Post by halfnelson on Oct 15, 2024 23:34:15 GMT
The camera opens on the rugged countryside of Wonglepong, Australia. Half-Nelson McGrath stands in front of an old barn, the Commonwealth Heavyweight Championship belt slung over his shoulder. His muscles glisten under the sun as he stares into the camera, a grin playing on his lips.
McGrath: George Thompson, mate, I’ve heard some rubbish in my time, but you take the bloody cake. I’m standin' here with the Commonwealth Heavyweight Championship ‘cause I don’t wear fancy suits or talk like a wanker. Nah, I’m here ‘cause I’ve been crackin’ skulls and breakin’ bones since the day I stepped in the ring. And come October 19th, when we’re face-to-face in Jamaica, all your big words’ll crumble faster than a cheap suit in the wash.
He taps the belt, eyes narrowing.
McGrath: You reckon I’m just brute force, eh? Call me a dumb brawler, do ya? Well, George, when I hit ya with a Half-Nelson Suplex and you’re seein' stars, you’ll learn real quick it’s not about finesse. It’s about heart, grit, and survival. And I got more of that than you can dream of.
He starts pacing, eyes locked on the camera.
McGrath: And as for Barry Bridges? I already knocked him out once in Tonga to take this belt, and in Jamaica, I’ll do more than beat him—I’ll retire him. Barry’s livin’ in the past, and I’m gonna send him packin’ straight into the history books where he belongs.
McGrath grins, slinging the belt back over his shoulder.
McGrath: So, George, you or Barry, I don’t care. You’re both a pair of drongos if you reckon you’ve got what it takes. You’re walkin’ into my world, and neither of ya is walkin’ out with this title. That’s not just a promise—it’s a bloody guarantee.
The camera fades as McGrath stands tall, the cicadas buzzing in the distance.
McGrath: George Thompson, mate, I’ve heard some rubbish in my time, but you take the bloody cake. I’m standin' here with the Commonwealth Heavyweight Championship ‘cause I don’t wear fancy suits or talk like a wanker. Nah, I’m here ‘cause I’ve been crackin’ skulls and breakin’ bones since the day I stepped in the ring. And come October 19th, when we’re face-to-face in Jamaica, all your big words’ll crumble faster than a cheap suit in the wash.
He taps the belt, eyes narrowing.
McGrath: You reckon I’m just brute force, eh? Call me a dumb brawler, do ya? Well, George, when I hit ya with a Half-Nelson Suplex and you’re seein' stars, you’ll learn real quick it’s not about finesse. It’s about heart, grit, and survival. And I got more of that than you can dream of.
He starts pacing, eyes locked on the camera.
McGrath: And as for Barry Bridges? I already knocked him out once in Tonga to take this belt, and in Jamaica, I’ll do more than beat him—I’ll retire him. Barry’s livin’ in the past, and I’m gonna send him packin’ straight into the history books where he belongs.
McGrath grins, slinging the belt back over his shoulder.
McGrath: So, George, you or Barry, I don’t care. You’re both a pair of drongos if you reckon you’ve got what it takes. You’re walkin’ into my world, and neither of ya is walkin’ out with this title. That’s not just a promise—it’s a bloody guarantee.
The camera fades as McGrath stands tall, the cicadas buzzing in the distance.