Post by Will Riley on Jul 7, 2021 8:53:55 GMT -5
“It just had to be a battle royal. Didn’t it.”
Portland, Oregon is experiencing what some in the know have called a heat dome. The other day the Rose City wilted under one hundred degree plus temperatures. The only precip came off of the human bodies who had need or a desire to brave the out of doors, or the largely un-air-conditioned indoors.
So no matter how you cut it, Portland was alive with the scent of sweat, armpit and.. Uh otherwise.
The less said about that the better though.
Will Riley however didn’t sweat. Will Riley was the type of man that not even the heat dome wanted to get his arm mangled by.
This is of course.
Complete Bullshit.
Will Riley had taken to the shade given by a reliable non-metal awning outside of his Snake Pit. He is shirtless, less to show off the physique of a man whose entire schedule consists of training followed by training, but because the shit hanging in his hand is past what one could reasonably consider damp. His ten thousand training shorts are a darker shade of grey, giving an indication that the workout had potentially given him the soak all around.
Will’s hand idly disposes of sweat brushed from his forehead with the kind of nonchalance, you would expect from the professional wrestler.
“You know what I think is pretty amusing about the concept of a battle royal? You get a bunch of bodies together, put ‘em in the blender, give ‘em a spin, and someone.
someone
Thinks, resultant to the fact they managed to not fall over the top rope, they are the best wrestler on any given day.
But you and I. I think we can share a secret.”
He motions closer, the frame tightening away from the brick building. The ginger speckled beard and hair glinting with perspiration in the awe-crushing heat and sunlight.
“It’s usually the luckiest wrestler who gets the win.”
Back away.
“Now, last week, at Proving Grounds, Myself and Ulf, we proved out, so to speak, against Cadillac Jackson and Valkyrie. We walked down the aisle and took care of business, and we showed that the sport of professional wrestling is well and alive. It doesn’t take wheedling away the hours on social media, primping for selfies, and any other behavior that takes away from the purity of this sport.
So when I see some of the heavy moaning about having to enter nearly half-way through, I think it’s pretty easy to smirk and know that, you see someone admitting out and out to the fact that they don’t have the cardio to not end up roadside out of gas.
Me?”
Riley shrugs.
“I’m not what you would call worried. Something like this, you put on the running shoes and you find yourself a hill and you run up and down it until you feel like vomiting. Since we’re close enough to Proving Ground I can feel safe in giving away this obvious secret that hills are secret strength work.
A battle royal, it’s not going to come down to who can out wrestle whom. Though I would think after last week, anyone who had doubts about my wrestling ability being overhyped has sat down, put their chin to hand and gotten deep into their own thought process’ on the subject.
But a Battle Royal? It’s not a match anyone specializes in. Saying you are a battle royal specialist is like saying you have a special skill at predicting cards drawn from a deck.”
Riley apes pulling phantom cards from an equally phantom deck. Looking at them pensively and faux turning each card in frustration.
“It comes down to endurance. It comes down to Cardio, and yeah, it’s gonna come down to a little bit of luck. There is a lot of talent in this match. This is a big opportunity. Anyone can strap a rocket to their own back and take a shot at the grand championship.
The sensible part of me?
Not how I want to do it.
The senseless part of myself?
I’m curious to see how much Shelley Ozymandias actually has to him. I know it’s a big long road from a Liberal Arts education at the esteemed Whitman College, and I wouldn’t hold it against him if he felt more inclined to read Graphic Novels. Or his priestess has an appreciation of poetry or the drawn and written word.”
Riley shrugs again, there isn’t a hint of nonchalance to the man. It’s almost humorless, the general sense of measuring a man against his own mythology.
“See, the thing is, one on one, in a no shenanigans wrestling match, the fact he is as big as a house stronger than a bulldozer, and chugs fuel like a Diesel Generator in winter wouldn’t be more than a curiosity, because, Ozymandias has knees, and ankles, and hips and all the other entirely human weaknesses you and I have. Given enough time, and enough strikes. He is about as scary as three-hundred and fifty eight pounds of toddlers dumped in a pile.
The reason, I, Will Riley think rather glibly think this thing is his to lose, is the chaotic nature of a battle royal suits him better than say a pure wrestling match, is it covers up his obvious weaknesses. You look at a big lumbering goober like him and in a battle royal, you’ve got something like nine to eighteen other competitors coming at you. It makes it hard to focus on those weight bearing joints I maybe mentioned earlier.
Of course if you could convince eighteen other people to just work the legs, That would change the entire course of this thing. You could show people that writing your own press releases is a great way to scare children and instagram heroes…”
He proffers his hands palm up and makes the “but you know” face.
“If anyone thinks it would be a good idea to cut down a poetic myth, I’m around, we can even meet up beforehand, go over which leg we’re gonna work over. Maybe turn this into the exact kind of tactical fight I’d much prefer to be in.
I’ll even show you some neato ankle and knee manipulations. Because I frankly don’t want to try and put an armbar on a tree trunk, if you follow me. Might take off that bargain bin mask and give me a good old bite.
Hard. To. Say. “
Riley raises a running shoed foot to the wall, the Sun’s gradual creep inch by inch removing the shade from the awning. He crosses taut arms across his chest, adjusting against the sweat. Wincing as he looks at the retreating shade.
“The thing is. I’m not concerned about my early draw into this thing. The level of talent is what I signed up to try myself against. It’s the general notion of chaos and the lack of beauty that a battle royal produces that makes me hesitate.
How do you practice not getting thrown over the top rope? How do you adjust to every situation as it is fluidly dynamic from moment to moment.
I frankly don’t know.
No one does.
Anyone says they can?
Well I guess you could always take over for Clark Gable at the guess a number table in National Lampoon yeah?
The thing is, I’m gonna launch myself into the fray early. I’m not gonna worry so much about putting on a wrestling clinic, or even much of a wrestling match. I don’t got eyes in the back of my head, and while I certainly believe in the honor that Ulf portrays, he wants a shot at the Grand Championship as much as man does.
This proving ground isn’t about so much as who is the best wrestler, the best prepared tactically, as to who is going to spin the roulette wheel and either get the number. Or get real close to the number.
I think you can’t go into this without believing you have a shot at winning, otherwise, what’s the point. You know?”
Riley jabs a finger.
“But you can’t think that if you see the roulette ball spin around the wood, that it might not be your day, no matter how much you try to swing it in your direction…
A fair ball is gonna land where it’s gonna land.
If the ball ain’t fair? I can’t do much for or against that, because I’m not gonna figure out how to minmax the battle royal. I’m gonna get on the plane, I’m gonna give it my best. But I’m not gonna hang too much on this one. I might even sit on the beach if luck ain’t on my side, go for a hike in the grampians.
You can shorten the journey as much as possible at proving ground. But it’s not about the destination if you didn’t take the journey the right way.
All I know is, Proving Ground is where I am building my legacy as a wrestler. I am going to build it brick by brick. The right way.
Not because I care too much about what anyone else thinks.
But because I know I can get to the same point. Without compromise, with sacrificing honor."
Riley uncrosses his arms, puts both feet back on terra firma, and wanders inside the Snake Pit, where no doubt, his press manager is waiting to have him film something else for Project Honor, involving skyscrapers and other ephemera completely incongruous to him.
Portland, Oregon is experiencing what some in the know have called a heat dome. The other day the Rose City wilted under one hundred degree plus temperatures. The only precip came off of the human bodies who had need or a desire to brave the out of doors, or the largely un-air-conditioned indoors.
So no matter how you cut it, Portland was alive with the scent of sweat, armpit and.. Uh otherwise.
The less said about that the better though.
Will Riley however didn’t sweat. Will Riley was the type of man that not even the heat dome wanted to get his arm mangled by.
This is of course.
Complete Bullshit.
Will Riley had taken to the shade given by a reliable non-metal awning outside of his Snake Pit. He is shirtless, less to show off the physique of a man whose entire schedule consists of training followed by training, but because the shit hanging in his hand is past what one could reasonably consider damp. His ten thousand training shorts are a darker shade of grey, giving an indication that the workout had potentially given him the soak all around.
Will’s hand idly disposes of sweat brushed from his forehead with the kind of nonchalance, you would expect from the professional wrestler.
“You know what I think is pretty amusing about the concept of a battle royal? You get a bunch of bodies together, put ‘em in the blender, give ‘em a spin, and someone.
someone
Thinks, resultant to the fact they managed to not fall over the top rope, they are the best wrestler on any given day.
But you and I. I think we can share a secret.”
He motions closer, the frame tightening away from the brick building. The ginger speckled beard and hair glinting with perspiration in the awe-crushing heat and sunlight.
“It’s usually the luckiest wrestler who gets the win.”
Back away.
“Now, last week, at Proving Grounds, Myself and Ulf, we proved out, so to speak, against Cadillac Jackson and Valkyrie. We walked down the aisle and took care of business, and we showed that the sport of professional wrestling is well and alive. It doesn’t take wheedling away the hours on social media, primping for selfies, and any other behavior that takes away from the purity of this sport.
So when I see some of the heavy moaning about having to enter nearly half-way through, I think it’s pretty easy to smirk and know that, you see someone admitting out and out to the fact that they don’t have the cardio to not end up roadside out of gas.
Me?”
Riley shrugs.
“I’m not what you would call worried. Something like this, you put on the running shoes and you find yourself a hill and you run up and down it until you feel like vomiting. Since we’re close enough to Proving Ground I can feel safe in giving away this obvious secret that hills are secret strength work.
A battle royal, it’s not going to come down to who can out wrestle whom. Though I would think after last week, anyone who had doubts about my wrestling ability being overhyped has sat down, put their chin to hand and gotten deep into their own thought process’ on the subject.
But a Battle Royal? It’s not a match anyone specializes in. Saying you are a battle royal specialist is like saying you have a special skill at predicting cards drawn from a deck.”
Riley apes pulling phantom cards from an equally phantom deck. Looking at them pensively and faux turning each card in frustration.
“It comes down to endurance. It comes down to Cardio, and yeah, it’s gonna come down to a little bit of luck. There is a lot of talent in this match. This is a big opportunity. Anyone can strap a rocket to their own back and take a shot at the grand championship.
The sensible part of me?
Not how I want to do it.
The senseless part of myself?
I’m curious to see how much Shelley Ozymandias actually has to him. I know it’s a big long road from a Liberal Arts education at the esteemed Whitman College, and I wouldn’t hold it against him if he felt more inclined to read Graphic Novels. Or his priestess has an appreciation of poetry or the drawn and written word.”
Riley shrugs again, there isn’t a hint of nonchalance to the man. It’s almost humorless, the general sense of measuring a man against his own mythology.
“See, the thing is, one on one, in a no shenanigans wrestling match, the fact he is as big as a house stronger than a bulldozer, and chugs fuel like a Diesel Generator in winter wouldn’t be more than a curiosity, because, Ozymandias has knees, and ankles, and hips and all the other entirely human weaknesses you and I have. Given enough time, and enough strikes. He is about as scary as three-hundred and fifty eight pounds of toddlers dumped in a pile.
The reason, I, Will Riley think rather glibly think this thing is his to lose, is the chaotic nature of a battle royal suits him better than say a pure wrestling match, is it covers up his obvious weaknesses. You look at a big lumbering goober like him and in a battle royal, you’ve got something like nine to eighteen other competitors coming at you. It makes it hard to focus on those weight bearing joints I maybe mentioned earlier.
Of course if you could convince eighteen other people to just work the legs, That would change the entire course of this thing. You could show people that writing your own press releases is a great way to scare children and instagram heroes…”
He proffers his hands palm up and makes the “but you know” face.
“If anyone thinks it would be a good idea to cut down a poetic myth, I’m around, we can even meet up beforehand, go over which leg we’re gonna work over. Maybe turn this into the exact kind of tactical fight I’d much prefer to be in.
I’ll even show you some neato ankle and knee manipulations. Because I frankly don’t want to try and put an armbar on a tree trunk, if you follow me. Might take off that bargain bin mask and give me a good old bite.
Hard. To. Say. “
Riley raises a running shoed foot to the wall, the Sun’s gradual creep inch by inch removing the shade from the awning. He crosses taut arms across his chest, adjusting against the sweat. Wincing as he looks at the retreating shade.
“The thing is. I’m not concerned about my early draw into this thing. The level of talent is what I signed up to try myself against. It’s the general notion of chaos and the lack of beauty that a battle royal produces that makes me hesitate.
How do you practice not getting thrown over the top rope? How do you adjust to every situation as it is fluidly dynamic from moment to moment.
I frankly don’t know.
No one does.
Anyone says they can?
Well I guess you could always take over for Clark Gable at the guess a number table in National Lampoon yeah?
The thing is, I’m gonna launch myself into the fray early. I’m not gonna worry so much about putting on a wrestling clinic, or even much of a wrestling match. I don’t got eyes in the back of my head, and while I certainly believe in the honor that Ulf portrays, he wants a shot at the Grand Championship as much as man does.
This proving ground isn’t about so much as who is the best wrestler, the best prepared tactically, as to who is going to spin the roulette wheel and either get the number. Or get real close to the number.
I think you can’t go into this without believing you have a shot at winning, otherwise, what’s the point. You know?”
Riley jabs a finger.
“But you can’t think that if you see the roulette ball spin around the wood, that it might not be your day, no matter how much you try to swing it in your direction…
A fair ball is gonna land where it’s gonna land.
If the ball ain’t fair? I can’t do much for or against that, because I’m not gonna figure out how to minmax the battle royal. I’m gonna get on the plane, I’m gonna give it my best. But I’m not gonna hang too much on this one. I might even sit on the beach if luck ain’t on my side, go for a hike in the grampians.
You can shorten the journey as much as possible at proving ground. But it’s not about the destination if you didn’t take the journey the right way.
All I know is, Proving Ground is where I am building my legacy as a wrestler. I am going to build it brick by brick. The right way.
Not because I care too much about what anyone else thinks.
But because I know I can get to the same point. Without compromise, with sacrificing honor."
Riley uncrosses his arms, puts both feet back on terra firma, and wanders inside the Snake Pit, where no doubt, his press manager is waiting to have him film something else for Project Honor, involving skyscrapers and other ephemera completely incongruous to him.
