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And a Villian is born
Topic Started: Nov 20 2007, 03:33 AM (32 Views)
Drake
Unregistered

VIDEO SEGMENT

A dark arena. An empty ring. An air of silence hanging quietly but somehow profoundly ear shattering in the simplistic nature of nothing. The lights are dimmed down low, adding to that hollow ambience of the scene. If the camera had been outdoors, one would almost expect a tumbleweed to roll by at this point. While the seats in the stand lie without the presence of life, one chair does remain filled. Sitting on a very drab steel folding chair is a man with his eyes cast downward. A towel is draped over his skull and reaches down to his torso, covered with a plain black fitted tee. The camera shot shifts for a closer view, this one is just outside of the ring itself and allows the viewers to stare at the man’s folded hands, place neatly over the towel lain upon his head. Dropping his hands down almost if on cue, he places them on his jean covered knees before finally bringing his head up to stare directly at the camera from underneath the unstained white drying cloth. When his voice rings out, the illusion of abyss is broken but his voice seems to echo off the walls with added boisterous effect.

Man:
So away from the glamour and glitz, the bright lights and the roaring crowd what do we have? Take away the sizzle and what exactly is the steak of professional wrestling? Is it an immeasurable heart? The ability to carry on past the limits of human potential and survive? Or is it the steely teeth of the human mind? To out wit your opposition and like a game of chess see the pawns before they even move? Perhaps it is the soul. The pure drive to win and the deep desire to be the absolute best of the best. Maybe it is a combination of all of the above. I suppose that is for the philosophical to determine in the end.

The egg white colored towel seems to stay in place as he leans back in the chair. The man takes a big whiff and seems to soak in whatever it is his nostrils absorbed. More than likely it is nothing more than dust and the smell of old beer but perhaps it is a symbolic gesture. A slight grin graces his face as he continues to keep his eye on the camera in front of him.

Man:
So who am I then to even delve into the subject of sports psychology 101? Well ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself to thee EWF faithful. I am the Milehigh Madman, the Career Killer, I am Drake Love.

This man, Drake, waits for that trinket of knowledge to soak into the brain housing groups of all four people who actually were bored enough to watch this video. Of course they probably have no clue who this guy is either so the delay is probably just a waste.

Drake:
So now I am sure you have questions on who I am and what exactly I am all about. I could tell you that I am a legend amidst snails. A whale in a teardrop if you must. I could tell you about the fact that I was the AWL World Champion for nearly a year. That I combined the two top tier titles in GWW to become the first Undisputed Global Champion. I could go on and on listing championship after championship, but when you boil it down, the question is what the hell does that have to do with EWF? Well here is where the harsh truth comes in, in the end it doesn’t mean a damn thing to you the fans nor to anyone on the roster. I am fully aware that all my past accolades mean about diddly squat. You see I have been down this road before, becoming established as the premiere attraction all the have the mountain crumble beneath my feet. And to be forced to climb up once again. So if you think that I am unwillingly to earn my stripes I warn the Mayhem locker room that to underestimate me is a fatal flaw that few have lived to tell the tale. Now I could go on listing the names of men that I have literally crippled but again the point is what that means to EWF? And again it means nothing.

Standing up slowly and with deliberate speed, Drake pulls the towel off his grape revealing a glistening bald dome underneath. He hangs the towel over the top rope and begins to place his hand on the top rope. He caresses his fingers slowly across the rope intimately like a man would slightly graze the thigh of a lover. He seems transfixed by the simplicity of the construct and re-familiarizes himself with its every inch.

Drake:
Make no mistake about it, my ultimate goal is to win the top belt on this show, this Legacy Championship. But all in due time I suppose, like I said establishing myself seems to be a critical juncture at this point. And for me that means starting on the bottom with the Television Championship. Now do I expect to challenge on my first night? Of course not, that would simply be foolish. But sooner than later I will have that melded amount of gold and leather around my waist. Any that stand in my way from here to there, well I suppose every highway to the glory land has a few roadbumps along the way. And like all potholes I will do what any good trucker does, roll right over them. Until I see you in the ring ladies and gentlemen.

And with a final departing gesture of his hand, the final lights dim leaving the final shot of nothing but pure darkness. Then we hear a crash and a loud curse. It seems that Drake didn’t think out his dramatic exit all that well and tripped over his chair in the black shadows.
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