Rab #7 (English version)
Oct 18, 2016 7:30:56 GMT -5
Post by David on Oct 18, 2016 7:30:56 GMT -5
The scene opens with Rab sat in a chair, in a nondescript room. Dressed in a pair of navy blue shorts and a dark grey t-shirt, he is sat leaning towards the camera.
‘I’ve been in Los Angeles for about a month and a half now, and life here is definitely to my liking - it’s quite a contrast to life back home, in Edinburgh. The only downside has been that when it has come time for me to set foot inside the ring, I haven’t yet been able to get a win. I know I’ve only had two matches in 3GW so far, so maybe I shouldn’t start to worry just yet, but I don’t want this run of losses to go on much longer - I don’t want it to become a habit; Thursday Night Challenge takes place every two weeks, and I don’t want to get stuck in a situation where I have thirteen enjoyable days in LA, but then on the fourteenth day, every other Thursday, I get in that ring, and I lose - again.’
Rab then sits up straight, and smiles.
‘Sorry about that. I know that was a bit downbeat for me, compared to my usual self, but it was something that needed to be said. Anyway, how are we all? Good. This Thursday I’ll be back in action in 3GW, trying to pick up my first win, against someone who also lost each of his first two matches in 3GW: Ethan Thompson...the second. Now sure, I know that originally he was awarded the win in his match against Pedro Gonzales last month, but as the referee then reversed his decision, all the record books will show is that Pedro was the winner.’
Rab rubs his chin.
‘You know, I’ve heard people refer to “the record books” numerous times, but is there really someone who keeps a record of the outcome of every match in every wrestling promotion the world over? Maybe that could be a new venture for Guinness.’
Rab stares off into the distance. This continues for several seconds, and he almost seems to be in a trance like state, until he shakes himself out of it.
‘Sorry, I lost myself for a moment there, thinking about Guinness. Where was I?’
He frowns.
‘Oh yeah, I was talking about my upcoming match with Ethan Thompson...the second.’
Rab takes a breath, before continuing.
‘Thommo - can I call you Thommo?’
He pauses for a couple of seconds, as if allowing time for a response to his question.
‘Good stuff. Thommo, I saw you at the press conference last month, giving it the big “I am,” but so far, when it has come to the ring, you’ve left a lot to be desired.’
Rab smirks.
‘I appreciate the irony of me saying that, given that I haven’t exactly been pulling up trees in 3GW, but at least I know to accept a loss the right way, and not by attacking my opponents after the bell, like you did to Pedro and Susan Kent.’
Rab stands up.
‘Well, Thommo, if that’s how you want to do things - if you want to turn this match into a brawl - then that is fine with me: if you want a fight, I’ll give you a fight. If you want to hit me, I’ll hit you back - harder. If you want to throw me, I’ll throw you too - further. And if you want to play dirty, all that will happen is that I will lift you up, and I will drop you on your head.’
Rab puts his hands on his hips.
‘Neither of us has yet won a match in 3GW, but that will change on Thursday - one of us has to win this match. Well, I suppose it could end in a draw, in which case we should both probably just pack up and go home.’
He shrugs slightly.
‘Speaking of “home,” where is home for you, Thommo? I thought you were from New Zealand, but I’ve heard you be announced as being from Seattle - are you going through some sort of identity crisis?’
Rab then crosses his arms.
‘As for me, on the other hand, there’s no doubting where I’m from. I’m a proud Scot, a proud Brit, and a fellow exponent of those European uppercuts you like to us. And trust me, you haven’t truly felt the force of a European uppercut until you’ve been on the receiving end of one at the hands of someone who is actually European - you’ll get to experience that on Thursday evening, Thommo, when I start to turn round my fortunes in 3GW.’
With Rab staring towards the camera, the scene fades to black.
Click here for the original version.
‘I’ve been in Los Angeles for about a month and a half now, and life here is definitely to my liking - it’s quite a contrast to life back home, in Edinburgh. The only downside has been that when it has come time for me to set foot inside the ring, I haven’t yet been able to get a win. I know I’ve only had two matches in 3GW so far, so maybe I shouldn’t start to worry just yet, but I don’t want this run of losses to go on much longer - I don’t want it to become a habit; Thursday Night Challenge takes place every two weeks, and I don’t want to get stuck in a situation where I have thirteen enjoyable days in LA, but then on the fourteenth day, every other Thursday, I get in that ring, and I lose - again.’
Rab then sits up straight, and smiles.
‘Sorry about that. I know that was a bit downbeat for me, compared to my usual self, but it was something that needed to be said. Anyway, how are we all? Good. This Thursday I’ll be back in action in 3GW, trying to pick up my first win, against someone who also lost each of his first two matches in 3GW: Ethan Thompson...the second. Now sure, I know that originally he was awarded the win in his match against Pedro Gonzales last month, but as the referee then reversed his decision, all the record books will show is that Pedro was the winner.’
Rab rubs his chin.
‘You know, I’ve heard people refer to “the record books” numerous times, but is there really someone who keeps a record of the outcome of every match in every wrestling promotion the world over? Maybe that could be a new venture for Guinness.’
Rab stares off into the distance. This continues for several seconds, and he almost seems to be in a trance like state, until he shakes himself out of it.
‘Sorry, I lost myself for a moment there, thinking about Guinness. Where was I?’
He frowns.
‘Oh yeah, I was talking about my upcoming match with Ethan Thompson...the second.’
Rab takes a breath, before continuing.
‘Thommo - can I call you Thommo?’
He pauses for a couple of seconds, as if allowing time for a response to his question.
‘Good stuff. Thommo, I saw you at the press conference last month, giving it the big “I am,” but so far, when it has come to the ring, you’ve left a lot to be desired.’
Rab smirks.
‘I appreciate the irony of me saying that, given that I haven’t exactly been pulling up trees in 3GW, but at least I know to accept a loss the right way, and not by attacking my opponents after the bell, like you did to Pedro and Susan Kent.’
Rab stands up.
‘Well, Thommo, if that’s how you want to do things - if you want to turn this match into a brawl - then that is fine with me: if you want a fight, I’ll give you a fight. If you want to hit me, I’ll hit you back - harder. If you want to throw me, I’ll throw you too - further. And if you want to play dirty, all that will happen is that I will lift you up, and I will drop you on your head.’
Rab puts his hands on his hips.
‘Neither of us has yet won a match in 3GW, but that will change on Thursday - one of us has to win this match. Well, I suppose it could end in a draw, in which case we should both probably just pack up and go home.’
He shrugs slightly.
‘Speaking of “home,” where is home for you, Thommo? I thought you were from New Zealand, but I’ve heard you be announced as being from Seattle - are you going through some sort of identity crisis?’
Rab then crosses his arms.
‘As for me, on the other hand, there’s no doubting where I’m from. I’m a proud Scot, a proud Brit, and a fellow exponent of those European uppercuts you like to us. And trust me, you haven’t truly felt the force of a European uppercut until you’ve been on the receiving end of one at the hands of someone who is actually European - you’ll get to experience that on Thursday evening, Thommo, when I start to turn round my fortunes in 3GW.’
With Rab staring towards the camera, the scene fades to black.
Click here for the original version.
