pretty big and well equipped. The floor space measured about 50' by 50' with a fair portion taken up by an 18' ring in the far left corner. The rest of the equipment was for strength training. Some appeared to be a DIY job, there was a home made power rack that Bobby told me he'd built himself, as well as a truck tyre and sledgehammer, and an old heavy duty fabric sack, tied at the top, sat on a set of small industrial scales, I had no idea what it was for but knew I would soon find out. The rest of the equipment that hadn't been put together by Bobby was old but solid, it was built to last and from the looks of it it had survived more that most commercial gym equipment.
I was confused by one particular feature that had struck me almost instantly.
Micky: Where's the treadmill?
Bobby: Hah, why do we need a treadmill? Turn around boy, look out the door. There's thousands of miles of road out there, if you have feet and decent trainers, what else do you need.
I thought about it for a moment and couldn't see any flaw in his logic. I reached into my training bag and grabbed a bottle of water, I took a few sips and put if back. I had been sober for almost two weeks and was only now starting to get used to the taste of water without some kind of alcoholic addition. I'd also stopped having cold sweats and jitters but the nightmares had stayed with me, evident by the dark rings under my eyes.
Micky: Fair enough. So what's first fella?
Bobby: Down to business eh? With your determination we'll make a champion out of you soon lad. We're doing full body today, putting you through your paces, by the end of it you'll wish the alcohol had killed you. Your reward when you get to the end? More exercise. I have something that I think you'll like...
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Bobby was right, my whole body was dead. I'd gone past the point of pain and through the other side. My body had gone numb from exertion. We'd started with big compound movements, pull ups, bench presses, squats and dead lifts. Next we isolated individual muscle groups. Biceps, triceps, deltoids, traps, abs, quads and calves. We then did a boxing workout in the ring. We had repeated that process three times until I could barely hold my arms up.
Bobby: And we're done.
Micky: Great, I reckon I'll sleep for a week now.
Bobby: Haha, I hope not, you'll miss fight and I'll have to change your name to No-show Mercier.
I couldn't hold back a chuckle, it was a cheap shot but a funny one none the less.
Bobby: Shit, i almost forgot, your reward.
I groaned.
Bobby: Stop moaning, I said you'd like it. It'll take a while to set up so go grab some food. There's a cafe just up the road, turn right at the bottom of the road, ask for a Champion's Special, they'll know what you mean.
I did as I was told and was greeted with one of the biggest breakfasts I'd seen, it came on two plates and even had a protein shake to wash it down. When I got back to the unit over half an hour later Bobby was standing outside with the heavy sack on a thick padded matt.
Bobby: Here's your reward.
Micky: What is it fella?
Bobby: The sack's filled with sand. It weighs two hundred and thirty pounds. The exact same as Jacques Mercier. You call yourself "The Slammer", well, let's see what you got.
I smiled and stepped up to the sack. Bobby was right yet again, I would enjoy this...
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The scene opens in front of Bobby's warehouse gym, Micky and Bobby are staring into the camera. Bobby is holding a small stack of papers, stapled in one of the top corners, Micky looks tired but has a healthy glow to him.
Micky: Hey Jacques, I'd like you to meet someone. My secret, weapon Bobby Grey. The Mr Miyagi of wrestling.
Bobby: Haha, I wouldn't go that far but I do have my uses, and I'm the best at what I do.
Micky: You might have seen Bobby putting me through my paces in the gym, courtesy of the FGA's ever-present cameramen. What you won't have seen though is what he does behind the scenes.
Bobby raises the papers to the camera.
Bobby: This Jacques. This is what I do behind the scenes. I research. Something you might want to try every once in a while, especially after the way you ripped on Asro Kast.
Micky has a large grin on his face, he's clearly enjoying this. He speaks with feigned confusion.
Micky: What are you talking about fella.
Bobby: I'm glad you asked. It seems that Mr Mercier thinks he's going to knock you into sobriety, he even thinks that you may be so drunk right now that you can't understand simple conversation.
Micky: Huh, maybe he missed the memo…
Bobby: Or maybe people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. It appears to me that you're so high as kite Jacques that you missed most of what's happened for the last two weeks. Hell, if you'd done even the tiniest bit of research, or just bothered to watch Micky's last promo, you'd know that he decided to kick the drink all on his own. While you've been puffing at the green, he's faced his problems and beaten them, just like he'll beat you on Wednesday. Answer me this, which don't you take seriously, Micky or the FGA? Whichever one it is you've fucked up big time.
Bobby steps forward slightly and spreads his hands as if addressing a jury.
Bobby: If it's Micky you're not taking seriously then send Dorothy my regards and he sends you "Over The Rainbow" and if it's the FGA you're not taking seriously… well lets just say you don't even deserve to be in the same ring as O'Reilly let alone that piece of crap Tomkins, or as you seem to prefer to call him Thompkins. Basic English boy. Learn it. Anyway, I'll let Micky take over from here, I don't like to be a bully and I think I've beat on you enough.
Bobby gives a smug smile and walks off to the side, out of shot. The cameraman focuses in on Micky again, he has been leaning back against the steel shutters with his arms crossed. He straightens his back and steps forward.
Micky: This Wednesday is going to be a great night Jacques, for both of us. Now that I'm clean I can show people just what "The Slammer" can do. I can cement my place at the the top of the FGA roster, become the man that everyone wants a shot at, even more than the Champion. And you Jacques? You get to see what it's like to fight not just an exceptional athlete, but a warrior. Possibly the greatest fighter in the FGA right now. You will lose, there's no doubt about it. But at least you get to say "You know what, I tried my best." And that's all you will ever do Jacques, all I will ever expect of you, your best. But it won't ever be good enough. You will leave that ring a shadow of your former self, and I'll only have one thing to say you. You're welcome fella. Now I'm off to grab a shower, so in the words of Ray Charles, "Hit the road Jacques, and don't you come back no more."
Micky smiles at the camera and walks off camera. The screen fades to black.
