Post by apollo on Jan 30, 2011 22:09:16 GMT -6
“I’m Apollo Cain…no delete that!”
Apollo reaches up towards the camera and engulfs it in black. The feed pops back in with Apollo sitting in an uncomfortable looking wooden chair. Be wears a black hoody, and some shoddy looking fatigue pants.
“My name is Apollo Cain…”
Apollo stares at the camera, frozen in time.
“I don’t know WHAT to say. I mean…I’ll be brutally honest. I have no idea what I’m doing. This is my first time in a wrestling venture, a wrestling ring…cutting a promo. Anything! Everything! I don’t even know if I’m a part of this company yet. I mean, I haven’t signed any paperwork. I spoke with a woman who told me how to enter into the Fed Cup. I saw the flyer, and in fine print I saw, ANYONE could enter, and recruiters on site..”
Apollo smirks at the camera and shrugs his shoulders.
“Look, half of you have turned away already. Don’t want to hear what the young boy has to say.”
Apollo shakes his head.
“This is my job interview. And Saturday is like on the job training. I’ve got a story to tell…and if you listen, and stick with me. You’ll hear it. Some of you are going to feel it. And that’s not a good thing.”
Apollo takes a deep breath and looks intently into the camera.
“I’m young…22 years old. My birthday is in June. The 23rd to be exact. The first day of Cancer. I’ve been homeless since the age of twelve. I was born in Chicago. My family lived in the Cabrini Green projects, and I had tons of extended family. All was well. Well, my Pops got a job in New York, and the family had to go with him. It was me my mother and Pop. That’s what I called my dad. I was about ten when we left. Things were good for about two years…
Apollo fidgets in front of the camera and grabs for it again. The time stamp says two hours has passed.
“So I’m here now and that’s really all that matters, penciled into the Fed Cup taking place in the Dallas Convention Center. Guys like the Mystic Mauler and Paul Roach look at me like some new guy, ripe for the picking to get tossed out the ring. And you know what…they are completely right. The guy who ends up victorious is going to be some savvy veteran who sat in the cut, and sprung to action at all the right times. Not a green horn looking to earn his bumps and bruises in a sport that has no love for its warriors. I know this won’t be easy…but nothing in my life has been easy. And I’m on the door step of greatness people. Consider yourselves privileged to witness this first hand. From nothing to something. Overnight.”
Apollo stands up and the camera catches his midsection to his knees. He reaches into the pocket on his hoody, he pulls out a piece of paper. He reaches into the pockets of his jeans and rabbit ears them. From his left pocket he pulls some money. He unfolds the 5 bills and shows the camera forty dollars. He waves it in front of the camera like a magic trick. He speaks off camera.
“40 dollars. That’s what I’ve got to my name. No respect. No honor. And no love. The world would be no different if I never even manage to make it to the arena Saturday. No parade. No investigation. It probably wouldn’t even make the news in a metropolitan like this. Shit…who would even report it. Kinda sad. Eh, but it’s life. I’m what the WpW has been missing, a young spirit untainted by the trials and tribulations of the biz. You don’t have to fear me…but you will respect me. Because from bell to bell I’ll show you a man possessed. A man who’s more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose…a person whose life is on the line. I’m fighting for a contract, to all those watching. Lilly, Evil Bastard, Scooter…I may not be the last man standing. But when the bell rings and a winner’s hand is held up, he’s going to be looking over his shoulder, thinking of when they may have to step in the ring with Apollo Cain again.”
Apollo takes off his body and unveils a serious physique. Muscular and statuesque on an ebony Adonis frame. He slaps his left pectoral muscles and begins making his chest jump.
“One piece at a time. That’s how I’m going to be received. You can’t take all the real and uncut in one setting, it’ll take time. This is volume one. Diary of a Mad Black Man. Countdown to Fed Cup. I won’t let you take food off my plate…and I don’t think any one of you people on the roster is ballsy enough to take food from the lion’s mouth. So just know I’m coming WpW. I’m learning…and that’s dangerous and unpredictable. Bad for y’all…Good for tv.”
Apollo makes a goofy face and reaches for the camera he grabs it and begins panning around the room. One bed, a bolted down television, a desk with a microwave on it, and a pair of boots on the floor is all this hotel has to offer. He zooms in next to the microwave to the pack of Top Ramen.
“I went from Oodles of Noodles, to steak and potatoes! From the hood to Hollywood. I’m videotaping it all just in case they don’t believe little ole me from the projects made it. Next time you hear from me cold world…I”ll have a match under my belt and another in my sights.”
Apollo poses in front of a mirror, videotaping as he flexes.
“The key to any building is its foundation. And as you can see, the Gods started me out VERY well.”
The camera scrolls over to the small clock radio, Apollo’s hand presses play. A second passes and horns blow. “Everyday a Star is Born” by Jay Z sweetens the sound in the room.
Apollo reaches up towards the camera and engulfs it in black. The feed pops back in with Apollo sitting in an uncomfortable looking wooden chair. Be wears a black hoody, and some shoddy looking fatigue pants.
“My name is Apollo Cain…”
Apollo stares at the camera, frozen in time.
“I don’t know WHAT to say. I mean…I’ll be brutally honest. I have no idea what I’m doing. This is my first time in a wrestling venture, a wrestling ring…cutting a promo. Anything! Everything! I don’t even know if I’m a part of this company yet. I mean, I haven’t signed any paperwork. I spoke with a woman who told me how to enter into the Fed Cup. I saw the flyer, and in fine print I saw, ANYONE could enter, and recruiters on site..”
Apollo smirks at the camera and shrugs his shoulders.
“Look, half of you have turned away already. Don’t want to hear what the young boy has to say.”
Apollo shakes his head.
“This is my job interview. And Saturday is like on the job training. I’ve got a story to tell…and if you listen, and stick with me. You’ll hear it. Some of you are going to feel it. And that’s not a good thing.”
Apollo takes a deep breath and looks intently into the camera.
“I’m young…22 years old. My birthday is in June. The 23rd to be exact. The first day of Cancer. I’ve been homeless since the age of twelve. I was born in Chicago. My family lived in the Cabrini Green projects, and I had tons of extended family. All was well. Well, my Pops got a job in New York, and the family had to go with him. It was me my mother and Pop. That’s what I called my dad. I was about ten when we left. Things were good for about two years…
Apollo fidgets in front of the camera and grabs for it again. The time stamp says two hours has passed.
“So I’m here now and that’s really all that matters, penciled into the Fed Cup taking place in the Dallas Convention Center. Guys like the Mystic Mauler and Paul Roach look at me like some new guy, ripe for the picking to get tossed out the ring. And you know what…they are completely right. The guy who ends up victorious is going to be some savvy veteran who sat in the cut, and sprung to action at all the right times. Not a green horn looking to earn his bumps and bruises in a sport that has no love for its warriors. I know this won’t be easy…but nothing in my life has been easy. And I’m on the door step of greatness people. Consider yourselves privileged to witness this first hand. From nothing to something. Overnight.”
Apollo stands up and the camera catches his midsection to his knees. He reaches into the pocket on his hoody, he pulls out a piece of paper. He reaches into the pockets of his jeans and rabbit ears them. From his left pocket he pulls some money. He unfolds the 5 bills and shows the camera forty dollars. He waves it in front of the camera like a magic trick. He speaks off camera.
“40 dollars. That’s what I’ve got to my name. No respect. No honor. And no love. The world would be no different if I never even manage to make it to the arena Saturday. No parade. No investigation. It probably wouldn’t even make the news in a metropolitan like this. Shit…who would even report it. Kinda sad. Eh, but it’s life. I’m what the WpW has been missing, a young spirit untainted by the trials and tribulations of the biz. You don’t have to fear me…but you will respect me. Because from bell to bell I’ll show you a man possessed. A man who’s more dangerous than someone with nothing to lose…a person whose life is on the line. I’m fighting for a contract, to all those watching. Lilly, Evil Bastard, Scooter…I may not be the last man standing. But when the bell rings and a winner’s hand is held up, he’s going to be looking over his shoulder, thinking of when they may have to step in the ring with Apollo Cain again.”
Apollo takes off his body and unveils a serious physique. Muscular and statuesque on an ebony Adonis frame. He slaps his left pectoral muscles and begins making his chest jump.
“One piece at a time. That’s how I’m going to be received. You can’t take all the real and uncut in one setting, it’ll take time. This is volume one. Diary of a Mad Black Man. Countdown to Fed Cup. I won’t let you take food off my plate…and I don’t think any one of you people on the roster is ballsy enough to take food from the lion’s mouth. So just know I’m coming WpW. I’m learning…and that’s dangerous and unpredictable. Bad for y’all…Good for tv.”
Apollo makes a goofy face and reaches for the camera he grabs it and begins panning around the room. One bed, a bolted down television, a desk with a microwave on it, and a pair of boots on the floor is all this hotel has to offer. He zooms in next to the microwave to the pack of Top Ramen.
“I went from Oodles of Noodles, to steak and potatoes! From the hood to Hollywood. I’m videotaping it all just in case they don’t believe little ole me from the projects made it. Next time you hear from me cold world…I”ll have a match under my belt and another in my sights.”
Apollo poses in front of a mirror, videotaping as he flexes.
“The key to any building is its foundation. And as you can see, the Gods started me out VERY well.”
The camera scrolls over to the small clock radio, Apollo’s hand presses play. A second passes and horns blow. “Everyday a Star is Born” by Jay Z sweetens the sound in the room.
