Post by Chris Card on Aug 1, 2017 19:20:51 GMT
Seated in a well decked out studio in downtown Moscow, Chris Card takes a long slow drag on an expensive Cuban cigar and casually flicks the dead ash from the end into an ashtray which is perched on top of the walnut wood desk he is relaxing behind. Removing his designer shades from their position perched up his nose, he reclines a little further in the black leather armchair. His casual demeanour seems ill matched to the expensive suit, the highest fashion in modern businesswear, that adorns his chiselled physique. Flashing a smile towards the hard camera that is fixed across from his position, Card calmly begins his maiden speech as a member of the IWF roster.
~~~~~~~
Moscow. If there was ever a city to make your debut, then this is it. And where more appropriate to start your career in the Imperial Wrestling Federation than the capital of an empire? Where better to start than the place they called the Third Rome? A city of such history, such drama, such great stories passed down from generation to generation is such a fitting locale for my IWF story to begin. Some day, far in the future, Muscovite children will be able to look back upon this moment and ask their grandparents about the day they saw Chris Card and the old Russian man, or woman will turn to the youngsters and say with the pride that only the truly blessed can muster,
“Yes. I was there. I was there when Chris Card kicked someone in the face.”
Of course it’s not the most descriptive of statements. But it’s bitingly accurate. Because I can tell you, the gathered masses of fans who are clutching your tickets in excitement, the millions of loyal legionaries of the IWF Army who will be tuning in at home to watch this week’s television broadcast or have their subscriptions down for the IWF Network at the more than reasonable price of $9.99 a month, that is exactly what I have planned.
Judging by the response I received in Köln, there will be many of you out there who know exactly who I am. But for those who aren’t, please allow me to explain. I am Chris Card. I have been a professional wrestler for a very long time. I have won recognition, fame and titles outside of the IWF. But that isn’t important. What is important is what I’m going to achieve going forward within it. I aim to entertain and excite. I aim to have the dirtsheets and critics fawning over my matches. I aim to win matches, win titles and win over those who would doubt my skills.
And cheat.
Let me make this abundantly clear. I am not a man who lies. I have always been upfront about what a dirty, despicable, underhanded rogue I am. I take shortcuts. But wouldn’t you, too, given half a chance? I mean that phrase, “Taking shortcuts.” Who doesn’t want to shave a few minutes off their journey times? Ask yourself a question, dear viewer. Do you feel that life weighs you down with rules and regulations? Do you dream of a day when that pressure was lifted from your shoulders and you were left to run free and chase those dreams you have always had? Good. Because I have. And I dreamt big. And I lifted that weight. And I ran longer and harder and faster than any man has ever run before.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not in the business of throwing away matches to make a point. It makes no sense to me that people go out there to get disqualified because they just have to make a statement. That, to me, isn’t a moral victory. It goes down in the history books as a loss. And I am not about racking up losses. Not that morals overly bother me, you understand, after all as my music says, “Never let a sense of morals prevent me from doing what is right.” But when push comes to shove what gets written down in the win-loss column is of paramount importance to me. Winning is right. And if that involves a little, how should I put this, “Vincere decipiat,” then I am perfectly fine with this. It isn’t my job to enforce the rules, you should go have a pleasant little chat with the refereeing staff about that.
Not that I can’t wrestle legitimately, you realize. I have enough nous about me to wrestle anyone into the shape of a pretzel. I have cross trained in Mixed Martial Arts, broadening the variety of the offense that I can provide in the ring into a series of holds that will compress a man’s spine in ways that will make your chiropractor ask for a sizeable raise. And I have been regarded as one of the most proficient strikers in the industry due to my martial arts background. Which nicely brings me back to the point I raised earlier.
Gibberg. I don’t know you. I have studied tapes, what little of them there are, and you are one of the most heart warming stories in the whole of the IWF, if not the whole sphere of professional wrestling worldwide. But I am going to kick you in the face. You are something, someone that every fan who sits in the seats, pays the ticket money and tilts there head up at the ring to watch can relate to. But I am going to kick you in the face. Every person inside in the arena who has ever though, “I could be a wrestler,” looks at your career and it offers just a glimmer of hope for them. But I am going to kick you in the face. I am not going to do this out of malice, out of spite. I don’t bear grudges, I don’t perceive you as some great enemy to be crushed for merely daring to stand in my path. But I am going to kick you in the face. And that old Russian grandparent, far off into the future will look down, remembering the distance past, scanning through those bleary memories of a cool August evening in Moscow and will tell his grandchild with pride.
“I was there when Chris Card kicked someone in the face.”
DEAL WITH IT.
~~~~~~~
Moscow. If there was ever a city to make your debut, then this is it. And where more appropriate to start your career in the Imperial Wrestling Federation than the capital of an empire? Where better to start than the place they called the Third Rome? A city of such history, such drama, such great stories passed down from generation to generation is such a fitting locale for my IWF story to begin. Some day, far in the future, Muscovite children will be able to look back upon this moment and ask their grandparents about the day they saw Chris Card and the old Russian man, or woman will turn to the youngsters and say with the pride that only the truly blessed can muster,
“Yes. I was there. I was there when Chris Card kicked someone in the face.”
Of course it’s not the most descriptive of statements. But it’s bitingly accurate. Because I can tell you, the gathered masses of fans who are clutching your tickets in excitement, the millions of loyal legionaries of the IWF Army who will be tuning in at home to watch this week’s television broadcast or have their subscriptions down for the IWF Network at the more than reasonable price of $9.99 a month, that is exactly what I have planned.
Judging by the response I received in Köln, there will be many of you out there who know exactly who I am. But for those who aren’t, please allow me to explain. I am Chris Card. I have been a professional wrestler for a very long time. I have won recognition, fame and titles outside of the IWF. But that isn’t important. What is important is what I’m going to achieve going forward within it. I aim to entertain and excite. I aim to have the dirtsheets and critics fawning over my matches. I aim to win matches, win titles and win over those who would doubt my skills.
And cheat.
Let me make this abundantly clear. I am not a man who lies. I have always been upfront about what a dirty, despicable, underhanded rogue I am. I take shortcuts. But wouldn’t you, too, given half a chance? I mean that phrase, “Taking shortcuts.” Who doesn’t want to shave a few minutes off their journey times? Ask yourself a question, dear viewer. Do you feel that life weighs you down with rules and regulations? Do you dream of a day when that pressure was lifted from your shoulders and you were left to run free and chase those dreams you have always had? Good. Because I have. And I dreamt big. And I lifted that weight. And I ran longer and harder and faster than any man has ever run before.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not in the business of throwing away matches to make a point. It makes no sense to me that people go out there to get disqualified because they just have to make a statement. That, to me, isn’t a moral victory. It goes down in the history books as a loss. And I am not about racking up losses. Not that morals overly bother me, you understand, after all as my music says, “Never let a sense of morals prevent me from doing what is right.” But when push comes to shove what gets written down in the win-loss column is of paramount importance to me. Winning is right. And if that involves a little, how should I put this, “Vincere decipiat,” then I am perfectly fine with this. It isn’t my job to enforce the rules, you should go have a pleasant little chat with the refereeing staff about that.
Not that I can’t wrestle legitimately, you realize. I have enough nous about me to wrestle anyone into the shape of a pretzel. I have cross trained in Mixed Martial Arts, broadening the variety of the offense that I can provide in the ring into a series of holds that will compress a man’s spine in ways that will make your chiropractor ask for a sizeable raise. And I have been regarded as one of the most proficient strikers in the industry due to my martial arts background. Which nicely brings me back to the point I raised earlier.
Gibberg. I don’t know you. I have studied tapes, what little of them there are, and you are one of the most heart warming stories in the whole of the IWF, if not the whole sphere of professional wrestling worldwide. But I am going to kick you in the face. You are something, someone that every fan who sits in the seats, pays the ticket money and tilts there head up at the ring to watch can relate to. But I am going to kick you in the face. Every person inside in the arena who has ever though, “I could be a wrestler,” looks at your career and it offers just a glimmer of hope for them. But I am going to kick you in the face. I am not going to do this out of malice, out of spite. I don’t bear grudges, I don’t perceive you as some great enemy to be crushed for merely daring to stand in my path. But I am going to kick you in the face. And that old Russian grandparent, far off into the future will look down, remembering the distance past, scanning through those bleary memories of a cool August evening in Moscow and will tell his grandchild with pride.
“I was there when Chris Card kicked someone in the face.”
DEAL WITH IT.
Well howdy there pardner.