Post by Deleted on Sept 25, 2019 14:34:00 GMT -6
Israel smiled as he turned off the laptop and closed it. Ever since signing with New Edge Wrestling, his Twitter had exploded with fans of the show checking out the new hire mixed with people from the indy circuit congratulating him or calling him a sell out. He had always been bad about social media, forgetting to post regularly, not being sure entirely what to post, etc., but he had decided that he had better start using it. He felt he needed to self promote if he was going to accomplish his goal.
“If I’m gunna be the beacon a’ hope, I gotta be seen,” he said, leaning back in his old, tattered computer chair. He turned around in his small, rented room, looking at all the wrestling and superhero posters that covered his bare, sanitary white walls. Everything else was in boxes, preparation for a move to a new place once his first NEW check cleared. The paycheck was far better than what he was used to, and he was going to enjoy it, even if that was his purpose for his profession. Everything would have to wait for a bit, though, as he was on a card faster than he expected.
“Cannonball,” he thought to himself. He’d tried to find footage of the guy to watch, but hadn’t found much. This guy was green, much like him. Same height, but bigger. “Ain’t gunna be able to toss him much, that’s fer sure.”
Israel closed his eyes and smiled. He placed his hands behind his hide, trying to take on a relaxed posture, but ultimately failing to be relaxed. His excitement could not be fully contained. His foot slapped against the leg of his chair in a rhythmic pattern, a pitter-patter of a song called ‘restless energy’.
“Two weeks,” Israel sighed, accidentally speaking out loud. “Two weeks is too damn long. Ain’t gunna get much sleep, that’s fer sure.”
The Arkansas native stared outside his window. It was a beautiful day in Hot Springs. His last day. He would be flying out to Alaska and staying near the arena until the event, so that he could become acclimated with the weather. He needed to prepare himself, mentally and physically, for the challenge ahead. Staying in the beautiful 90 degree weather he was currently in wouldn’t really do him any good. Indoors or not, Alaska was going to be cold, and while the weather projected 40s to 50s, Israel still wanted to make sure he was thoroughly and completely prepared.
“Not gunna let this Russian bastard have nothin’ on me,” he said aloud, too excited to keep his inner thoughts, well, inner. “I’ll be ready fer a war.”
His phone alarm went off. In a few, he’d have to leave to go and film his first promo for the company. He stood up, throwing on a camo baseball cap with hook on the end. He looked over at his nightstand, at a framed picture of him with his mother and father, all dressed in white, flowing gowns.
“I’ll make ya see,” Israel said, becoming very serious. “I’ll make ya’ll see there’s another way.”
The Parable of the Beginner
Israel Bishop kneels, one foot planted, one knee resting on the ground. He rests his right arm on his knee, his left arm placed firmly on the ground, his body slightly perpendicular to the camera. He stares at the soil, dressed in a very country boy manner with a green flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, and a camo hat with a fish hook on the end.
“Good ole Matthew, Mark, n’ Luke talked told a parable about a sower, a farmer uh sorts who threw his seeds on the ground randomly, haphazardly,” Bishop speaks, never looking up at the camera. “The seeds that fell on good soil grew, and the seeds that fell on bad soil, rocks n’ thorns n’ such, didn’ grow. Story is s’posed to be about how you should be careful uh where you plant yerself, be mindful uh your surroundings.”
Israel digs his left hand into the soil, pulling up grass, dirt, and rocks into his large hand. A worker’s hand. A fighter’s hand.
“Ya’ll don’t know me, yet,” Israel said, finally turning to the actual camera. “So, let me introduce myself. I’m Israel Bishop, and I plan ta take everything I can from this company. Now, that probably sounds pretty familiar ta most uh you, expectin’ a new talent to talk big about themselves and how they are gunna be the next big thing, so I’ll understan’ if you are a bit...skeptical of what I got ta say.
But here is the difference between me and the other guys you’ll hear about. I ain’t doin’ here for the money, the fame, the lights, the ladies, or any uh those things. Don’t get me wrong, like any man, I got ta make a livin’, and this here New Edge Wrasslin’ pays a solid enough wage. And, like any man, the fame, lights, and ladies are...pleasurable, for sure. I...I might be called Bishop, but I ain’t no Saint.”
Israel winks at the camera, flashing a charming, innocent smile.
“But there is more ta life than just beatin’ dudes down for money n’ the company uh women. We are, after all, bein’ watched by fans, hundreds, maybe thousands of’em. And those fans...day in and day out...what do they see?”
Israel scoffs.
“Big muscular dudes whinin’, cheatin’, stealin’, and actin’ a fool. Cheap as dogshit cheaters takin’ whatever wins they can get, no matter how they can get’em. And then those crazy types, the ones who act like they some kinda killer or maniac, like they in some kind uh horror movie. Everybody is tryna get attention, but they are doin’ it in a disgusting way.
Not me, though. That’s not how I do. I...I want to be a…”
Israel looks up, thinking for a second. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes his wording.
“I want ta be a beacon of...of hope. I want ta show the world that any man or woman with strength and determination can have an impact in this world. I want ta show ya’ll a different way, a better way, a way that’ll rock the world around ya without havin’ ta sell yer soul.
My first chance at this is with some kinda Russkie, Cannonball. Now, I gotta admit, I was a bit confused and bamboozled when I did my research on ya. I thought Cannonball was yer nickname, but yer nickname is The Russian Hammer, so...did yer folks actually name ya Cannonball? Like, did they expect ya to do a lot of jumpin’ in pools? I imagine not, as I’m pretty sure doin’ a cannonball in Russia is a good way to bust yer assbone on some ice.”
Israel grins.
“Name’s aside, though, I guess we are kinda alike. You are new, I am new, and I couldn’t find much on ya, probably like you can’t find much on me. We’re fresher than a newborn fresh out his momma’s belly. We’re womb mates, buddy!”
Israel laughs again, his expression very innocent and playful.
“So, I don’t know much to say about ya. I guess we could go all Rocky Balboa vs Ivan Drago. I mean, we’re goin’ ta Alaska, and I’ve heard tell that you can see Russia from there, so you’ll definitely have the home field advantage.
But listen’, pal, all Russkie jokes aside, I plan on whoopin’ yer ass a bit at Coldfront, not because I have any problem with you, not out of any cruelty, and not because of any hatred I have fer ya. See, I don’t know what you fight fer, and it honestly don’t matter to much to me, cuz like I said earlier, I want to be a beacon of hope for this world. I want to give people somethin’ to look up to, somethin’ to strive for, an example to hold up and believe in.
Unfortunately, buddy, yer in the way of my plans. I get that I’m prolly in the way of you too, and your a big ole boy who is probably used to knockin’ things in your way out of it. I’m expectin’ a fight, I’m expectin’ a contest, n’ that’s all fine. See, that parable that ole Mark, Luke, and Matt talked about, that applies to me. I’m the seed, n’ New Edge Wrasslin’ is the path I have been thrown upon. But this ain’t the good path with the good soil. This is the path with the thorns n’ rocks n’ all the rough shit.
But this ain’t the Bible, and Matty, Luke, n’ Marky Mark were fulla shit. The rocky path, the thorny path, it don’t destroy all the seeds. Many of’em, but not all of’em. But the seeds that grow are stronger, better, and bear more fruit. N’ that fruit bears the strongest fruit.”
Israel drops the soil that he picked up earlier on the ground.
“See ya Sunday, Cannonball.”
“If I’m gunna be the beacon a’ hope, I gotta be seen,” he said, leaning back in his old, tattered computer chair. He turned around in his small, rented room, looking at all the wrestling and superhero posters that covered his bare, sanitary white walls. Everything else was in boxes, preparation for a move to a new place once his first NEW check cleared. The paycheck was far better than what he was used to, and he was going to enjoy it, even if that was his purpose for his profession. Everything would have to wait for a bit, though, as he was on a card faster than he expected.
“Cannonball,” he thought to himself. He’d tried to find footage of the guy to watch, but hadn’t found much. This guy was green, much like him. Same height, but bigger. “Ain’t gunna be able to toss him much, that’s fer sure.”
Israel closed his eyes and smiled. He placed his hands behind his hide, trying to take on a relaxed posture, but ultimately failing to be relaxed. His excitement could not be fully contained. His foot slapped against the leg of his chair in a rhythmic pattern, a pitter-patter of a song called ‘restless energy’.
“Two weeks,” Israel sighed, accidentally speaking out loud. “Two weeks is too damn long. Ain’t gunna get much sleep, that’s fer sure.”
The Arkansas native stared outside his window. It was a beautiful day in Hot Springs. His last day. He would be flying out to Alaska and staying near the arena until the event, so that he could become acclimated with the weather. He needed to prepare himself, mentally and physically, for the challenge ahead. Staying in the beautiful 90 degree weather he was currently in wouldn’t really do him any good. Indoors or not, Alaska was going to be cold, and while the weather projected 40s to 50s, Israel still wanted to make sure he was thoroughly and completely prepared.
“Not gunna let this Russian bastard have nothin’ on me,” he said aloud, too excited to keep his inner thoughts, well, inner. “I’ll be ready fer a war.”
His phone alarm went off. In a few, he’d have to leave to go and film his first promo for the company. He stood up, throwing on a camo baseball cap with hook on the end. He looked over at his nightstand, at a framed picture of him with his mother and father, all dressed in white, flowing gowns.
“I’ll make ya see,” Israel said, becoming very serious. “I’ll make ya’ll see there’s another way.”
The Parable of the Beginner
Israel Bishop kneels, one foot planted, one knee resting on the ground. He rests his right arm on his knee, his left arm placed firmly on the ground, his body slightly perpendicular to the camera. He stares at the soil, dressed in a very country boy manner with a green flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, blue jeans, and a camo hat with a fish hook on the end.
“Good ole Matthew, Mark, n’ Luke talked told a parable about a sower, a farmer uh sorts who threw his seeds on the ground randomly, haphazardly,” Bishop speaks, never looking up at the camera. “The seeds that fell on good soil grew, and the seeds that fell on bad soil, rocks n’ thorns n’ such, didn’ grow. Story is s’posed to be about how you should be careful uh where you plant yerself, be mindful uh your surroundings.”
Israel digs his left hand into the soil, pulling up grass, dirt, and rocks into his large hand. A worker’s hand. A fighter’s hand.
“Ya’ll don’t know me, yet,” Israel said, finally turning to the actual camera. “So, let me introduce myself. I’m Israel Bishop, and I plan ta take everything I can from this company. Now, that probably sounds pretty familiar ta most uh you, expectin’ a new talent to talk big about themselves and how they are gunna be the next big thing, so I’ll understan’ if you are a bit...skeptical of what I got ta say.
But here is the difference between me and the other guys you’ll hear about. I ain’t doin’ here for the money, the fame, the lights, the ladies, or any uh those things. Don’t get me wrong, like any man, I got ta make a livin’, and this here New Edge Wrasslin’ pays a solid enough wage. And, like any man, the fame, lights, and ladies are...pleasurable, for sure. I...I might be called Bishop, but I ain’t no Saint.”
Israel winks at the camera, flashing a charming, innocent smile.
“But there is more ta life than just beatin’ dudes down for money n’ the company uh women. We are, after all, bein’ watched by fans, hundreds, maybe thousands of’em. And those fans...day in and day out...what do they see?”
Israel scoffs.
“Big muscular dudes whinin’, cheatin’, stealin’, and actin’ a fool. Cheap as dogshit cheaters takin’ whatever wins they can get, no matter how they can get’em. And then those crazy types, the ones who act like they some kinda killer or maniac, like they in some kind uh horror movie. Everybody is tryna get attention, but they are doin’ it in a disgusting way.
Not me, though. That’s not how I do. I...I want to be a…”
Israel looks up, thinking for a second. His eyes widen slightly as he realizes his wording.
“I want ta be a beacon of...of hope. I want ta show the world that any man or woman with strength and determination can have an impact in this world. I want ta show ya’ll a different way, a better way, a way that’ll rock the world around ya without havin’ ta sell yer soul.
My first chance at this is with some kinda Russkie, Cannonball. Now, I gotta admit, I was a bit confused and bamboozled when I did my research on ya. I thought Cannonball was yer nickname, but yer nickname is The Russian Hammer, so...did yer folks actually name ya Cannonball? Like, did they expect ya to do a lot of jumpin’ in pools? I imagine not, as I’m pretty sure doin’ a cannonball in Russia is a good way to bust yer assbone on some ice.”
Israel grins.
“Name’s aside, though, I guess we are kinda alike. You are new, I am new, and I couldn’t find much on ya, probably like you can’t find much on me. We’re fresher than a newborn fresh out his momma’s belly. We’re womb mates, buddy!”
Israel laughs again, his expression very innocent and playful.
“So, I don’t know much to say about ya. I guess we could go all Rocky Balboa vs Ivan Drago. I mean, we’re goin’ ta Alaska, and I’ve heard tell that you can see Russia from there, so you’ll definitely have the home field advantage.
But listen’, pal, all Russkie jokes aside, I plan on whoopin’ yer ass a bit at Coldfront, not because I have any problem with you, not out of any cruelty, and not because of any hatred I have fer ya. See, I don’t know what you fight fer, and it honestly don’t matter to much to me, cuz like I said earlier, I want to be a beacon of hope for this world. I want to give people somethin’ to look up to, somethin’ to strive for, an example to hold up and believe in.
Unfortunately, buddy, yer in the way of my plans. I get that I’m prolly in the way of you too, and your a big ole boy who is probably used to knockin’ things in your way out of it. I’m expectin’ a fight, I’m expectin’ a contest, n’ that’s all fine. See, that parable that ole Mark, Luke, and Matt talked about, that applies to me. I’m the seed, n’ New Edge Wrasslin’ is the path I have been thrown upon. But this ain’t the good path with the good soil. This is the path with the thorns n’ rocks n’ all the rough shit.
But this ain’t the Bible, and Matty, Luke, n’ Marky Mark were fulla shit. The rocky path, the thorny path, it don’t destroy all the seeds. Many of’em, but not all of’em. But the seeds that grow are stronger, better, and bear more fruit. N’ that fruit bears the strongest fruit.”
Israel drops the soil that he picked up earlier on the ground.
“See ya Sunday, Cannonball.”
