It's best to have failure happen early in life. It wakes up the Phoenix bird in you so you rise from the ashes.
-Anne Baxter
After two successive loses True Brit Johnny Brown has climbed out of a pit of failure to become a winner. What a time to do it, in round one of the tournament to determine the number one contender to the SCW title.
As stinging as his early losses were a shot at the big gold belt; and the money it would bring, takes the edge off. One of those loses came the hand of one of his opponent this week, the enigmatic Palerider known as Goth.
Much like Goth the day is dark and dreary; showers come and go leaving behind a few bedraggled tourists and locals. One tourist; having grown up in the country of bad weather; England, isn’t fazed by intermittent downpours is Johnny Brown.
His bomber jacket is zipped up to protect him from the winds. His aviators are still in place despite the inclement weather. The gravel crunches under his shiny Airware as he walks alongside the Rhine, one of the longest and most important rivers in Europe. Despite this fact the rippling body of water is just that to Johnny. He doesn’t care that it formed the frontier of the Roman Empire he wants to skim stones on it.
Unable to beat his early set record of 6 he has started to ‘loosely’ target birds, the feathered kind that is. No-one has done anything other than tut. If the German robotic efficiency stories are true perhaps a few have wanted to give him advice on how to hit the retreating ducks with greater speed and precision.
JB: Where do I start? A few xenophobic jibes? How about a goosestep? That’s illegal you know. Ah I know how about a dodgy accent and a tiny moustache?
I am English after all.
A quick shoulder barge send a lycra clad jogger into the drink with a yell and a splash. Johnny mouths Oops, grabs the life ring and tosses it into the water, deliberately away from the floundering German keep fit enthusiast.
JB: Ya see I do love me country, an’ I’m proud of the other True Brits that make it Great. But that don’t mean I have ta hates the Germans cos of a war or a football match before I was born.
I’m not a brainless sheep lead by the red top press into bleating when they say. I don’t hate the Germans because they tell me to; I hate them because I want to.
Now I could explain why I hate them in a series of colourful tales and anecdotes. Fill out airtime because I don’t have the balls ta say what I wanna about me opponent. I’ll leave that to the rest of the roster. Men like me, an’ although it pains me to admit it Goth, we don’t worry about offending any of you f*ckers, the pc brigade can suck my fat one.
A mother taking her children for a lunchtime stroll covers their eyes to save them from Johnny’s crotch-grabbing antics. Brown just laughs. He stares the mother in the yes, still with his hand full with manhood.
JB: You know ya want it! Go shave yer legs an’ discover vag wax and we can talk fräulein. Yeah do one, that’s right keep walking…
Nice ass tho, I’d hit it.
I cannot afford to be distracted by bits of f*nny I have a title ta win.
Next week live from right here in Dusseldorf at Climax Control I will show all of the sausage stuffing German Sinners that I am the next SCW Heavyweight Champion.
Nick Jones, you’d better get ready, you haven’t faced someone as good as me before. When we meet at London’s Brawling we will see it you can truly back it up you cocky sonnova b*tch…
A look of real hatred curls back Johnny’s lip, his nose is pulled into a snarl. He’s met people like Nick Jones before, and he’s not liked any of them. Before his mind can wander too far into his past he shakes his head to snap himself back to reality.
JB: That’s then an’ this is now. Right now I have two matches between me and a shot at immortality.
My first opponent is set in stone; Goth, a man who has already beaten me in Sin-C-Dub. Then later against the winner of the Rage/ Convict Cage match.
First I’ll address the Deadly Dutchman, yep he’s beaten me already, a fact he will no doubt repeat ad naseum, the thing is bruv I didn’t lose that match, Jared Black did but that’s just a technicality, one that I’m gonna erase when I destroy the Palerider when its one-on-one.
He knew he couldn’t beat me so he targeted the weak link, I gotta give props for his brain, if I do doubt his balls. A true man would have looked at the biggest threat in the match; me. He shoulda walked right smacked me in the head and made a statement.
I guess his little Dutch cheese-balls were tucked up inside of him, leaving him too scared to fight like a man. Like an English man would.
Goth, despite his front is scared, he hides behind the paint, behind the smoke an’ mirrors to create a persona that’s scares his opponents into submission before he even steps foot into the ring. Not me freak; I have the bulldog spirit, I don’t back down, when my jaws locked you aint getting free.
The E.D.L. will hit you so hard it’ll wipe the greasepaint off yer face. Me Chelsea Grin will knock that stupid voice ya do right outta yer body.
I’ll strip to down to yer core, then we can see who is the better man, I will expose the demonic one as a mere mortal.
Then when I’m good and ready I’ll make you “Go Home” or give you your “Brown Wings” either way you’ll be out of the tourney and exposed for the fraud that you are.
Vengeance will be mine Goth, ya beat me once that was luck, you WONT beat me again. I’m not scared of the dark and I aint scared of you.
I’ll have yer head on a pike on the grounds of Brown Towers. The ravens will peck out yer eyes while the locals laugh, pointing out how you truly believed you could beat me.
I heard Goth say that he is greatest trash talker in the history of this game. Really mate? English aint even yer first language, it’s mine. You rely on talk of death, dreams and despair to maintain your image of darkness. We all know that you have little style left behind your substance. You so-called experience advantage is not a factor. All that means I’ve we’ve seen it all before an’ that you’re old and broken down.
When I’m done with ya you will be finished, I don’t just intend to beat you, I intend to put ya down, like the old dog you are. You’re surviving on reputation “Gothic One”, the True Brit is carving himself a rep too. My victory will mark another notch in my career.
At the Wellblechpalast the heat from the crowd as it feverishly watches our match will melt the ice floor, when I finally let you rest as I take the 1-2-3 the infamous tin roof will blow off the building. The image of you being scraped off the canvas will be shown at every media outlet in the land, as they view it Germany will quake in its collective boots. The carnage that will take place in their homeland will give the Huns something new to be ashamed of. We will give them a new war to talk about.
A crowd has gathered, at a safe distance to watch the crazy English man rant. Vendors rush to set their stalls up early to capitalise, eager to sell beer, sausage and about a million other things. Johnny greats them with a warm, loving ‘V’ sign, not the one Winston Churchill made famous, more of the Sex Pistols style. Some of the fans return the favour laughing, clearly enjoying themselves.
JB: Stop that ya stupid Krauts. I don’t want ya ta like me. I’m not trying to be cool or controversial, I run me mouth to please me; not ta make you Rhine Monkeys happy. STOP IT! STOP IT!
The crowd applauds, efficiently of course, each clap is perfect in timing and pitch. This pisses Johnny off even more. He takes the camera from his Bruvver from another Mother; Stu Smith. Now behind the camera Johnny offers narrative
JB: Stu it’s time ta earn ya keep shut these f*ckers up, I need ta stop this fan support crap right now. I aint kissing babies and signing autographs for the great unwashed. Go get ‘em and for once don’t be a Gentleman about it.
SS: Move along NOW! There’s not sun beds ta put yer towels on here now f**k off before I kick everyone of yer heads in.
JB: That’s my line ya tw*t.
The fans all run away but regroup behind the stalls along the riverside.
JB: With Goth duly dispatched to A&E or whatever it’s called over here. I get to face Rage or Cage, or what’s left of them. If either man survives their match I’ll be surprised, they are both big powerful guys who will beat each others brains in; not that that task will take long.
Neither of 'em has ever been accused of being a threat to Einstein, or for completing a Sudoku puzzle for that matter.
Whoever drags their broken down body to the ring to face me I’ll be ready.
If it’s the Sin of Wrath I’ll show him what rage really is!
Rage is letting go; rage is NOT some bald headed former monster crippled by the need for acceptance, what once was a mighty oak is now a dry twig. A twig that I’m gonna snap.
You cannot truly be the vessel of Rage, anger and wrath is you pander to the SCW Sinners. You should be reaping glorious vengeance to all that cross you. You should be a mother-effin’ whirlwind of destruction, people should be scared to speak your name out loud.
That’s not the case tho is it? The Aristocrats attacked you, they were not the slightest bit intimidated by your big bald head and evil smile, no-one is… any more!
Much like the German empire you are shadow of a once powerful force. No-one really expected you to beat Tom Dudely. That in itself is a reflection of how far you have fallen.
Dudely was once somebody, but that was some time ago. He had stepped away from the ring to manage Billy Brokeback or whatever he’s called but was forced to return. He returned with a bang taking out the Jolly Green Giant, in what many called a fluke win. Yet still he was the favourite over you a; a six foot eight three hundred pound “monster”. Can you process that? A broken down ex-wrestler turned so-so manager who last wrestled when the U.S. economy was worth a damn was odds on to wipe that mat wiv ya!
Does that make you angry? Does that make you full of rage? Well here’s the kicker I want you to sit in the darkness, stewing, thinking of everyone that has slighted you, think of every orderly that shocked you, every one that “did things to you” when you were strapped down helpless, remember how long it took you to be able to sit down afterwards…. When you have all those things in your mind swallow them down, push it deep down inside of yourself, let is fester until the bell rings and you and me are in the ring; then let it out. That’s the Rage I want to face, that’s the Rage I want to beat,
If I am to erase my defeats in SCW I need to beat you at the top of your game.
The crowd regroups around Johnny soaking in his every work, thrusting their phones towards him wanting to capture his words to post on their video hosting forum of choice. They are all enjoying the spectacle, thinking its just part of the wrestling show. Johnny’s face is all over Dusseldorf on the promotional posters. This coupled with his previous visits have made him quite popular here as he is across most of Europe. Admittedly YouTube helped spread his appeal, the over-used anti-hero may be an over-used cliché in wrestling but it’s is very much real. Without changing his demeanour or watching his mouth it seems the True Brit is beloved in Europe.
JB: Stu, knock it off, they actually like it. We can’t afford to start a riot with all of the camera and phones recording us. Take the camera back lets see how far I can push it.
The camera is switched back to the Gentleman putting Brown back in shot.
JB: Do ya want a show? Do I look like a performing money?
That’s right film me, I want to world to hear my words, you are all my b*tches. You think you’re being rebels by filming me? Do you think your part of the show? Are ya trying to bring some excitement to ya gray lives?
If ya want excitement come to the show, if you want to rebel buy my merchandise, I have a shirt the office stiffs have managed to do that. Do ya want more? E-mail the office, protest at shows let your voice be heard!
If you idiots want to spend your money ya may as well put it in my pocket. If ya think I’m going ta turn cash away you’re dumber than Casey Williams.
Come to the shows, bring our kids, brothers sisters, next-door neighbour’s cat. I want every one of you to be at ringside clutching me merch cheering my name as I march to the ring. I want you all to have the best seats in the house when I beat all of my opponent’s, I want you to tune in when I win the SCW title at London’s Brawling in my homeland.
I’ve saved the worst 'til last Bobby Cage; The Convict, do any of you think he belongs in this event?
The guys semi-retired, with a pi$$ poor win loss record and he is a convicted killer? Yet somehow among the fans he is apparently the man they’re clamouring to win?
Normally people hate the guy, but the worthless Sinners have taken to the under dog. Awwww such a sob story, rough childhood, killed a man in self-defence, forced into crime upon his release then became a wrestler to turn his life around….
If me heart wasn’t black I’d cry up a flood. Face it you idiot fans, he doesn’t stand a chance. S’pose I’ve gotta cover all eventualities and talk about the jailbird.
Bobby ta be ‘onest I don’t know much about ya, I know you’ve not done much here in SCW and I know outside of yer nearest an’ dearest you have got much in yer life, sound a bit like me… I also know that makes you dangerous.
What do ya have ta lose? Nothing!
I know ya can fight, you survive over a decade in prison, whether you were the soap dropper or the guy that picked it up you have mental issues. Issues that will probably mean any weaving or words I present to ya will probably float over yer head.
So fer you, an’ these fans I’ll keep it simple.
As I bust yer head open a few of the crowd will feel uneasy.
As I dig my fingers in the wound, then tear it open some of the crowd will look away, perhaps the weaker ones will weep.
Then when I drop ya on yer thick skull over and over even the strongest will wince.
Cage will be left lying in the middle of the ring twitching, his nerves spasming, unable to process the pain he is in.
With Cage at my feet I will lift up me pair of Northampton’s finest and stamp on his head, kick him in the face. His eye socket with shatter, you will hear it crunch, you will hear the squish of his eyeball in the socket.
By now you will all be sick to your stomach.
You could change the name and the result will be the same, Cage, Rage; or Goth.
Goth will forever bear the scars of our encounter, I will mutilate him, the blood and greasepaint will mix giving the dead Dutchman a grim visage, the image will be etched into the fans brains forever.
No matter if it’s the painted freak, the modern Frankenstein’s monster or a man who should be on death row the result will be the same. I will be victorious and the fans will be mentally damaged.
These images will have them waking in a cold sweat every night. My name will be used to terrorise kids into going to bed, to do their homework; or the True Brit will come and get you.
For centuries people will gather around campfires and retell the time they same the British Monster slay Goth not just on international television but live in the arena. GERMANY; I implore you get your tickets to this moment in history, Germany will have a new monster that they secretly worship.
April 15th will be a date etched in history. It will be the day Germany will remember forever.
Be careful what you wish for Germany, remember you asked for this.
YOU ASKED FOR THIS!!!
…. THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS!!!!!
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*Disclaimer- Brown Towers is not a real place; it is purely a fiction of Johnny Brown’s imagination. He lived in low rent accommodation and caravans growing up. Any attempts to find it would just prove that you are stupid and that you don’t read disclaimers. For those of a squeamish disposition I suggest you down watch Climax Control, just go to a news site and read the spoiler. The True Brit is the only wrestler worth watching on the show anyway.
