Post by halfnelson on Nov 4, 2024 21:41:23 GMT
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 former Commonwealth Heavyweight Champion, leans casually against the bar, a schooner of XXXX Gold in hand.
McGrath: "G'day, Surfers! What a ripper of an arvo, eh? Nothing beats a cold beer, good mates, and the thought of givin' some Pommie a real thrashin'!"
The crowd laughs, some lifting their drinks in agreement as McGrath takes a hearty swig, relishing the attention.
McGrath: "Now, Saturday night, On The Mat XIII, it’s me against Bulldog Spirit. Worlds Heavy-Middleweight champ, he calls himself. Another fancy name for another fancy Pom thinkin’ he can take on an Aussie in his own backyard."
A few locals scoff at the idea, and one shouts, “Give ‘im a good whack, McGrath!” McGrath grins, nodding with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
McGrath: "Spirit, mate, I don’t know what kinda rubbish they tell you back in England, but here’s somethin’ true as the Queensland sun – Aussies don’t go down to Poms. Never have, never will. And, mate, you’re just the next poor sod in line for a good hidin’. We’ve been handin’ it to you lot since the first Ashes, since Gallipoli, since the bloody dawn of time!"
The pub crowd erupts, chanting, “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” McGrath raises his schooner and nods in approval.
McGrath: "Spirit, you’re bringin’ that British title over here like it means somethin’. But to me? It’s about as valuable as a thimble of warm tea. This is Australia, mate. When you step in that ring in Blackpool, you’re in Aussie territory, ‘cause I’m bringin' a piece of Queensland with me."
The locals hoot and holler, clearly entertained, as McGrath takes a swig and leans in again.
McGrath: "I’m comin' to Blackpool for one thing – to give England’s best another reality check. Spirit, get ready, mate. You’re about to find out what it’s like when an Aussie sets his sights on makin' mince out of the so-called 'champion of the Poms'. And just remember, you can’t run back home to mummy when you’re on the mat, face down."
The crowd roars, some clinking glasses, others chanting, as McGrath raises his beer with a smirk.
McGrath: "Here’s to Aussie pride, lads! This one’s for every time we’ve beaten England, and come Friday night, it’s happenin’ again. Cheers!"
The pub fills with cheers, the Queensland night humming with the echoes of old rivalries and new battles on the horizon.
McGrath: "G'day, Surfers! What a ripper of an arvo, eh? Nothing beats a cold beer, good mates, and the thought of givin' some Pommie a real thrashin'!"
The crowd laughs, some lifting their drinks in agreement as McGrath takes a hearty swig, relishing the attention.
McGrath: "Now, Saturday night, On The Mat XIII, it’s me against Bulldog Spirit. Worlds Heavy-Middleweight champ, he calls himself. Another fancy name for another fancy Pom thinkin’ he can take on an Aussie in his own backyard."
A few locals scoff at the idea, and one shouts, “Give ‘im a good whack, McGrath!” McGrath grins, nodding with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
McGrath: "Spirit, mate, I don’t know what kinda rubbish they tell you back in England, but here’s somethin’ true as the Queensland sun – Aussies don’t go down to Poms. Never have, never will. And, mate, you’re just the next poor sod in line for a good hidin’. We’ve been handin’ it to you lot since the first Ashes, since Gallipoli, since the bloody dawn of time!"
The pub crowd erupts, chanting, “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!” McGrath raises his schooner and nods in approval.
McGrath: "Spirit, you’re bringin’ that British title over here like it means somethin’. But to me? It’s about as valuable as a thimble of warm tea. This is Australia, mate. When you step in that ring in Blackpool, you’re in Aussie territory, ‘cause I’m bringin' a piece of Queensland with me."
The locals hoot and holler, clearly entertained, as McGrath takes a swig and leans in again.
McGrath: "I’m comin' to Blackpool for one thing – to give England’s best another reality check. Spirit, get ready, mate. You’re about to find out what it’s like when an Aussie sets his sights on makin' mince out of the so-called 'champion of the Poms'. And just remember, you can’t run back home to mummy when you’re on the mat, face down."
The crowd roars, some clinking glasses, others chanting, as McGrath raises his beer with a smirk.
McGrath: "Here’s to Aussie pride, lads! This one’s for every time we’ve beaten England, and come Friday night, it’s happenin’ again. Cheers!"
The pub fills with cheers, the Queensland night humming with the echoes of old rivalries and new battles on the horizon.