Post by eamon on Sept 21, 2024 2:17:10 GMT
Eamon Keane stands, fists clenched, his eyes sharp and full of fire, in the changing rooms of a local gym. His thick Belfast accent cuts through the silence as the camera zooms in on his sneering face.
Eamon Keane: Lemme tell ye somethin', Moran, and ye better pay attention, 'cause I don’t like repeatin' meself. I’m not just some eejit ye can step in the ring with. I’m the best damn wrestler in the business—better than anyone else on this roster, and certainly better than you. I should be a champion, walkin' 'round with the belt, not wastin' me time on some wordless gobshite like yerself.
He scoffs, cracking his knuckles with a slow, deliberate movement.
Eamon Keane: A boxer, eh? My da was a boxer too, ye know. I grew up watchin' him fight, takin' lumps and givin' 'em out. But here’s what ye don’t get—wrestlers always beat boxers. I’ve seen it me whole life. Ye’ve got yer wee jabs and yer fancy footwork, but it won’t mean a damn thing when ye’re in my ring. This is my territory, and I don’t fear ye one bit. Ye think throwin’ a few punches makes ye tough? Ye haven’t felt real pain until ye’ve been in the ring with me, lad.
Keane’s smirk fades as he paces the room, tension building with every step.
Eamon Keane: And lemme tell the refs, the officials, and all them fans out there one thing—ye better stay outta me way. If any of ye even think of crossin' me, I’ll take the fight to you too. I don’t care if ye’re wearin' a striped shirt or holdin' a microphone, I’ll drop ye where ye stand. Ye think yer rules are gonna stop me? Rules mean nothin' to me. No one’s gonna stand between me and what’s mine.
He steps right up to the camera, eyes locked, voice lowering to a dangerous growl.
Eamon Keane: Moran, ye better come prepared, 'cause ye’re in for the worst fight of yer life. When I’m done, ye’ll be left in no doubt who the best is. I’m the one who should be holdin’ the championship, not ye, not anyone else. And if anyone's got a problem with that, they can come and take a swing. I’ll take 'em all on.
Keane glares into the camera, his face full of defiance and menace, as the screen fades to black.
Eamon Keane: Lemme tell ye somethin', Moran, and ye better pay attention, 'cause I don’t like repeatin' meself. I’m not just some eejit ye can step in the ring with. I’m the best damn wrestler in the business—better than anyone else on this roster, and certainly better than you. I should be a champion, walkin' 'round with the belt, not wastin' me time on some wordless gobshite like yerself.
He scoffs, cracking his knuckles with a slow, deliberate movement.
Eamon Keane: A boxer, eh? My da was a boxer too, ye know. I grew up watchin' him fight, takin' lumps and givin' 'em out. But here’s what ye don’t get—wrestlers always beat boxers. I’ve seen it me whole life. Ye’ve got yer wee jabs and yer fancy footwork, but it won’t mean a damn thing when ye’re in my ring. This is my territory, and I don’t fear ye one bit. Ye think throwin’ a few punches makes ye tough? Ye haven’t felt real pain until ye’ve been in the ring with me, lad.
Keane’s smirk fades as he paces the room, tension building with every step.
Eamon Keane: And lemme tell the refs, the officials, and all them fans out there one thing—ye better stay outta me way. If any of ye even think of crossin' me, I’ll take the fight to you too. I don’t care if ye’re wearin' a striped shirt or holdin' a microphone, I’ll drop ye where ye stand. Ye think yer rules are gonna stop me? Rules mean nothin' to me. No one’s gonna stand between me and what’s mine.
He steps right up to the camera, eyes locked, voice lowering to a dangerous growl.
Eamon Keane: Moran, ye better come prepared, 'cause ye’re in for the worst fight of yer life. When I’m done, ye’ll be left in no doubt who the best is. I’m the one who should be holdin’ the championship, not ye, not anyone else. And if anyone's got a problem with that, they can come and take a swing. I’ll take 'em all on.
Keane glares into the camera, his face full of defiance and menace, as the screen fades to black.