Post by George Duke on Feb 16, 2007 19:29:48 GMT -6
With a spotless record thus far in POW, George Duke reaches the final round of the Valor Tournament. Some people doubt his ability to put on a clean match. Those who know Duke well know better. Having been a wrestler since his teen aged years, and having been a trainer for the last 12 years - George knows how to wrestle. His unique blend of cheating and brawling with a touch of scientific/technical wrestling can do just as well without the cheating. He'll have to keep his wits about him and his head level. He can't slip up and forget where he is. But he's picked a goal and will pursue it relentlessly. He wants this win for multiple reasons, and he'll die before he gives it up. Having been involved in a stagnant legal battle with the owners of New Era Wrestling, George is tired of the red tape. For once, he's going to give in and do what he is told. It has an upside, though - George can do more damage this way than anyone could have expected.
George Duke has arrived home, received three stitches and begun training all over again. The most important muscle for training, however, is the brain. This is what brings George to the library on Snider Avenue. He's gathered all sorts of books about anatomy - but he's excited to find a book entirely about knee injuries. Funny, the things that bring a smile to the man's face. This sits in a bag, along with half a dozen other books about self defense and bone structure. George knows these things, but no harm in freshening up. He'll be lifting and jogging and hitting the bag - but for First Rights, he'll be hitting the books as well.
He steps outside the library and pulls a half smoked cigar out of his coat. He lights it and lets out a large puff of smoke which mixes well with his breath on this icy day. He carefully walks around the ice patches on the way down the walkway. He spits on the ground below him as he makes his way down the sidewalk. He stops at the corner of third street, waiting for the light to change.
"In my long career, I have seen it all. I've worn a hood and I've been myself. I've wrestled for food, for housing and for fun. I've fought in carnivals, gyms, armories and stadiums. I've been up against nobodies, stars, took on all comers and I shook hands with Bruno Sammartino. I've broken bones and spilled gallons of blood on six different continents. I've seen sheiks and cops and Indians and clowns. I've seen giants and monsters and guess what? They all fell. You see, friend - just because we haven't actually been in the ring together, it doesn't mean I've never fought Victor Bloodmoon."
George stubs out his cigar on the pizza place next to him and continues with a smart-ass grin.
"Standing at nearly seven feet tall, weighing over 300 lbs. - Vic's a big boy. He's got a helluva temper and great amount of strength. His record is great, his history is rich and a lot of men are putting their money on Victor Bloodmoon to walk away with the title. Well, this will all be your downfall, won't it, Vic? Let's talk shop, eh? Yeah, you're real big and tall, right? I guess I won't be picking you up too much. Newsflash - I'm built like a friggin' barrel, you're not lifting me too high either. Hell, big guys usually have some weak knees... what if I wear to cut them out from under you? Once you're grounded, you're done, Bloodmoon. You ain't got the smarts to get around it - I'm going to screw you up real good - and just like Tito wants it, all by the book. No rules need to be broken, I just like it better that way. At First Rights, everyone will see George Duke slay a giant with ease. On top of that, they're going to see what technical wrestling really is - they'll see why it's called a science."
The light changes a the few people waiting go ahead. George starts to turn away but doubles back. He looks livid, his eyes wide and bloodshot. His head turns purple and spit flies from his mouth as he shouts out a gravelly message.
"I know who you are and I know how you operate, Vic. I wrestled krauts in your homeland before that f*cking wall came down. I've wrestled giants, and they're not that tough. All brawn, no brains. Victor Bloodmoon seems to be a classic example of that. Can't handle a loss? Remember, there are going to be plenty people around ringside making sure I don't hurt you. You even think to pull any of that tantrum crap, you're done. I wrestle for a living, Vic. I beat people up to put food on my table. I grew up in South Philadelphia and I've been fighting all my life. It's what I do, and I do it GOD DAMN WELL. You're not going to come into my ring and start pushing me around because you think you're hot sh*t. I've slayed 'em in SCCW, I've toppled 'em in GCW and at First Rights, George Duke will put down yet another dime-a-dozen giant."
Duke snarls as he practically foams at the mouth. The camera locks in on his face, the vein nearly popping out of his forehead (underneath the band-aide). The screen fades to black.
George Duke has arrived home, received three stitches and begun training all over again. The most important muscle for training, however, is the brain. This is what brings George to the library on Snider Avenue. He's gathered all sorts of books about anatomy - but he's excited to find a book entirely about knee injuries. Funny, the things that bring a smile to the man's face. This sits in a bag, along with half a dozen other books about self defense and bone structure. George knows these things, but no harm in freshening up. He'll be lifting and jogging and hitting the bag - but for First Rights, he'll be hitting the books as well.
He steps outside the library and pulls a half smoked cigar out of his coat. He lights it and lets out a large puff of smoke which mixes well with his breath on this icy day. He carefully walks around the ice patches on the way down the walkway. He spits on the ground below him as he makes his way down the sidewalk. He stops at the corner of third street, waiting for the light to change.
"In my long career, I have seen it all. I've worn a hood and I've been myself. I've wrestled for food, for housing and for fun. I've fought in carnivals, gyms, armories and stadiums. I've been up against nobodies, stars, took on all comers and I shook hands with Bruno Sammartino. I've broken bones and spilled gallons of blood on six different continents. I've seen sheiks and cops and Indians and clowns. I've seen giants and monsters and guess what? They all fell. You see, friend - just because we haven't actually been in the ring together, it doesn't mean I've never fought Victor Bloodmoon."
George stubs out his cigar on the pizza place next to him and continues with a smart-ass grin.
"Standing at nearly seven feet tall, weighing over 300 lbs. - Vic's a big boy. He's got a helluva temper and great amount of strength. His record is great, his history is rich and a lot of men are putting their money on Victor Bloodmoon to walk away with the title. Well, this will all be your downfall, won't it, Vic? Let's talk shop, eh? Yeah, you're real big and tall, right? I guess I won't be picking you up too much. Newsflash - I'm built like a friggin' barrel, you're not lifting me too high either. Hell, big guys usually have some weak knees... what if I wear to cut them out from under you? Once you're grounded, you're done, Bloodmoon. You ain't got the smarts to get around it - I'm going to screw you up real good - and just like Tito wants it, all by the book. No rules need to be broken, I just like it better that way. At First Rights, everyone will see George Duke slay a giant with ease. On top of that, they're going to see what technical wrestling really is - they'll see why it's called a science."
The light changes a the few people waiting go ahead. George starts to turn away but doubles back. He looks livid, his eyes wide and bloodshot. His head turns purple and spit flies from his mouth as he shouts out a gravelly message.
"I know who you are and I know how you operate, Vic. I wrestled krauts in your homeland before that f*cking wall came down. I've wrestled giants, and they're not that tough. All brawn, no brains. Victor Bloodmoon seems to be a classic example of that. Can't handle a loss? Remember, there are going to be plenty people around ringside making sure I don't hurt you. You even think to pull any of that tantrum crap, you're done. I wrestle for a living, Vic. I beat people up to put food on my table. I grew up in South Philadelphia and I've been fighting all my life. It's what I do, and I do it GOD DAMN WELL. You're not going to come into my ring and start pushing me around because you think you're hot sh*t. I've slayed 'em in SCCW, I've toppled 'em in GCW and at First Rights, George Duke will put down yet another dime-a-dozen giant."
Duke snarls as he practically foams at the mouth. The camera locks in on his face, the vein nearly popping out of his forehead (underneath the band-aide). The screen fades to black.
