2 and 0
Twoooo nillll--- Twoooo nillll--- Twoooo nillll--- Twoooo nillll
A chant often heard across the terraces. The winning team chant at their opponents fans, mocking them, goading them, letting them know we are better than you.
True Brit Johnny Brown may not be a football team, or particularly a football fans, most use it as an excuse for violence; Johnny has never needed an excuse. Flip that chant around and you have Johnny’s record since joining Sin-C-Dub.
None of his opponents have picked up on that train of thought yet. But inside the head of ‘The Embodiment of Britannia’, yes I known technically she was a chick, he hears them.
Jared Black and Goth, two men that have beaten him so far in Sin-C-Dub, would another add their name to the list? Given his record against Pryde alumni he had better hope it wasn’t Casey Williams.
It isn’t, it’s Adam Smith, better known as The Jackal.
A name that could be pivotal in the career of the True Brit. Will he be the next name with a W to Johnny’s L? Or will he be the first to fall, the first of many or the exception to the rule. Confidence as never been a thing Johnny Brown has lacked. He hasn’t had a choice really, when you move around like a gypsy sans a caravan and tarmacing business you get treated like one. The calls of pikey are water of a ducks back.
North, south, east and west Johnny had lived everywhere, well except Wales. The things they do to sheep is unnatural, or so it’s said.
The closest place he has to home is Northampton, an unremarkable place known for its once great shoe-making empire now better known for its rugby team The Saints.
Johnny is no saint, he is a sinner in every meaning of the word, he bears the scars from a deeply religious family, scars; that haven’t turned him away from God, but ones that have certainly not left them on speaking terms. A St. Christopher around his neck is the last sign of anything resembling faith, a present from his long gone nanna.
The patron saint of travellers is hopefully watching over Johnny now as he travels from Amsterdam to Paris for the next leg of the SCW European Tour. Alongside him is the ever present Bruvver from another mother Stu ‘The Gentleman’ Smith, a friendly bruiser who’s friendly affable manner is held in stark contrast to his dark thoughts or carnality and violence.
Both men ride their hired hogs, to be more precise Triumph Rocket III Roadster’s. radio headsets allow them to talk as the burn rubber.
SS: Do or die Johnny Boy, your opponent this week is no pushover
JB: Ya don’t get to tha top by facing jobbers Stu. I wanted competition; that’s why I came to Sin-C-Dub. They’re a top flight group with ties to the NEWA. If I want ta make waves fast I need ta take out people out, sure Adam doesn’t have the rep of a guy like Casey Williams. But he has been here longer than me, so he has a bigger rep, if I take him down I get his rep.
SS: Yer make it sound like that Highlander flick; "There can be only one," are you gonna cut his bloody head off then Brownie?
Despite Stu’s best Scottish accent the impression isn’t good.
JB: Considering the fed has a shed load of rules, murdering someone must be in there, especially on live TeeVee. I do remember watching all 3 films in one long drunken weekend.
SS: Bruv why do all of our stories end up about being drunk or one of us having rumpy pumpy?
JB: That’s cos that’s what we do, well that an’ fight but what kinda idiot is gonna talk about beating non-wrestlers up on camera, or worse still randomly attack people while they being filmed.
SS: The Jackal… quite a brute isn’t he. I would love to introduce my clenched fist to his Roman nose.
JB: Every time you speak you become more British… most people would lose their accent in a place like Vegas… you start talking wiv a goddamn plum in yer mouth.
SS: The chicks dig it, of course I need to get all common when its time ta get down and dirty. They fall inta my trap every time.
JB: P’haps you should be called the Predator and not the Master Adam Smith. He’s not lived up to his billing so far. Losing to a Dutchman is never a good start. Especially one like Goth. Not that I can talk, I lost to him last week too.
SS: Aw c’mon John, technically you haven’t lost a match, Old Skool dropped the tag match and Jared lost this match.
JB: I don’t play that game Stu. I’m a bastard but not some kinda anal freak.
SS: I know a hundred birds that’ll testify otherwise bruv.
JB: Ya know what I mean ya tw*t. The fans have ta make excuses for the bad things in their lives, I’m not fat it’s my glands, my teacher doesn’t like me, blah blah blah. I didn’t win my matches I’m gonna use that to kick it inta a higher gear. You long lost ancestor is going to be the first on my list back to the top.
SS: Adam may be a Smith but he’s no relation of mine. I’m the first of my family to go north of the Watford gap, let alone Canada. I bet he couldn’t even open my granddads stout with his teeth.
JB: Your granddad is amazing, he only has two teeth but the way he pops those bottle tops off is a true skill. Still compared to Adam, a man some say is the best man to never have held a World Championship, I think Grampy Smith would struggle.
SS: Don’t diss me granddad. Look Johnny, enough of this chatting shit. Are you going to eff this guy up? Ya need ta cut lose and pound the crap outta him.
JB: Other than you Stu I pretty much hate everyone. I’m a miserable, selfish pr*ck. An’ they're my strong points. All I do is fight and think about fightin’, even when I’m biking or f*ckin’ I'm thinking of smashing some tw*t in tha mouth. I’m Millwall personified. The Jackal will be left neutered. I’ll chop his balls off then hold them up for his pack to see. An’ if his b*tch wife sniffs my crotch I’ll bend her oven an-
A car swerves as Johnny overtakes cutting him off mid-sentence, I’m sure the censors breathed a sigh of relief there. Johnny powers past the Saab and offers a single finger salute, he gets a loud blast of the Saab’s horn in response. Stu sidles up to the car and starts to kick every panel he can reach. Johnny drops to the other side to do the same. The driver swerves a bit but doesn’t have the courage of his convictions to actually make a serious attempt at mowing his adversaries down. The Triumphs roar off overtaking another half dozen cars before dropping back in and conversations resuming.
JB: Wot a d*ck. Lets drop of behind the next big sign or summat and follow that Saab from a distance. When he gets out scare the cr*p outta ‘im.
SS: Maybe we should give it a miss and save your aggression for Jackoff--- Nawww
JB: Damn right, he’s got a long list of titles in his past, sure he aint done much in Sin-C-Dub so far, but neither have I. At least I’m not named after a mangy scavenging animal or a 62 year old terrorist. Neither one strikes fear inta my heart. Ya know what lets not dwell on names. This one will put me a step closer to a title shot. Personally I don’t need gold to validate my existence like the rest of the boys. I just want hold gold so the favourites of the SCW fans, the so-called Sinners, don’t have it. I’ll be the spoiler, I’ll be the one who lights a bonfire on a sunny day, the one who complains about the loud music. If I can do anything ta pi$$ these people off I’ll do It.
SS: Your ranting again.
JB: It’s what I do, I don’t need window dressing and stalling fer time. I come out here hit record on the camera then do my thing. Before I even stepped foot in Sin-C-Dub I did my homework on this b*tch. I thought he would be my first opponent but I was wrong. Well next week at Climax Control live from the land of the surrender monkeys I’ll show the Jackal who is the king of the jungle an’ the real deal in SCW. That tw*t will wish he was that snot nosed 12 he once was, crying to his daddy about the bullies picking on him. This time though he will ignore his lone parent’s advice and not strike back against those bigger and better than him. Doing that led him to the beating that I will have handed down to him.
SS: Didn’t ya say his dad was dead?
JB: Sure is, total worm food. Good thing really, at least he won’t have the embarrassment of seeing his son tapping to my ‘Go Home’, especially since it’s the same move as Adam’s St. John's Stretch. If Adam’s alleged father wasn’t a stiff he would probably kill himself when he sees how his boy turned out.
SS: That’s cold!
JB: Not as cold as Papa Smith’s corpse, it’s cold in Canuck land especially 6 feet under. Ha ha maybe I should change me name to true wit, I’m a funny f*cker. Not as funny as the story of Adam Smith. Yu were there when I read it Stu, have you ever read a bigger load of bullshit? Superstar trainer; a true hardcore legend. He doesn’t look like the sort of guy that does that garbage $hit.
His whole story sounds like a crock of crap. Which is fine by me when I’m done with him he’ll be singing like an effin canary. Please don’t beat me Mr. Brown… I’m sorry I lied about my career but I wanted to be scary. The only thing I have in common with my supposed trainer is that my best friend is a tube sock, his name is Crusty and I love him a lot.
With little to do but sit back and listen to his friends increasingly unstable ranting Stu checks his mirror. He spots the earlier Saab at the back of a queue of traffic. Ahead of himself he spots a large sign. Taking advantage of Johnny’s pause he chimes in.
SS: There’s a sign coming up lets pull up let the road hog past. My boot hasn’t stamped on any heads for a while and its itching like an Essex girl on a Sunday morning.
JB: Yeah lets do it big man. Me bloods pumpin’ I can wait ta get a win. After I beat Jackoff I get a chance at revenge on Goth. I hope he gets through to the second round. I owe the palerider an’ I intend ta collect. First let’s sort Saab boy out.
The pair zoom off the road kicking up a pile of dust. They swing behind the sign and lay in wait like a true pair of jackals.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Paris, France
Some poncey café in the shadow of the Eiffel tower
Later that day
The dynamic duo have made the Saab owner cr*p his pants, literally. Stu wedgied him just to make sure; the headed to Gay Paris, not literally, although there’s nothing wrong with that kind of thing.
Hungry from the ride the pair found somewhere to park their bikes then hit the nearest café. Having stuffed there face with anything they recognised as real food; none of that foreign muck, they are now finishing their second beers as the waiter approaches.
JB: Waiter do you have frogs legs?
The waiter who could not be anymore of a stereotype if he was made on a production line for StereotypesRUs, raises an eyebrow as he takes out his notebook.
Waiter: Vhy of courze zir!
SS: Well hop to the bar and get us some more beers bwahahaha
Waiter: Zhat iz it get out you English louts… out, out I zay!
Laughing like a pair of Hyena (higher up the food chain than jackals) the twosome neck their last dregs of beer and depart. It will be a good 10 minutes before the waiter realises that they didn’t pay. Enroute back to their bikes they share their wisdom with anyone who will pay them heed.
JB: That’s the problem with the French…
SS: What’s that Johnny?
JB: They’re all still breathing.
SS: Wishing mass genocide? That’s a bit harsh John.
JB: I didn’t say I wanted to kill them or even wish them dead, they just have an over inflated sense of their worth and not one of them has a sense of humour. They didn’t even laugh at my Simpsonesque “My children need more wine” joke.
Now I know why the Americans hate the Canadians so much, they are their version of the French. They both speak the same language.
SS: Actually only 22.3% of the Canadians speak French.
JB: Never let facts get in the way of a story Stu, I thought you were brought up on British journalism, I’ve seen you look at the pictures in The Sun most days.
The facts are Canadians and the French are annoying smug ba$tards, Adam Smith is Canadian, hence is his an annoying smug ba$tard. If ya think about it; it isn’t even his fault, he was born that way.
SS: No-one asks to be born Canadian Johnny, it’s more of a curse. Eh!
JB: Now you’re talking Stu, lets us the standard Canadian insults, we can wander into Casey Williams level of trash talk, lets not bother with witty banter about Adam’s clichéd prey- predator lines lets say aboot and eh!
SS: What can I say Monsieur Brown, I like the classics.
JB: Yeah, I’ve some of the old grinners you’ve banged.
Lets stop talking about your alien looking exes; an' talk about Adam Smith.
To quote Arnie in one of his old films, Predator, “You're one... *ugly* motherfucker!”
Admittedly even of you were ranked number 1 on some teen magazine hotlist, you’re not my type. The reason I point out your complete absence of looks is that you have actually succeeded in making this match difficult for me.
Normally me and Stu here would have a wager, he would pick a body part and bet me various amounts I could mess it up big time. For you he picked your boat race, now you’re mug is soooo ugly a chav bird could make a list of jokes about it all day long, since I am neither a chav nor a bird I won’t bother but what I will say is that I will NEVER get tired of punching you in the face.
I will punch you over and over until the ref looks at the mashed up pile of flesh at the end of your neck and stop the match. I don’t want a pinfall or a submission I want you to be so disfigured they’ll need to redo yer passport to get home. We’re talking Casey Williams ugly.
SS: John, did we really just tape this bit so you can say he’s ugly.
JB: Well I wanted to get the frog’s leg joke in too. Just face it the jackal doesn’t give ya much ta work with. He has no real discernable character traits, he drops off the map at a moments notice, and frankly he isn’t very interesting. This week though I’m gonna make him a star.
People in the metro will be talking about the guy that got beat so bad Notre Dame got a new freak. He will be featured on the front page of Le Monde, people will hold a day of mourning he will be beaten that badly. France will adopt him as one of their own; all losers together.
In a few short days at Climax Control I will get back on track to being the biggest star Sin-C-Dub has ever seen. I will win the tourney and claim my shot at London Brawling.
Then everyone in the UK will know I'm the True Brit an’ if ya mess with me you’ll get yer feckin’ head kicked in!
