Post by Gentleman George on Oct 12, 2024 15:10:21 GMT
The scene opens backstage, where the atmosphere is tense but composed. Gentleman George Thompson, dressed in his ring gear but already draped in his tailored entrance jacket, stands tall, his posture rigid but controlled. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with a monogrammed towel, his expression calm but simmering with dissatisfaction. Lady Victoria Winchester stands beside him, ever poised, her hand lightly resting on George’s arm, a calming presence. An unknown reporter, microphone and notepad in hand, nervously approaches the two, unsure of what mood George is in.
Unknown Reporter: “Mr. Thompson, can I get your thoughts on what just transpired in the ring? The match ended in a draw due to a double pin, and the fans are curious about how you’re processing the result.”
George glances at the reporter, his expression one of composed disdain. He takes a breath, his voice steady, smooth, and dripping with condescension.
George: “Ah, yes, the so-called draw. What an unfortunate display of incompetence by the officials, wouldn’t you agree? You see, I’m not one to raise my voice or stomp around like some brute when things don’t go my way. That would be beneath me. But tonight, what we witnessed was a gross mishandling of a perfectly clear situation.”
He adjusts his jacket, every movement deliberate, as if to reinforce his control of the moment.
George: “I had Barry Bridges beaten. Definitively. There was no question in anyone’s mind—least of all my own—that when I executed that suplex and went for the pin, it was over. And yet, what did we get? A farce. Two referees, each with their own interpretation of the event, managing to bungle what should have been an indisputable victory for me.”
Lady Victoria steps forward slightly, her voice calm and diplomatic.
Lady Victoria: “Indeed, the officiating tonight left much to be desired. Mr. Thompson conducted himself with the precision and skill we’ve come to expect from Britain’s finest, while Mr. Bridges, for all his efforts, was clearly struggling to keep up. It’s unfortunate that confusion between the officials led to this outcome.”
George nods slightly, as if allowing her words to sink in before continuing.
George: “You see, this is not about me being denied a victory. No, I’m far too gracious to make such a fuss over one night’s result. It’s about correctness. It’s about the sport being represented properly. I gave Barry Bridges far more than he could handle, and he knows it. The only reason this ‘draw’ exists is because of human error, not because of any merit on his part.”
The reporter, sensing an opening, tries to press further.
Unknown Reporter: “But Mr. Thompson, some might argue that the double pin indicates you and Barry were evenly matched tonight. How do you respond to those who say the result was fair?”
George’s brow furrows slightly, though he maintains his dignified demeanor. He steps closer to the reporter, his voice lower but sharp.
George: “Evenly matched? Let’s be perfectly clear, young man: Barry Bridges and I are not evenly matched. What you saw tonight was a man trying desperately to keep up with someone who is far beyond his reach. Barry’s name carries weight, yes, but names do not win matches. Skill does. And I demonstrated superior skill in every exchange.”
Lady Victoria offers the reporter a serene smile, stepping in once more.
Lady Victoria: “What Mr. Thompson means is that while Mr. Bridges may have had his moments, the overall trajectory of the match was clearly in George’s favor. It’s a shame that the referees were unable to provide clarity in such an important contest.”
George straightens his jacket, looking past the reporter now, as though already moving beyond the debacle of the night.
George: “I could easily stand here and demand a rematch, cry foul, or stomp about like some unrefined character, but I won’t. That’s not who I am. I don’t need to. My performance tonight speaks for itself, and anyone with an ounce of wrestling knowledge knows that the superior competitor was standing right in front of them.”
He tilts his head slightly, giving a final, cutting glance to the reporter.
George: “But let me say this, and I do hope Barry Bridges is listening: if you have any pride left, you will agree to face me again. Not for redemption on your part, but for clarification—for the sake of truth. Because next time, Barry, there will be no doubt, no ambiguity, and certainly no confusion. I will walk out of that ring victorious, and your brief moment of grace will be over.”
Lady Victoria nods, stepping beside George as he turns slightly, prepared to leave the interview behind. The reporter, stunned by the calm intensity of George’s words, says nothing as George brushes past him, leaving the segment with his head held high, unbothered by the chaos he leaves in his wake.
Unknown Reporter: “Mr. Thompson, can I get your thoughts on what just transpired in the ring? The match ended in a draw due to a double pin, and the fans are curious about how you’re processing the result.”
George glances at the reporter, his expression one of composed disdain. He takes a breath, his voice steady, smooth, and dripping with condescension.
George: “Ah, yes, the so-called draw. What an unfortunate display of incompetence by the officials, wouldn’t you agree? You see, I’m not one to raise my voice or stomp around like some brute when things don’t go my way. That would be beneath me. But tonight, what we witnessed was a gross mishandling of a perfectly clear situation.”
He adjusts his jacket, every movement deliberate, as if to reinforce his control of the moment.
George: “I had Barry Bridges beaten. Definitively. There was no question in anyone’s mind—least of all my own—that when I executed that suplex and went for the pin, it was over. And yet, what did we get? A farce. Two referees, each with their own interpretation of the event, managing to bungle what should have been an indisputable victory for me.”
Lady Victoria steps forward slightly, her voice calm and diplomatic.
Lady Victoria: “Indeed, the officiating tonight left much to be desired. Mr. Thompson conducted himself with the precision and skill we’ve come to expect from Britain’s finest, while Mr. Bridges, for all his efforts, was clearly struggling to keep up. It’s unfortunate that confusion between the officials led to this outcome.”
George nods slightly, as if allowing her words to sink in before continuing.
George: “You see, this is not about me being denied a victory. No, I’m far too gracious to make such a fuss over one night’s result. It’s about correctness. It’s about the sport being represented properly. I gave Barry Bridges far more than he could handle, and he knows it. The only reason this ‘draw’ exists is because of human error, not because of any merit on his part.”
The reporter, sensing an opening, tries to press further.
Unknown Reporter: “But Mr. Thompson, some might argue that the double pin indicates you and Barry were evenly matched tonight. How do you respond to those who say the result was fair?”
George’s brow furrows slightly, though he maintains his dignified demeanor. He steps closer to the reporter, his voice lower but sharp.
George: “Evenly matched? Let’s be perfectly clear, young man: Barry Bridges and I are not evenly matched. What you saw tonight was a man trying desperately to keep up with someone who is far beyond his reach. Barry’s name carries weight, yes, but names do not win matches. Skill does. And I demonstrated superior skill in every exchange.”
Lady Victoria offers the reporter a serene smile, stepping in once more.
Lady Victoria: “What Mr. Thompson means is that while Mr. Bridges may have had his moments, the overall trajectory of the match was clearly in George’s favor. It’s a shame that the referees were unable to provide clarity in such an important contest.”
George straightens his jacket, looking past the reporter now, as though already moving beyond the debacle of the night.
George: “I could easily stand here and demand a rematch, cry foul, or stomp about like some unrefined character, but I won’t. That’s not who I am. I don’t need to. My performance tonight speaks for itself, and anyone with an ounce of wrestling knowledge knows that the superior competitor was standing right in front of them.”
He tilts his head slightly, giving a final, cutting glance to the reporter.
George: “But let me say this, and I do hope Barry Bridges is listening: if you have any pride left, you will agree to face me again. Not for redemption on your part, but for clarification—for the sake of truth. Because next time, Barry, there will be no doubt, no ambiguity, and certainly no confusion. I will walk out of that ring victorious, and your brief moment of grace will be over.”
Lady Victoria nods, stepping beside George as he turns slightly, prepared to leave the interview behind. The reporter, stunned by the calm intensity of George’s words, says nothing as George brushes past him, leaving the segment with his head held high, unbothered by the chaos he leaves in his wake.