Post by Jack Hammond on Oct 17, 2009 4:48:07 GMT -6
Just outside of Minnesota, on a dark and rain-slicked highway, a car sits beside the state limits sign which welcomes any and all visitors who dare venture further with large, white lettering. The car itself is pulled off the road to one side, the occasional vehicle passing with a swish of tyres on wet tarmac and a brief flash of headlights that light up the occupant inside, his face still slightly shadowed by the darkness that surrounds him. Over all of this comes a voice that sounds all-too familiar as it begins.
"Whenever you step away from something for a while, it tends to be that you can find it difficult to simply jump back in. No matter how good you were at it, no matter how much you can enjoy it, you've got to be careful not to get ahead of yourself and think everything will fall back into place...that everything will immediately go back to the way it was."
The shadowy figure in the car seems to shift uncomfortably, his eyes flitting back and forth along the road, silently following the cars and trucks that power on by.
"It could be likened to riding a bike at times, but in this case, falling off said bike isn't going to result in nothing more than a grazed knee. With each wobble and misplaced pedal, there's a bunch of people waiting for me to fall and pull me down, to humiliate and destroy me."
There's an audible sigh as the figure scratches his head, his messy mop of hair being tousled even more.
"The reason I left in the first place was thanks mostly in part to the wheels just coming straight off my bike. I'd been a champion mere months before and there I was, barely able to keep wobbling along. So I decided before I fell and crashed out, I'd get off and walk away. No point in trying to keep a bike going if it's falling apart under you."
A small shrug passes through his shoulders, his eyes turning upwards to gaze at the raindrops spattering against the windscreen, his voice lost momentarily.
"And now I want to clamber back onto this bike and I'm in a match against a young up-and-comer, Blackheart in the warmup show at Road To The Gold III. A match that I should be treating with care and caution considering the size of this man...very much reminds me of one of my first matches with Jackhammer. Considering my size, it'd be best if I were to be conservative and try to work from a more intelligent angle, carefully making sure not to slip up and leave myself open and offering myself to yet more humiliation and suffering at a match that could define if I get back to wrestling for gold any time soon, or if become the nCw's whipping boy."
The figure makes a small movement towards the dashboard of the car, before letting his hands rest on the wheel, his fingers tapping rhythmically and nervously on the leather-bound instrument. Outside the car, all traffic seems to have stopped, the only sound that can be heard aside from the man's nervous tapping is the sound of falling rain.
"...yeah...take it easy. Take it step-by-step...be subtle."
There's a sudden roar of noise, the '69 Mustang bellowing into life, the headlights firing up to blind the camera, the rear wheels tweeting as they scrabble for grip on the slick tarmac. The back end of the car bucks before some grip is finally found and the car tears away past the sign into the state of Minnesota, rocketing away down the wet road. As it begins to fade from view, the camera angle switches to inside the vehicle, an all-too familiar grinning face hoving into view, his features now clearer, his eyes alight with mischief as they focus on the road ahead.
"That said, subtlety never was one of my strongest points."
He reaches down to shift gear up, the Mustang bucking and bellowing beneath him as his grin only increases in size, threatening to split his head in two from the force of it. Eventually, he slows, the dark scenery flitting past the windows a little less quickly as Jack Hammond glances at the dash-mounted camera.
"Yes, The Hamster, it would seem, is back. Now I do realize that it has been a while since I last graced the screens and a few things have changed since I left. For one, the smug git that is Adam Knite is no longer holding any gold, we've had enough new people arrive to make me wonder if I haven't walked through the door of another wrestling company, and I've lost my parking space in the arena to the Janitor, which does sting a little. I do realize that when I left, I'd seen enough losses to make Bad Luck Chuck feel sorry for me and that it may take quite some time to get anywhere near where I used to be. As a consequence, I'm not going to make excuses and bitch and moan about having to face Blackheart, because Lord knows I could use some experience against some of the rookies to see where I stand now."
He nods to himself, mulling over his next words carefully.
"So, I go into this match against a muscle-bound, hulk of a man who wears a mask. All the time. Even to the gym. Now I may be flirting with disaster here if I even breathe any sort of insult towards a guy who could use me as a dumbbell, but wouldn't that get a bit awkward? What if you get an itchy nose? Or he wants to eat a pie? Honestly, I can see the appeal of wearing a mask or facepaint to intimidate people, to add a certain layer of mystique to your persona, but in terms of practicality, it's right up there with a DVD Rewinder."
Hammond shrugs, trying to suppress a fit of giggles that threatens to spoil this little rant of his.
"Or, at the very least, you could try setting your promo in a place that adds to the whole mask schtick...say, a dark room, where you have a single lightbulb casting rather ominous shadows on the creases of your mask, your eyes glinting dangerously through the holes as you growl your demands or threats at your enemies. Trying to pull off 'threatening' in a gym and walking around like you've got a business meeting at 3'o clock isn't really gonna have the same effect."
He pauses and manages another shrug as he reclines in his seat slightly, looking more relaxed as the speed once again decreases.
"Now, I'll admit I spend a bit too much time talking about matches whilst in cars and that can't be healthy for me; the doctors say that I may actually sweat motor oil now. But it's what I like and it's what I'm true to; blasting along and enjoying myself, getting a kick out of not exactly knowing what's ahead...keeping myself on my toes. And when I get back into that ring on Sunday, I'm going to be treating it in exactly the same way."
Jack's grin once again returns to his face, an eyebrow arching towards his hairline as he continues.
"Oh, and a small piece of advice Mr Blackheart; when you say you're going to experiment with the Hamster, be very careful about who hears it...they may just misconstrue your meaning. But nevertheless, good luck. I intend to show you that I'm going to stay right where I am in nCw; opposite you...a man wearing a mask and with an apparent clown fixation."
Hammond chuckles before stomping on the throttle and rocketing away down the road, the Mustang's exhaust roaring away and the taillights fading into the rain-slick blackness as the comeback promo ends.
"Whenever you step away from something for a while, it tends to be that you can find it difficult to simply jump back in. No matter how good you were at it, no matter how much you can enjoy it, you've got to be careful not to get ahead of yourself and think everything will fall back into place...that everything will immediately go back to the way it was."
The shadowy figure in the car seems to shift uncomfortably, his eyes flitting back and forth along the road, silently following the cars and trucks that power on by.
"It could be likened to riding a bike at times, but in this case, falling off said bike isn't going to result in nothing more than a grazed knee. With each wobble and misplaced pedal, there's a bunch of people waiting for me to fall and pull me down, to humiliate and destroy me."
There's an audible sigh as the figure scratches his head, his messy mop of hair being tousled even more.
"The reason I left in the first place was thanks mostly in part to the wheels just coming straight off my bike. I'd been a champion mere months before and there I was, barely able to keep wobbling along. So I decided before I fell and crashed out, I'd get off and walk away. No point in trying to keep a bike going if it's falling apart under you."
A small shrug passes through his shoulders, his eyes turning upwards to gaze at the raindrops spattering against the windscreen, his voice lost momentarily.
"And now I want to clamber back onto this bike and I'm in a match against a young up-and-comer, Blackheart in the warmup show at Road To The Gold III. A match that I should be treating with care and caution considering the size of this man...very much reminds me of one of my first matches with Jackhammer. Considering my size, it'd be best if I were to be conservative and try to work from a more intelligent angle, carefully making sure not to slip up and leave myself open and offering myself to yet more humiliation and suffering at a match that could define if I get back to wrestling for gold any time soon, or if become the nCw's whipping boy."
The figure makes a small movement towards the dashboard of the car, before letting his hands rest on the wheel, his fingers tapping rhythmically and nervously on the leather-bound instrument. Outside the car, all traffic seems to have stopped, the only sound that can be heard aside from the man's nervous tapping is the sound of falling rain.
"...yeah...take it easy. Take it step-by-step...be subtle."
There's a sudden roar of noise, the '69 Mustang bellowing into life, the headlights firing up to blind the camera, the rear wheels tweeting as they scrabble for grip on the slick tarmac. The back end of the car bucks before some grip is finally found and the car tears away past the sign into the state of Minnesota, rocketing away down the wet road. As it begins to fade from view, the camera angle switches to inside the vehicle, an all-too familiar grinning face hoving into view, his features now clearer, his eyes alight with mischief as they focus on the road ahead.
"That said, subtlety never was one of my strongest points."
He reaches down to shift gear up, the Mustang bucking and bellowing beneath him as his grin only increases in size, threatening to split his head in two from the force of it. Eventually, he slows, the dark scenery flitting past the windows a little less quickly as Jack Hammond glances at the dash-mounted camera.
"Yes, The Hamster, it would seem, is back. Now I do realize that it has been a while since I last graced the screens and a few things have changed since I left. For one, the smug git that is Adam Knite is no longer holding any gold, we've had enough new people arrive to make me wonder if I haven't walked through the door of another wrestling company, and I've lost my parking space in the arena to the Janitor, which does sting a little. I do realize that when I left, I'd seen enough losses to make Bad Luck Chuck feel sorry for me and that it may take quite some time to get anywhere near where I used to be. As a consequence, I'm not going to make excuses and bitch and moan about having to face Blackheart, because Lord knows I could use some experience against some of the rookies to see where I stand now."
He nods to himself, mulling over his next words carefully.
"So, I go into this match against a muscle-bound, hulk of a man who wears a mask. All the time. Even to the gym. Now I may be flirting with disaster here if I even breathe any sort of insult towards a guy who could use me as a dumbbell, but wouldn't that get a bit awkward? What if you get an itchy nose? Or he wants to eat a pie? Honestly, I can see the appeal of wearing a mask or facepaint to intimidate people, to add a certain layer of mystique to your persona, but in terms of practicality, it's right up there with a DVD Rewinder."
Hammond shrugs, trying to suppress a fit of giggles that threatens to spoil this little rant of his.
"Or, at the very least, you could try setting your promo in a place that adds to the whole mask schtick...say, a dark room, where you have a single lightbulb casting rather ominous shadows on the creases of your mask, your eyes glinting dangerously through the holes as you growl your demands or threats at your enemies. Trying to pull off 'threatening' in a gym and walking around like you've got a business meeting at 3'o clock isn't really gonna have the same effect."
He pauses and manages another shrug as he reclines in his seat slightly, looking more relaxed as the speed once again decreases.
"Now, I'll admit I spend a bit too much time talking about matches whilst in cars and that can't be healthy for me; the doctors say that I may actually sweat motor oil now. But it's what I like and it's what I'm true to; blasting along and enjoying myself, getting a kick out of not exactly knowing what's ahead...keeping myself on my toes. And when I get back into that ring on Sunday, I'm going to be treating it in exactly the same way."
Jack's grin once again returns to his face, an eyebrow arching towards his hairline as he continues.
"Oh, and a small piece of advice Mr Blackheart; when you say you're going to experiment with the Hamster, be very careful about who hears it...they may just misconstrue your meaning. But nevertheless, good luck. I intend to show you that I'm going to stay right where I am in nCw; opposite you...a man wearing a mask and with an apparent clown fixation."
Hammond chuckles before stomping on the throttle and rocketing away down the road, the Mustang's exhaust roaring away and the taillights fading into the rain-slick blackness as the comeback promo ends.