Post by George Duke on Apr 1, 2007 14:54:40 GMT -6
George steps into the ring to heavy fanfare. This might be the only place Duke gets cheered. These people, mostly in their late twenties/early thirties, respect the sport. They respect real wrestlers, regardless of how they are popularly viewed. This match up with Big Bear Murphy is the Wrestlemania for these people. With no desire to see the overblown glitz and glamor of WWE, these people flock to Swanson Street's New Alhambra (formerly ECW) Arena. For $8, they get a load of [I[real[/I] wrestling.
The bells sounds and Murphy charges, but gets thrown to the outside. Duke follows, raining down heavy blows and slamming knees into the hunched over Murphy. In less than a minute of the match, Murphy is bleeding. Duke notices and gnaws on his opponent's forehead. They battle around the former bingo hall, using everything they find. They spill out onto the street, fighting in front of Forman Mills. They slam each other into lampposts and brick walls before returning to the venue. They battle their way back to the ring, leaving a path of destruction. They return to the inside and battle it out. Duke displays his technical prowess, unloading with a few variations of suplexes. After a few more moments of fighting it out, Duke lands the piledriver. He locks on the Duke Lock. The crowd erupts. Murphy is fading fast, but he won't tap. Eventually, he passes out and the referee awards the match to George Duke. Before Duke can leave, he is presented with a trophy.[/color]
"George Duke - for outstanding service"
Duke is honored and shakes hands on his way to the back. He is congratulated by the boys in the locker room, and is finally left alone. He sits by himself, looking into the mirror. He did alright, only a small cut above the eye. It probably won't even need any stitches. Big Bear Murphy, on the other hand, is on his way to the hospital with a concussion. Tomorrow, George Duke leaves his city once more to make residence in Kansas City. It was a great farewell to his hometown and possibly his only strong supporters. Philly fans are the best in the world, whether they are booing Santa Clause or throwing batteries at baseball players. This is Duke's home - and as the saying goes - You can take George Duke out of Philly, but you can't take Philly out of George Duke. He'll take it with him. This was church for George - this was a religious experience. A good fight, blood and sweat. The crowd cheering out of genuine respect. They weren't cheering his gimmick, they weren't cheering a catchphrase - they weren't laughing or making fun. They were cheering, because they respect the sport. It was beautiful. It's a great pick me up, and it will certainly energize George for his 8-man Tag.
"It's beautiful to be a part of such a thing. Too bad you Kansas City jerks have no idea what it's like. We can say what we want about our opponents this week, but at least they are real wrestlers... well, most of them. They're not just some new bums from an outside promotion with gimmicky names. I won't name names, hehe."
Duke wipes his face with a rag in the sink. He sits back and cracks open a beer. He gazes at the modest, but honorous trophy.
"You see, trophies are like championships - but you keep them for life. They mean you're the best. Something Lance wouldn't know much about. But it's true - I am the best. I'm not some scumbag and I'm not a Ninja. I'm a God D*mn wrestler. I'm lucky enough to be on a team of the same. Black and Bloodmoon - they know what the game is. They know what they're doing and any sane man would quit the sport rather than face them. Pickles is my Philadelphia kin - he knows what I've experienced here tonight. He understands, because he's been a part of it. He's a smart man, something that will easily give him the advantage over The Horseman. Christ, I feel dirty even saying that. If for no other reason, you boys will get a thrashing just for using that name."
Duke sits back and relaxes, riding the wave of emotion and adrenaline. It's a rush, and tomorrow he must fly back to Missouri to start again. He'll be in a new place. but he'll be taking the fight with him.
The bells sounds and Murphy charges, but gets thrown to the outside. Duke follows, raining down heavy blows and slamming knees into the hunched over Murphy. In less than a minute of the match, Murphy is bleeding. Duke notices and gnaws on his opponent's forehead. They battle around the former bingo hall, using everything they find. They spill out onto the street, fighting in front of Forman Mills. They slam each other into lampposts and brick walls before returning to the venue. They battle their way back to the ring, leaving a path of destruction. They return to the inside and battle it out. Duke displays his technical prowess, unloading with a few variations of suplexes. After a few more moments of fighting it out, Duke lands the piledriver. He locks on the Duke Lock. The crowd erupts. Murphy is fading fast, but he won't tap. Eventually, he passes out and the referee awards the match to George Duke. Before Duke can leave, he is presented with a trophy.[/color]
"George Duke - for outstanding service"
Duke is honored and shakes hands on his way to the back. He is congratulated by the boys in the locker room, and is finally left alone. He sits by himself, looking into the mirror. He did alright, only a small cut above the eye. It probably won't even need any stitches. Big Bear Murphy, on the other hand, is on his way to the hospital with a concussion. Tomorrow, George Duke leaves his city once more to make residence in Kansas City. It was a great farewell to his hometown and possibly his only strong supporters. Philly fans are the best in the world, whether they are booing Santa Clause or throwing batteries at baseball players. This is Duke's home - and as the saying goes - You can take George Duke out of Philly, but you can't take Philly out of George Duke. He'll take it with him. This was church for George - this was a religious experience. A good fight, blood and sweat. The crowd cheering out of genuine respect. They weren't cheering his gimmick, they weren't cheering a catchphrase - they weren't laughing or making fun. They were cheering, because they respect the sport. It was beautiful. It's a great pick me up, and it will certainly energize George for his 8-man Tag.
"It's beautiful to be a part of such a thing. Too bad you Kansas City jerks have no idea what it's like. We can say what we want about our opponents this week, but at least they are real wrestlers... well, most of them. They're not just some new bums from an outside promotion with gimmicky names. I won't name names, hehe."
Duke wipes his face with a rag in the sink. He sits back and cracks open a beer. He gazes at the modest, but honorous trophy.
"You see, trophies are like championships - but you keep them for life. They mean you're the best. Something Lance wouldn't know much about. But it's true - I am the best. I'm not some scumbag and I'm not a Ninja. I'm a God D*mn wrestler. I'm lucky enough to be on a team of the same. Black and Bloodmoon - they know what the game is. They know what they're doing and any sane man would quit the sport rather than face them. Pickles is my Philadelphia kin - he knows what I've experienced here tonight. He understands, because he's been a part of it. He's a smart man, something that will easily give him the advantage over The Horseman. Christ, I feel dirty even saying that. If for no other reason, you boys will get a thrashing just for using that name."
Duke sits back and relaxes, riding the wave of emotion and adrenaline. It's a rush, and tomorrow he must fly back to Missouri to start again. He'll be in a new place. but he'll be taking the fight with him.
