Post by Tommy "Southpaw" O'Malley on Aug 16, 2008 0:34:10 GMT -5
~Open Scene
Tommy is slouched on a lone folding chair, dripping with sweat in the middle of the ring on site at this year's semi-final of the Brent Kersh Invitationl Tournament. No house lights shine as the solo camera light provides an ambitious illumination in an enveloping, dark arena.
The screen goes black and only Tommy's narrative voice is heard.
To make your mark in any profession, you don't have to be the best, you just need to be consistently good. That what me da' always told me growing up. He was a brickmason for Haggerty an' Sons in the Old Country, and he was one of the best. Not because there was an all-star team for Brick-layers for shite-sake, but hell he was one of the most sought after brick teamers in the southern counties because he was dependable, he stood by his word, and he always delivered good work and the structures that he helped make were thought of as the most stout in the countryside. When the boys are having a pipe and ale break, me da is breaking his back so his ole' lady and his kin can have pourage and milk.
If I could be half the man me da' was, titles and victories would merely be an afterthought.
Brick and mortar, smooth. Prepare. Brick and mortar, smooth.
Brick and mortar, smooth. Prepare. Brick and mortar, smooth.
Looking toward the end goal: The frame is set, the bricks are going up--the building is taking shape.
The sun beats down and weakens, the hunger pains set in. The threshold of dehydration nears--but is defeated by the coolness of night, signalling the sun to hide and the men to retreat to their cottages for supper.
The sound of tape being stretched and rotated interrupts Tommy's monologue...
And then he continues:
My taped-up fist tastes like...
Like...
blood.
Hiro Tanaka, left, right, left.
Bloody face of Oddjob...
Hiro Tanaka left, right, left, and the dragon is dead.
Andy Christ, left, right, left.
Your mother forgot to breast feed you and now you're pissed at Jesus and you don't know why.
Andy Christ left, right, left, your time is coming.
Tomas Luger, left, right, left.
You'll find a way to mock me...
Tomas Luger, left, right, left, you'll only make a mockery of yourself in the end.
I see this tournament taking shape and it looks like defeat isn't an option. I can hang with the competitors of this federation of athletes. I've built this house before. I've tore down every competitor. I've faced multiple competitors in the final of last year's BKI and took out Raymond Jones, Katu Tui and Terry Dane.
To get there, I faced the likes of King Zilla and Aaron Awesome,
To this fight, though, I dedicate to the competitor...no. I dedicate this match to the exhibition I had with Dustin Iler last year. Although I respect Dustin as a competitor, the match we had in that ring, the blood that was spilled and the jaws that were cracked were much more a testament to what the TWD would become. It was the match that MADE Tommy O'Malley. Not the final match against Jones, Tui, and Dane. For God Almighty to grant me that opportunity and for Providence's Hand itself allow me to whip Dustin's arse is a blessing I'll never ferget.
That semi-final match in the tournament sealed the fates of all of us last year. I could feel it, everyone could feel it. Hell, I could see it in their eyes. Ray, Katu Tui, Dane--All of 'em.
One match sets the tone for the tournament; A touchstone that measures the glory of which a tournament or event is won and remembered.
But...
That match hasn't come to pass yet.
This weekend will be the beginning of the end. I'll fight with all my guts, slow and steady. Every move, every takedown, every punch and every pin will be with care and precision.
Slow and steady wins the race.
But...
Sorry, Pa', good ain't enough. I want to be the best, cause...
I fight for pride.
The camera light dies and darkness ensues.
Seconds later, a white-blue strobe light effect attached to the camera flickers quickly with a loud thunder sound effect dubbed over.
The "Southpaw" squints his eyes and flexes his jaw muscles, looking straight into the camera.
End Scene~
Tommy is slouched on a lone folding chair, dripping with sweat in the middle of the ring on site at this year's semi-final of the Brent Kersh Invitationl Tournament. No house lights shine as the solo camera light provides an ambitious illumination in an enveloping, dark arena.
The screen goes black and only Tommy's narrative voice is heard.
To make your mark in any profession, you don't have to be the best, you just need to be consistently good. That what me da' always told me growing up. He was a brickmason for Haggerty an' Sons in the Old Country, and he was one of the best. Not because there was an all-star team for Brick-layers for shite-sake, but hell he was one of the most sought after brick teamers in the southern counties because he was dependable, he stood by his word, and he always delivered good work and the structures that he helped make were thought of as the most stout in the countryside. When the boys are having a pipe and ale break, me da is breaking his back so his ole' lady and his kin can have pourage and milk.
If I could be half the man me da' was, titles and victories would merely be an afterthought.
Brick and mortar, smooth. Prepare. Brick and mortar, smooth.
Brick and mortar, smooth. Prepare. Brick and mortar, smooth.
Looking toward the end goal: The frame is set, the bricks are going up--the building is taking shape.
The sun beats down and weakens, the hunger pains set in. The threshold of dehydration nears--but is defeated by the coolness of night, signalling the sun to hide and the men to retreat to their cottages for supper.
The sound of tape being stretched and rotated interrupts Tommy's monologue...
And then he continues:
My taped-up fist tastes like...
Like...
blood.
Hiro Tanaka, left, right, left.
Bloody face of Oddjob...
Hiro Tanaka left, right, left, and the dragon is dead.
Andy Christ, left, right, left.
Your mother forgot to breast feed you and now you're pissed at Jesus and you don't know why.
Andy Christ left, right, left, your time is coming.
Tomas Luger, left, right, left.
You'll find a way to mock me...
Tomas Luger, left, right, left, you'll only make a mockery of yourself in the end.
I see this tournament taking shape and it looks like defeat isn't an option. I can hang with the competitors of this federation of athletes. I've built this house before. I've tore down every competitor. I've faced multiple competitors in the final of last year's BKI and took out Raymond Jones, Katu Tui and Terry Dane.
To get there, I faced the likes of King Zilla and Aaron Awesome,
To this fight, though, I dedicate to the competitor...no. I dedicate this match to the exhibition I had with Dustin Iler last year. Although I respect Dustin as a competitor, the match we had in that ring, the blood that was spilled and the jaws that were cracked were much more a testament to what the TWD would become. It was the match that MADE Tommy O'Malley. Not the final match against Jones, Tui, and Dane. For God Almighty to grant me that opportunity and for Providence's Hand itself allow me to whip Dustin's arse is a blessing I'll never ferget.
That semi-final match in the tournament sealed the fates of all of us last year. I could feel it, everyone could feel it. Hell, I could see it in their eyes. Ray, Katu Tui, Dane--All of 'em.
One match sets the tone for the tournament; A touchstone that measures the glory of which a tournament or event is won and remembered.
But...
That match hasn't come to pass yet.
This weekend will be the beginning of the end. I'll fight with all my guts, slow and steady. Every move, every takedown, every punch and every pin will be with care and precision.
Slow and steady wins the race.
But...
Sorry, Pa', good ain't enough. I want to be the best, cause...
I fight for pride.
The camera light dies and darkness ensues.
Seconds later, a white-blue strobe light effect attached to the camera flickers quickly with a loud thunder sound effect dubbed over.
The "Southpaw" squints his eyes and flexes his jaw muscles, looking straight into the camera.
End Scene~