Post by halfnelson on Oct 11, 2024 11:28:29 GMT
Setting: A laid-back beachside pub in Surfers Paradise, Queensland. The warm evening breeze drifts through the open windows, carrying the scent of saltwater and sunscreen. Locals in thongs and boardies are gathered around, sipping on cold ones as Half-Nelson McGrath, the Commonwealth Heavyweight Champion, leans casually against the bar, a schooner of XXXX Gold in hand.
McGrath: "G'day, Surfers! Bloody top arvo, innit? Nothin' like a cold beer, good mates, and talkin' about givin' some Pommie bloke a good hidin'!"
The crowd laughs and cheers as McGrath takes a long swig of his beer, clearly relishing the attention.
McGrath: "Now, this Saturday, Out For The Count, it’s me and Gavin Owens—Commonwealth champ against British champ. But let’s be real, mate, it’s a non-title match ‘cos we all know he ain't gettin' anywhere near my belt. Owens, listen up, mate. You might be king of the Poms, but this is Australia, and we do things real different down here. You ain't gonna be dancin' ‘round that ring when I get me hands on ya. You’re gonna be wishin’ you were back home with a cup o’ tea and a bickie."
A few locals chuckle, one shouting, “Give it to ‘im, McGrath!” as McGrath smirks and takes another sip.
McGrath: "Owens, ya reckon you’ve got what it takes to stand toe-to-toe with me? Mate, you’re in for a rude shock. When I hit ya with the Half-Nelson, you’ll be flatter than a stingray on the beach. You’ve got your little British title, but when you’re facin’ an Aussie in Queensland, you're in my territory. And trust me, mate, we don't lose to Poms in anything."
The crowd erupts into cheers, some chanting, “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” as McGrath grins.
McGrath: "And as for next week—October 19, I’ve got a title defence comin’ up. Could be Barry Bridges, could be George Thompson. Doesn’t matter who it is, mate. Barry’s past his prime, livin’ off his old glories, and George? Well, he’ll get snapped like a surfboard in a cyclone."
The locals cheer wildly, and McGrath raises his beer, grinning ear to ear as the Queensland evening hums with excitement.
McGrath: "G'day, Surfers! Bloody top arvo, innit? Nothin' like a cold beer, good mates, and talkin' about givin' some Pommie bloke a good hidin'!"
The crowd laughs and cheers as McGrath takes a long swig of his beer, clearly relishing the attention.
McGrath: "Now, this Saturday, Out For The Count, it’s me and Gavin Owens—Commonwealth champ against British champ. But let’s be real, mate, it’s a non-title match ‘cos we all know he ain't gettin' anywhere near my belt. Owens, listen up, mate. You might be king of the Poms, but this is Australia, and we do things real different down here. You ain't gonna be dancin' ‘round that ring when I get me hands on ya. You’re gonna be wishin’ you were back home with a cup o’ tea and a bickie."
A few locals chuckle, one shouting, “Give it to ‘im, McGrath!” as McGrath smirks and takes another sip.
McGrath: "Owens, ya reckon you’ve got what it takes to stand toe-to-toe with me? Mate, you’re in for a rude shock. When I hit ya with the Half-Nelson, you’ll be flatter than a stingray on the beach. You’ve got your little British title, but when you’re facin’ an Aussie in Queensland, you're in my territory. And trust me, mate, we don't lose to Poms in anything."
The crowd erupts into cheers, some chanting, “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” as McGrath grins.
McGrath: "And as for next week—October 19, I’ve got a title defence comin’ up. Could be Barry Bridges, could be George Thompson. Doesn’t matter who it is, mate. Barry’s past his prime, livin’ off his old glories, and George? Well, he’ll get snapped like a surfboard in a cyclone."
The locals cheer wildly, and McGrath raises his beer, grinning ear to ear as the Queensland evening hums with excitement.